1.  My camera is broken.  It wasn't too awfully expensive, but I wouldn't pick this week to be the week it breaks, and I don't want to spend another hundred bucks on another crappy point and shoot.  Why is it that I could have one camera for 15 years, and then two going on three in four? 

Oh, right.

2.  Is it terrible that- you know how I'm in a wedding next month?-  I can't stop watching the video from her first wedding, 11 years ago?  Not because I was crazy about the marriage or the groom at all, but that wedding video is one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life.  If the videographer didn't cash in on that shit, he's an idiot.  We are idiots for not cashing in on that shit.  Have you ever seen that shit?  I'll show you that shit next time you come over.  That shit is funny.

Sheeeee it.

3.  Ever since talking behind the make up girl's back about her acne, my face has exploded.  I'm doing what I can to make it better, but it's slow going.  I shaved my upper lip this morning to make appearances little better.  I was looking like a 14 year old boy there for a few days.  Would you like fries with this post? 

~Sing along now~
I shaved the stash
I shaved the monster stash.
I shaved the stash.
It was a peach fuzz stash

That's enough of that.

4.  Almond windmill cookies never change, and I like that about them.  Especially since they reformulated Lorna Doones.

5.  My cousin and his wife had a redheaded baby the other day.  Her name is Lauren Elizabeth. 
Two things
a) redheaded babies are met with smiles and head shakes.  The smile says "I love it" while the headshake says "you shoulda tossed that one back in the pile and picked out another one, would'a saved y'all a lotta trouble". 
Redheads are trouble for sure.
It's nice to see the red hair is still alive and well in the family.
b) that poor little girl.  When ever she gets in trouble, she's going to get called Lora.  I can hear it now. 
There is like a mental block in the Jones' that makes them forget who the hell they are talking to and holler the wrong name.  If I had a nickle for every time I was called Janet or Janie I'd take us out for ice cream cones.  Double scoops.  And Lora doesn't even sound like Janet or Janie.  My cousin Aryn got called Lora all the time and she HATED it. 
Lauren and Lora is close.  And my aunts and uncles have had almost 34 years of practice screaming things like:
Lora, get your arse over here!
Lora, knock it the hell off!
Lora, what did you do now?
Lora, what the?  Lora!!
Lora, why?
Lora, start thinking before you act/ what were you thinking?
Lora, I've had enough!
Lora, Lora, Lora (headshaking, general resignation, hands in the air, etc.)
And the one that gets the most airtime:
Lora, watch your damned smart mouth.

Poor Lauren.  She has no idea what she was born into.

6.  I got Botox last week, but it's not what you think.  My head's not on straight (srsly) so it was an attempt to turn it the way it's supposed to be.  I have to wait ten days or so to see if it will work.  I'm hoping, because if it works, it will maybe get rid of some of my neck, back, and shoulder pain.  My head is facing more forwardy, but the pain.  Gah, the pain.  I wonder if Botox in the face feels like this.

Does your face hurt?
It's killing me.

It was funny rescheduling my appointment at work, and saying "I won't be able to make it tomorrow because I don't have my Botox yet." in front of my co-workers.

I chose not to explain to the eavesdroppers.

If they would've asked I would've said that I cancelled a date.

7.  I think it would be really funny to write a book based on my kitchen sink conversations with Mary.  I also think I'd be in trouble with the Religious Right and the Cat Licks. 

We talk about a lot of zany stuff.

8.  My birthday is in a couple weeks (August 15th, mark your calendars).  I don't know what I want.  A new tattoo is high on the list, but what to get and where to get it?  I'm thinking of having some cover-up work done on my thigh tattoo, and starting in on an upper leg project.  I like thigh tattoos.  It's way better than looking at the spider veins and bumps.

I think that tattoo artists should advertise the ability to cover up spider veins, scars, and faded stretch marks in order to up their thirty-something lady business.

Or maybe they aren't into touching thirty-something lady parts.

9.  I'm more than halfway through with A Prayer for Owen Meany.  I wish everyone read that book at least once in their lives.

10.  I was out late last night, and chose to ride the El and subway home rather than getting in a cab.  I love late night public transit.  I love late night Philadelphia.  Especially on a cool, clear night when everyone is out and happy.  I miss being outside all by myself in the middle of the night, there isn't much doing that since Jake was born.  Four years gone by and it hasn't changed a lick.  I like that.  Especially since the Lorna Doone reformulation.

What?

11.  I never buy anything labled "New & Improved!!".  In English, that means "We Found a Cheaper Way to Make This!  So Fuck You!"

12.  I screwed up my BoltBus ticket, and BoltBus gave me my money back, no questions asked, ten minutes after I contacted them.  Two points for that, for them.  "Non refundable" doesn't always mean no refunds.

If I had to eat the $9 I wouldn't have cried or anything, but still.

13.  I have a mason jar full of buttons.  It's gorgeous.

14.  I went to a bbq the other day and there was a baby bottle full of Hawiian Hawaiin  Hawiain  HowWhyAn Hawaiian Punch and a jelly jar with some whiskey in there on the picnic table.  I totally judged my company by those beverages.

I spotted a bottle of Tully in the kitchen, and asked the host did he mind if I poured myself a bit of that because I'm not so much a beer drinker, and he said sure, the glasses are above the sink.

And.
Yep.
All the glasses were Smuckers and Welsh and Miracle Whip jars.

"These ones, Mr K?"
"Those ones.  We're Irish", he explained.

Got it.

15.  I used to use empty Glade candle jars as rocks glasses.

I thought they were classy because of that swirl pattern up the glass.

College.

College smelled like Mountain Berry.

16.  One of my favorite games to play by myself is throwing pennies in an empty egg carton.  I like to see how many pennies it takes to get at least one penny in each of the 12 cups.  It can be challenging, particularly if you stand or sit back a bit.  I taught it to Jake, and it's keeping him busy lately.

It's a few steps above tossing cards into a hat.

17.  Jake still hasn't earned his big bed (by spending 30 nights in his room without getting into my bed in the middle of the night) and I couldn't be happier.  I'm one of those people who is happiest sleeping next to their child. 

That's so annoying of me.

18.  Jake knows where babies come from now, and he apologizes to me every day.  I tell him that there is no need for sorries. 
He told a little girl at his daycare that he's never getting married because he "doesn't want to put his wife through that sort of pain".  The daycarelady said "what pain?".  Jake said "I'm not allowed to talk about it, but it's so terrible.  So so terrible."

I told him if he had any questions he could talk about it with Dave or I, but it wasn't his job to tell other kids where babies come out of their mom's or how they get in there.

I didn't tell him, btw.  Dave did.  But he was more than ready to know, and I think it's silly to lie to him about it.

But I'm totally okay with lying about Santa.

19.  I love packing for trips and moves.  I'm an expert packer.  I used to do a fair amount of backpacking when I was a teenager, and you learn quick not to bring what you won't use.
The big secret- of course- is to roll, as opposed to folding, your clothes. 
A big mistake is to bring full bottles of toiletries.  Even if they are full small bottles, chances are you don't need three full ounces of shampoo for a weekend away.  Unless it's that kind of party.  What do I know?  Nothing.
You'd be surprised at how much lighter your stuff will be if you only bring an ounce or so of each of your liquids.  The FAA will love you more too.
Cut a little slice off your bar soap instead of taking a full bar. 
Save those little Blistex tins to fill with lotions and stuff.
That sort of thing.

When Dave and I went to Rome for six weeks we only brought a suitcase and a duffle.  Total, for the two of us.  And we were the ones who had all the necessities like bandages and aspirin plus an outfit for any occasion. 

One girl brought two econo-sized bottles of shampoo but didn't bring tampons.  That's like a year's worth of shampoo.  And zero minutes worth of feminine products.  Sucks to be her. 

20.  I wonder if there's a legal upper limit on the vibrations per minute of- um- marital aids.

21.  Marital aids are very different than marital AIDS.
Marital is different than martial.
Martial is different than martian.
Martian is differnt than martini.
Martini is different than maritime

My brain is tying them together nicely, however.
And making up a short story about Marital martial martians enjoying maritime maritinis.
If I got married again tomorrow I'd have a ninja alien booze cruise for the reception.  Dildos at every place setting.

22.  Crayola is the only acceptable crayon.  Rose Art isn't even okay to give to a homeless kid. 

23.  That OxyClean stain stick gel blue thing?  So good.

24.  It's a perfect day outside and I'm not out there in it.  Just about time to change that.

25.  If you were going to get boudoir pictures of yourself, would you rather a stranger or a friend do it?  I'd rather a friend. 
I know I could trust her to tell me what I really looked like, she would edit out all the icky spots, and she would keep the negatives safe.

My friend Nicole takes sexy pics, this is my favorite bunch of her stuff.  She also takes non-sexy photos, and does tutorials from time to time on another blog.

When we were down in Baltimore, she took a picture of her and my picked crabshells covered in flies.  I'm dying to buy a copy of the print to hang in my kitchen.  (That's a hint to get it finished up.) 

Thanks to Kelly for the lovely award and to Nicole for tagging me on the list!

Now everyone get out of the house!

You know that Relational Health class I'm taking at work?  The one I talked about last week?  With the Stevie Nicks spectral effects?  Right, that one.

Yesterday's class was pretty damned deep.  I thought I'd share the stuff that left us all speechless.

First, there is this idea put out by Dr. John Gottman that basically says that we all have this driving need to be liked and included and have some sort of sense of control over our lives.
That's not so bad, right?  Not too far out or squishy warm warm whodoo voodoo for anyone?  Sometimes we learn stuff that makes perfect sense to us liberal do-gooders, but isn't well received by everyone.  But I think that Dr. G has a point there to which everyone can nod their head.

So we build ourselves little clubs.  Little rings and clans of people who we like and we want to like us.  We try to control our lives by who we let in it.  Does that make sense?

There was a graphic that the facilitator drew up on the board.  A bulls eye.
The center = Inner Circle (extremely high levels of trust, safety, intimacy)
The next ring = Close Relationships (high levels of trust and engagement and fairly regular contact)
Third = Task/Social/Work/Play (focus on socializing, playing, engaging in work, doing a task or activity)
Outermost = Temporary/Very Superficial (pleasant, but not deeply meaningful)

Before we even got to discussing that, I was quickly trying to put everyone in my life into a ring.  Trying to decide who is and who should be in that center circle and who falls just outside of it in the next ring.  Who hovers between the second and third, and who is on the outside of that third circle and why aren't they closer to the second or fourth.  It was deep.  I could see everyone else's eyes working, their fingers playing with their pens and rolling up the corners of their workbook.  They were doing the same thing.

There were a few points that I wrote down that I'm not going to share, and a few that I'm going to take right out of our workbook*
 "We have members in our clubs and we are members in others' clubs.  Just because we have invited someone into one of our circles, we are not automatically in the same circle in his or her Circles of Life (enter Simba).  When someone else shares his or her vulnerability, pain, or some other very deep and personal experince, we are infomally being invited to join his or her Inner Circle.  That person may or may not be a member in our Inner Circle.

 "Sometimes people do not know how to create and maintain some of their circles, how to conduct themselves, what to expect, how to communicate and respond in ways that are relationally healthy.

 "Sometimes some people assume thy have the right to be in one of our clubs, usually the Inner Circle or the Close Relationships club and we really are keeping them more at a distance, monitoring if and when we share ourselves, setting limits and maintaining boundaries.  Sometimes family members, just because they are family members, assume they are and should be in one of the more intimate clubs and for reasons of self-protection we have not extended that invitation or have withdrawn a previous invitation.

 "It can be important for people to be aware that they can and should establish self-protective boundaries and limits and at the same time have more intimate circles that provide opportunities for deep and meaningful connections.  If someone is not able to establish or maintain intimate circles, he or she might need some coaching as to how to do this or if someone is inviting too many people or less healthy people into more intimate circles, he or she might need assistance becoming more aware and having the assertive abilities to set necessary limits."

Now, I don't know how this strikes you, or if you need 24 hours to soak it in the way I did, but it was really deep.

In my field of work, people share a lot more with you than you do with them.  People put their social workers and advocates and teachers and therapists into their Inner Circle, sometimes immediately, sometimes over time.  And the social workers, advocates, et al. close their Inner Circle to those people, usually immediately.  We step in their IC's but close ours to them.  We keep our clients and students and patients and cases in our third tier.  Anything closer is asking for disaster.

I like this work because I like keeping people in my third tier.  My third tier is HUGE.  If you've ever been to the house at Christmastime, you know how large my third tier is.  My third tier is standing room only.  I love third tier.  Love, love, love having people in my life for work and for play and for dinners and drinks and for this and for that.  Love, love, love.  Clients and such don't come to my house at Christmastime, of course.  They sort of lean against the fence of the third tier.  But everyone else is having a good old time in there.  My third tier is stone cold rocking.

My second tier is busting too, but we can all sit down.  It's warmer and fluffier and we all go barefoot and wear things that don't cut into our bellies when we sit down.  I'm more comfortable, but less in my element.  If you've ever been to my house on Wednesday, you know all about my second tier.  The love bursts forth and there is a lot of nourishment and rainbows happening in the second tier.  There isn't so much glitter and confetti as there is flower petals and breezes that make candlewicks dance.  It's like a damned Summers Eve commercial, and we all feel fresh, sans vinegar.

My Inner Circle?  Is a pinprick. 

***

Some people would only include their God in there.  Some people their spouse, their mother, their best friend, their sibling.  Some people have two members, some three, some ten.
Some people let people closer to their inner circle just because they play sports together or are both identified as the same whatever it is they are identified as or go to the same church or ____ the same ____ .  Some people don't.  Everyone has their different reasons for letting people in.

I'm not even sure what is in my Inner Circle, but I do know who is in there.  It's closed up pretty tight, and I don't go there myself too often.  I manage the club from a remote location, and I don't read staff reports very often.  That should probably change.  In the (Johari) Window of my Inner Circle, there is a lot of "blind spots" and a lot of "unknowns".  I'm hoping to move some of those over to the "arena" and sliding some into the "facade".
I know why I'm like that.  It's because I've let people into my Inner Circle before and they totally fucked up the place and broke the lamps and slashed the cushions and left without paying the bill.  Shame on me for not doing a full credit check and keeping their passports and Mastercard numbers in a lockbox at the front desk.
I was young.  Now I'm not.  The things that were busted up would be at the Goodwill by now anyway.  Plaid couches and electric lady lamps and velvet Elvises? Elvisi? Elves? have no place here these days.  Box up what's salvageable and trash the rest and move on.  Create a little leg room for the ICers, maybe a yoga studio where we can all bend and stretch.  Knock out a skylight and let the sunshine through.

That shouldn't be too hard, right?
Right?
Why am I hearing crickets?

Hippy dippy metaphoric metamorphic yadda blahsy huggsy jasmine cubby womb slip psycho mythical yammer blabber jammer.

Had enough yet?

I'll leave you with the instructions for our group activity think tank stuff.
With consideration to each of the concentric circles, describe
*what some of the requirements for membership are
*who you have invited to join this circle and why
*what some of the rules, guidelines, or expectations are for this membership
*what behaviors are acceptable and may be unique to this circle
*what might be some reasons to drop someone from membership or to exclude someone
*consider traits that constitute high levels of health in relationships.  toxic traits of unhealthy relationships

I hope this stuff is as useful to you as it was to me.  I hope I didn't abbreviate the materials so much that it is meaningless, and I hope I didn't add so much that it is boring.

*if you live or work in the Philadelphia area and you are interested in taking classes like this, check out the Institute for Family Professionals and the Lakeside Educational Network

I found myself at my all time favorite make up store- MAC- this morning, looking for a nice black but not really black eye liner that I could pop into my little makeup palette.  MAC is good about catering to environmental (read: annoying) minimalists like me who don't like our eye make-up to have any extra packaging.  You buy just the little round thing of color and it's packaged in a tiny cardboard slip.  No compacts or brushes or mirrors or extra stuff that drug store and some other high-end brands give you to make you think you are getting some sort of deal.
Let's back up.  See, my hair is falling out.  At an alarming rate.  Faster than it ever has.  I'm balding.  Have been for a couple years.  I have bald spots.  Ones that people are starting to notice.  My eyelashes are shedding too.  Gross, right?  As low-maints as I try to be, a girl has a little bit of vanity when all her mother loving hairs are falling out of her mother loving head and face.  Except around my upper lip.  Those hairs are doing just fine. 
Mascara makes my eye lashes prettier and more normal looking, but does a number on drying and tugging them out.  Yes, even the good mascaras.  Even ones made so they don't cause lashloss.  So I'm turning to my best friend Eye Makeup to make myself look and feel like a girl these days.

So, anyway, I walk into the store and the perky salesgirl with the overly made up face bounces over and asks me what I need.  She suggests pencils and creams and baked mineral cakes and and and a bunch of crap that is packaged with plastics and glues and glass and other stuff I don't want.  I try to explain to her that I was looking for something that will fit into my pallet because I don't like to buy that other stuff because of the way it's packaged.  She didn't really get it. 

You  know how when dogs sort of look at you and cock an ear and lick their lips and wiggle their butts to look cute so you don't notice they are sorta dense?  Right. 

She asked me about my other make up, and asked how and where I keep it if I have such a "problem" with packaging. 
"I don't have other make up", I said. 
Her jaw dropped. 
Dropped. 
"You mean... all you use is eyeshadow?  What about your concealer and foundation and blush and lip liners and lip sticks and highlighters and lowlighters and bases and and and? How do you get your skin to look like that?  Ohmigod!  It's like, glowing and translucent!  That's not a powder over a base with some foundation?  What sort of moisturizer do you use?  I bet it's expensive!".  She touched me.  She wiggled my cheek with her finger and checked for tension and residue.  She asked me how old I was, and I told her.  She thought I was like, way, like, younger and stuff.

Score.

"That's it.  I have a few eyeshadows and a bronzer and of course I own a lipstick but none of that other stuff.  Also, I don't use moisturizer, just a bit of olive oil if I'm dry."

I don't claim to be no beauty queen by any means, but I do try to take care of myself and my face so I don't look haggish before my time.  Being my age gives me a ten year advantage over someone her age.  I see what people my age look like now who didn't take care of themselves when we were people her age.  I see what people ten years older than me look like when they forget to take care of themselves in their thirties.  I don't want to look all weird and walmarty and gross.  I just don't.  Is that so wrong?

But it's not really about the way we look.  Or what we put on or not before we step out the door each day.  It's more than that.

It's about hiding our faces.  And the person behind those faces.  It's about hiding behind clothes and hair and make up and sunglasses and even words and careers and diplomas and kids and spouses and pets and houses and, well, you can pretty much hide behind anything.  It's easy to do.  So I try not to do it.  It's hard not to do it.  Sometimes I do it.

It's sad, really, that this poor girl feels that she needs so much to make her look presentable.  You could see her huge pores and acne bumps and dry flaky skin underneath the layers of crap all over her face.  She couldn't have been more than 23 or so, and it wasn't even noon and already she was fading fast.  Lipstick feathering and powder shedding and oil busting through the caps.  She works in a make up store so of course she knows how to apply carefully, but she didn't look much different than many other girls I see that are about her age.  Lots and lots of stuff piled on.  Trying to look older/prettier/cooler/sexier/whatever it is they are going for

Girls her age.  Wasn't it yesterday when I was her age?  Three or four thousand yesterdays ago.  Holy crap.

I guess had the benefit of coming of age when grunge was cool.  No make up (heavy black or blue eyeliner doesn't count) and loose clothes and comfortable shoes and ratty hair were the rage.  We never thought much of taking lots of time to look pretty or thin or sexy.  Then came college where everyone was a little dirty and hippychic.  Not too much grooming happened between classes, for sure.

Times are different now.
I'm different now.
Thankfully.

I wanted to tell that girl that half the problem with her skin was the "solutions" she was using.  Looking like a magazine queen every waking minute of the day takes a lot of work and a lot of potions and a lot of time and a lot of ack.  Just ack.  God knows what she washes her face with.  Or what she needs to deshellac at the end of the day.  I wonder if she is comfortable leaving the house without make up.  I wonder if she knows how young and gorgeous she is under that blush and liner and shadow and paste.  Probably not.  No one knows how young and gorgeous they are when they are young and gorgeous. 

I feel for people who wear a mask each day.  I have friends and family and loved ones that do that.
Call them up and ask them to meet you for a cup of coffee and they say "sure, just give me a couple hours so I can pull myself together".
It's coffee.  On Saturday morning.  No one you know is going to be there.
Sad.
Sad, sad, sad.

I feel for people who build their masks out of words like "everything's just great" and "these are the best days of my life" and "(insert sunshine here)" when things aren't great and these aren't the best days and the sun isn't shining so much.

Now, I'm sure that the sales girl was a perfectly normal and well adjusted young lady who just happens to have a heavy hand and a slight acne problem.  I'm sure of it.  She just got me thinking about some people I know who aren't, is all.

Everyone is getting their BlogHer posts up and I'm secretly getting super excited for all this.

I've got my roomies all straightened out, plus a blood pact with a few people I know IRL to potentially stick together in case of emergency or weirdos, and I'm sorta sure when I'm getting there and how that will happen.

I wrote out my What to Pack list this morning:
3 cocktail dresses- black, turquoise, and coral, all packed in separate freezerbags
1 regular dress- freezerbagged
1 evening bag, 1 day bag
6 or 8 tank tops- I wear two at once, they are just those $5 jobbies from Old Navy
1 skirt- that I will wear whenever I'm not wearing a dress.  I'm dirty like that, fyi
flip flops, sandals, heels- one pair of each.  None of this suitcase full of shoes nonsense.
jacket- maybe
pajamas- because there are roommates
bathing suit/underpants/bra- unless I bring a two-piece, thus eliminating the need for underpants and bra
make up/shampoo/conditioner/comb- freezerbagged
camera/batteries/phone/charger- freezerbagged
first aid kit
Irving book du jour/moleskine/pen
adorable blog business cards- just wait until you see these.  you'll be hating for sure and wishing you had them.

And that's it.  I'm low-maintenance.  I don't own an iPod or walkman or anything like that, and I'm not bothering with my netbook.  I don't bring things I won't use or wear.  Freezerbags are awesome to travel with, they keep everything separate.  Including odors.  Sometimes a girl gets a bit stinky when she's out and about meeting new people she already knows all about and she wraps her stinky clothes up so as not to make everything stinky.

Things I'm excited about
1) going to NYC all by myself, in total Big Girl fashion.  I've traveled alone plenty (with the intent to meet someone upon arrival) but never like this.  Never, "I'm taking the bus to New York and getting off and managing myself for a few days".  I'm guessing I should get the address to the hotel and directions how to get there from the bus stop.
2) seeing people I've known for half a decade, some of whom I've never seen before.
3) only having a party pass, so I'm not tied up during the day.  I want to do a little sight seeing.  Or sleeping.
I was thinking Guggenheim, but it's $18.  The Uffizzi wasn't $18.  The Louvre isn't $18.  Our art museum is free on Sundays.  I don't even really care about art.  But I don't know what else to do.
I live in a big city, and I don't find most big city things that you have to pay for attractive.  I don't like shows or any of that crap.  Everyone I ask suggests go see something on Broadway or get drinks or go out to eat.  Puke.  I don't like to sit still or listen to live music unless it's in a bar or park and relatively quiet.  Drinks pretty much taste the same no matter what town they are served in and have everything to do with the company they keep you in.  I can eat a ketchup sandwich and be just as happy as if I ate a 5star meal.  I really do prefer just bumming around and looking at shapes and patterns I find in nature and architecture.  I'm guessing there is a lot of that available to me up there.
4) wearing my cocktail dresses.  I love cocktail dresses.

Things I'm not excited about
1) leaving my family.  Sounds so lame.  Don't tell anyone I said that.
2) wondering if my cat will be alive when I get home, and the fact that I'm sort of hoping she won't be because she's getting gross these days and if she dies while I'm gone I won't have to deal with the carcass (catcass).  Not that I don't love her, because I do with all my heart, it's just that I don't love what is coming out of her ends.  Luckily she is still able to contain it properly.  Almost.  But enough is enough.  How long are cats supposed to live?  I heard once that cats in their natural element are only supposed to live something like four years, tops.  No wonder they start to bottom out after making it three times their natural life expectancy.
3) pooping.  I'll probably use the hotel lobby bathroom rather than the in-room commode because I'm more comfortable pooping in a public restroom that opens to not-my-hotel-room than I am using the one that opens to people I only know on the computer.  People who probably poop roses and rainbows.
4) the early morning Sunday bus home.  But I know I'll be glad to get back to Philadelphia before most people are even awake.

Things I'm nervous about
1) there is no reason to be nervous.  If I don't like it or it doesn't like me, I get on the bus and go home.  I'm the least socially awkward or nervous person I've ever met, so that helps.

Things I'm unsure about
1) how to get around New York.  But I'll figure it out.  Or just get in a cab.
2) when I'm getting there.  Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday for sure.

Things I'm quite sure about
1) there will be people there who love me and whom I love back.  That's the cool thing about blogging.

I'm the worst at this blogging thing.

Actually, I'd be on top of it but our internets were down at work yesterday and I had a bunch of crap to do when I finally got home last night and I never set up an auto publish thing (because... um?  how? every time I try it never publishes itself, damned blogspot) to publish something at 12.01 Am, mostly because I had it in my head that I had until 12.01Pm to get this post out.

Just like I can't figure out which was is left and which way is right, I can't figure out whether AM means the 12 o'clock that comes while I'm asleep or awake.  They are my two mental blocks, and I've made it 33 years and 11 months without anyone dying as a result (except that one time when someone almost died when I was taking my driving test and I made a LEFT on red and the lady freaked and I told her that I knew for a fact I was allowed to make a RIGHT on red.  Yeah...  Also?  I made a left on red across Buffalo Road out in Erie County.  It's like a six lane street.  But no one died.)

What post is this?, you ask...

I'm the Blogger of Note at Words of Wisdom!

I'm way over the moon about this, and want to thank Leah for the nomination!

Words of Wisdom is a great blogger community where I've found several new blogs to read, but even better, I've seen some of my favorite bloggers featured there recently.  I love seeing people I love get love from other people I love.

Got that?

The people at WOW explain it like this:
 Words of Wisdom (WOW) is a place for bloggers (women and men) who enjoy reading and writing great content to find each other. What exactly is great content? Great content is blog posts that are thought-provoking and/or insightful. Blog posts that make the reader stop and think and maybe even feel compelled to "join the conversation" by leaving a well thought-out comment. These posts can be serious or humorous. They can be about any topic. But what they have in common is content. Great content.

You should subscribe to Words of Wisdom, especially if you are looking for some good summer reading, and some good fall reading, and something to curl up with in the winter.

Okay, now I have to link to three of my favorite posts...

This is the hard part.  Not that I love all of my posts, but there are a lot of them and it's hard to pick ones I'd like people who have never read any of my stuff to read.

There's the one about miscarriage that I like.  Not because it's a pleasant read, but because I think that we ladies (and the men who love us) need to rethink the way we deal with miscarriage.

And then the squishy warm warm one I wrote about checking in on Jake at night.

And finally there's this one about "Sally", a parent who I worked with a bit last year who shook me up like no one has ever shaken me up in all my years of social working.  

Thank you so much to the ladies and readers at WOW, and especially to Leah who got me hooked into Words of Wisdom and helped me find some new friends inside my computer.

Top ten list

1.  I'm deathly terrified of ferris wheels but I ride them every chance I get just to prove to myself I'm not going to die on them.  They are awful.  Gut wrenching.  Makes me sweat.  I'd puke if my throat wasn't so tight. 

I do, however, love roller coasters that go upside down and backwards and things that spin.

2.  I make awesome egg salad.  Cover eggs with water and put on to boil.  As soon as the water comes to a rolling boil, turn off the heat and cover the pot for twenty minutes.  Rinse them in cold water.  Throw away half of the yolks, and dice all the whites and the remaining yolks.  Put in half as many rounded tablespoons of mayo as there are eggs.  Salt and pepper to taste.  It's best if you use eggs that have passed their sell by date.  (So, like, 12 egg whites, 6 egg yolks, and 6ish tablespoons of mayo.  Fresh ground salt and pepper is the best, pre-ground will do)

3.  I'm taking a new class through work.  It's on Relationships.  Capital R.  It promises to be a doozy, and comes with a verbal disclaimer.  A bigger disclaimer than the one on Communication that I completed a few weeks ago, and that pretty much put me through the ringer.  I thought it would be about becoming a more effective communicator, but it was really about building and repairing emotional ties through better listening.  We'll see what unfolds over the next 24 weeks. 

Yesterday the facilitators did a visual with a ghosty white costume lying on the chair between them, and spoke about how there are three entities in a relationship: Person A, Person B, and the Relationship.  They described the Relationship as an ethereal being with an age and issues and health and and and.  It's funny, because when they put it between themselves, I imagined it as a beautiful flowy billowy angel.  Like Stevie Nicks sans coke habit.  Then when one of the instructors talked about the icky relationship between her and a person who has been in her life for a long time I imagined it as a crippled up corpse bride.  Funny the images you can get from a tattered white polyester dress.

The whole thing made me want to go home and get out pencils and paints and draw the relationship I have with a few people. 

My feelings made me want to create art.

4.  Writing and blogging is fine for what it is, but I'm having fun creating things in other ways these days.  It's interesting how lots of things can be an outlet.  Writing is the easiest for me, but definitely the least rewarding. 

5.  There's a scene in Billy Madison where the kindergarten teacher rubs paste all over her face while the kiddos are out at recess.  That's always been appealing to me, but I can't get past the mess it must make.

6. We just set up Netflix through the Wii.  I never have to leave my couch again. 
Which is good because it's slated to be 134 degrees for the next ten days.

It's a nasty summer.

Last night there was a thunder clap so huge that it shook the house.  You don't see storms like that here too often.  I miss them, but it scared me out of that floaty insomnia place where you might just get some sleep if there's no noise. 
The 4ams. 
Gotta love the 4ams. 
It's sorta like Stevie Nicks, coke habit included.

Except I don't do coke.  I'm just naturally a spaz.

The local news is so annoying lately because it talks about "possible tornadoes" every other day.  Just because a tree falls down or gets twisted doesn't mean there is a tornado.  These people in these parts don't know what tornadoes are, so they just make stuff up when things get a little messy.

7.  I'm seeing lots of old friends this summer, and it is super fun.  Last weekend my friend Rhino was in town, and he and Dave and I bummed around Passyunk Ave until we picked up Jake.  Jake has never seen such a large human being and he's still talking about it.  Kids and giants are funny together.  If Rhino ever comes to your house, make sure you clean the kids' feet, because they will be touching the ceiling at some point.  Even if you have 11 foot ceilings.  Clean your own feet too, because you might find yourself up there too.  I wore a skirt, mostly so I didn't have to be tossed around.

In a month + week I'm in another old friend's wedding.  We were all in middle school together (me and the bride and another bridesmaid- and Rhino) and that was a long time ago.  I'm not sure what constitutes old friends, but I'd say 20+ years definitely qualifies. 

I should probably try that dress on again to make sure I can sausage myself in to it.  Exercise dieting alterations may be in order.  I'd like to look pretty on that day so I can get a couple good photographs taken of myself.  Isn't that vain?  At the bride's first wedding I looked super pretty, and some of my favorite pictures of myself are from that day.  I looked nicer at her wedding than I did at my own, a month before. 

8.  How about that Mel Gibson, eh?  A long time ago when I was just a waitress and before the world knew how crazy he was, I stuck my licked finger in his sheppard's pie and took a fingerbite out of his mashed potatoes.  Why?  I don't know.  Because I could.

I have issues.

9.  Jake is getting better at sleeping in his own bed, and that makes me sad.  I like it when he's in my bed.  He's working on earning a full-sized bed, and he is nine nights away from getting it.  I'm hoping it takes him all summer to sleep in his own bed for nine more nights.  He's already earned his big sheets and his quilt.

He's got the red quilt, and a navy star sham.  His sheets are striped blues and reds and cream and white.  He picked it all out by himself.  The boy is pretty good at picking things out that we can both live with.

10.  Jake has figured out how to use the speed dial on my phone and knows who goes with what button.  Last night WAY after his bedtime, he speed-dealt my brother while I was in the bathroom to tell him that he couldn't sleep because he was worried about him and wanted him to know that he loves him and hopes he's feeling well. 

That's just the sort of kid Jake is. 

Brian said that Jake reminds him of Simon from Lord of the Flies.  I agree.  I actually thought that a couple years ago but didn't say anything to anyone because it's not right to compare your two year old with a highly developed character from a classic novel.

***

This list has been made possible by Kelly at Dare to be Domestic, who is droppin mad el bees courtesy of P90X which almost makes me want to dust off my copy and try again.  (But it hurts my knees and wrists worse than anything I ever did, so I'll just stay fluffy and blame it on being a mom and working a billion times harder than I've ever worked before at this job when really it's just that once I'm home I can't peel myself off the couch to get to the gym.)
Kelly's pretty damned awesome in one thousand other ways too, you should definitely check her out if you haven't already.
Plus she gives me shiny things like this:

...to find a smile

Q: What's creepier than creepy?
A: Walking in to an empty house with a record thwap thwap thwaping at the end of itself.

Q: What noise do I miss the most when I take a vacation?
A: The chap chap chap slap thwack thwack crack crack of a cheesesteak being made, at any given deli or pizza shop, on any given corner, at any given hour of the day.

In a strange twist of fate, I had the house to myself tonight.

I could take it for, like, a minute. 

I thought I would enjoy it more than I did.  Last weekend was a trip to West Philly and Central PA and Delco and the weekend before that was a trip to Baltimore and I felt really overwhelmed with being near people all day every day for a couple weeks in a row.

I cleaned the living room (yay!!)

But then the voices started (boo!!) so I quick checked on Facebook to see what the people were doing tonight and it turned out that there was an Improv show right up the street from the house so I put on some underpants and headed out.

And it was good.

One of the performing teams has two of my old classmates and one of the girls I auditioned with on it so I really wanted to see them.  Another is coached by my coach.  For both the big team and my duo.  Oh yeah, did I tell you?  I'm part of a duo now too.  All the cool kids across the americas are doing it now, thanks to Duofest.

Mine and Gwen's started as this huge idea to get some awesome women improv lady types together and start something good, (enter the Betty White episode of Saturday Night Live and GAH!!! why do all the famous people have to bite off our ideas?) but do you know how hard it is to get the girlios together?  Impossible.  So a friend and I went on our ownsies and are working on putting something fun together, Duofest be damned.  There are at least one hundred billion submissions so we probably won't be picked, but we figure that lots of the twofers will disband if they aren't picked and we will rise and conquer. 

If you can't be the best, just be persistant.

And back to the point.  Pick it up at "Another is coached by my coach" and continue with "so I wanted to see what they were doing and what he had to say about it all" and it all turned out to be a really awesome show and some of my peopleses was there, which is a plus.  One of the things I like about improv is you can't really go somewhere improvy and not know anyone. 

I think that this is what they mean by "community".

So, yeah, so one of my rules is to never stay at home if it's giving you the willies.  Another is never leave the house without beltloops.  Unless you are wearing a dress.   One more rule is never look like you are wearing your pajamas out of the house. 
So I buy dresses for pajamas.  So I can go out in my jammers and be the best dressed lady no matter where I go.

Not that I went to this show in my pjs, but I went to this show in my pjs.

Also? I may or may not have brought a water bottle (one-quarter) full of whiskey. 

To share.

If you really want to be a lady about things
1) wear your clothes to bed, if only to wear your bedclothes in public and look good doing it
2) get a funnel so you can pour your booze in a plastic bottle for travel.  It's less obvious than a flask.

Show was amazing, shared the whiskey, walked home with some friends because ALL the coolkids are moving to my neighborhood now that it's an official hotspot so I'm never without an escort, and had a giant bowl of honeynuts.  Cheerios, that is.  We just call them honeynuts here, but it's my understanding that there are lots of honey and nut flavored cereals these days.

I like to mix sweet cereals with regular cereals.  I can't take the intensity of honeynuts so I half them with regular Cheerios.  Kix, Cheerios, and corn flakes make most sugarcereals bearable.

OMGood!  Have you ever had honeybunches (of Oats.  we do this with a lot of cereals, the nicknaming)?  So amazing. 

Btw, before I forget, I gave myself a really nice pedicure tonight thanks to the Lush footcare box o'samples that they are selling for $20 these days.  My dogs were barkin so I gave them a bone.  Nothing says "hello, normal" like rubbing at your feet for a half hour when you are all by yourself and wondering where the remote is so you can change away from Zack and Cody and the rest of them damned Disneteers and find something appropriate to watch because sitting alone with your fingers between your toes and watching pre-pubescent boys is not only slightly arousing, but it is also wildly disturbing.  Just kidding.  About the disturbing part.
Kidding!  I don't like Zack and Cody.  I'm not into blondes.

Speaking of, I stopped dyeing my hair and I'm back to normal for the first time in a decade.  I also got a haircut today.  The hairwash girl told me that she is thinking of dyeing her hair the same color blonde as me.  The haircut lady told me that I have gorgeous red hair and she wishes she had this color.  The hairpay lady asked me when I went brunette.  See?  This is why I dye my hair.  Because my head is all Sybil-y and confusing.  What color is it now?  I don't know.  One sees what one wishes to see.

So then, improv, hair, oh yeah!  Cereal!  I like to get a bowl and fill it up with both cereal and milk.  So the milk is so up to the top that it would slosh if I tried to move the bowl.  And then I eat the cereal and fill the milk up with cereal again and eat it and fill and eat and fill and eat until the milk is all gone.  Then I like to lay down with my full belly and tell my cat about my day.

Or blog.

Same difference.

Hello kittens!

I love Paul McCartney's McCartney album.  I've listened to it at least ten times this evening.  And I'll probably keep listening to it until the house isn't mine and mine alone anymore.

Or until I fall asleep.

For years now I've been wanting to write a post on suicide.  Child and teen suicide.  On how these suicide rates are going up at an alarming pace and how the research is showing that it's how pressured kids are today to be perfect and successful and involved in everything and in both the burbs and the city there is lots of scary gangsta stuff going on that leaves kids feeling hopeless and helpless and how their little selves just can't take it and how all this pressure leads to depression and how parents aren't as available to their kids as they maybe should be and how I wonder if that has anything to do with the fact that mom isn't home after school and dad is away at dinner time lots of nights and how I really want to work part time while Jake is in school because that's the time I think he needs me at home most of all and I'm not sure I can afford to work six hours a day (but how can I afford NOT to?) and I am the one who's job provides health care to Jake and I and that's pretty important and if we can get health care from the government that pretty much makes the decision for me and how I want to be sure that he can come to me with anything and how I never want to push him into any activities or make him feel that he has to get all A's in school or any of that because I know what sort of pressure being cool and an A student and good at something else and keep a job is and the desire to make your family proud of you can break a person in tiny pieces and I know that open lines of communication between parents and children are pretty much the number one thing that can prevent a child from slipping deeply into a mental state of anguish (I just typoed "coma" right there.  that's not what I meant to say) or even from killing himself and what if I'm doing now just isn't enough to pave the way to these open lines and what can any of us do really? and every time I sit down to type up all the teen and child suicide stats and facts and precursors and warning signs and correlations, some blogger's or some co-worker's or a client's or some one's kid goes and kills himself or practically dies trying.  Practically dies trying.  That's a funny colloquialism, isn't it?  Practically dies trying.  We say it all the time, but sometimes it's true.

It's a lot.

And I think about it all the time because I hear about it happening all the time.

Then there is the matter of parents killing themselves.  I have quite a few friends who have lost a parent to suicide.  Terrible messy suicides that occur at home.  And I have quite a few (just a couple less than the number who have lost a parent in this way, actually) friends who have been the first one to find their parent.  Some of you read this blog, so I will tell you here that I think of you all every day and I'm so sorry you have gone through that and because of what you went through I work very hard to keep myself mentally well and physically healthy and it even goes so far as never letting Jacob see my blood.  Not even if I get a papercut.  Drastic?  Yes.  But I do it anyway.  In your honor and in your parents' memories and in some sort of effort to bring some balance to the world.
As if that is possible.

I'm lucky enough not to know anyone personally who has been the one to find their child.  I know people who have found their siblings, a friend, a relative, but never one to find their child first.  Though it happens.

There are, of course, brothers and sisters and husbands and wives and mothers and fathers and cousins and friends that are tied to all these people dying.  It's not just kids and parents who are losing one another.  We have all lost someone.  Or will one day.  It's just a matter of time and chance.

People have been killing themselves forever, I'm sure.  And it isn't going to stop either.  But if we can all just reach out just a little bit maybe we can buy an extra day or so with someone who is close to us.  Or someone who isn't.  That lady at the store who looks a bit off, maybe.  The guy on the bus, perhaps.  A little kindness can spur a lot of hope.  It can buy a day.  And a lot can happen in a day.

Do you all read PostSecret?  There is proof there that one person, one stranger can save another person's life.  Every week there is a story- a story spelled out on a three by five card- that proves that we have the power to save each other.
Not every time, and not every one, but sometimes it happens.  Sometimes someone is saved.

I have this revolting habit of stalking suicide victims online.  I go to Facebook pages and MySpaces and Twitters and blogs of people who have recently killed themselves.  I look for signs.  Things they may have posted or ways they may have phrased something.  Anything.  I want to know what people say or do before they take their own life so that maybe I can recognize it in someone else.
Not everyone gives their things away, not everyone acts strangely or has trial runs with killing themselves.  Not everyone has blatant cries for help.  Not everyone nothing.
Every person is different.  But the one thing that runs constant on so many of these social media outlets is a lack of being social.  Posts become fewer and further between (types the girl who hasn't had the time to post in about a month) and replies to statuses and tweets and comments dwindle.  People stop posting to their pages, they stop posting to other peoples'.  There is a withdrawl.
A lack of updates.
A lack of status.

Does it mean that everyone who goes into hiding now and then is plotting for something drastic?  Of course not.  I'm a chronic drop-of-the-face-of-the-earth type of person.  Especially when I'm busy doing something fun, or not fun, or marginally fun.  It's natural to withdraw from things sometimes, especially if they are computery things.  But it's hard not to notice the absence of a person over time after that person is gone.

Hindsight, they say, is 20/20.  Foresight, not so much.

So what?  I don't know.  It just seems that there are lots of people losing themselves and losing their friends and family members these days.  Yesterday I had to delete someone out of a contacts list.  I've been avoiding it for years.  When I see his name somewhere and it doesn't matter if he is there or not I just leave his name there.  His card is still in with everyone else's.  I took the email out of the listserves but not out of my Outlook.  The agency he works for wasn't funded this year, and someone new is taking over the master contacts list, and we had to send some information to the City, so I deleted him out of an Excel file.
Just.
Like.
That.
He died two years ago.  All of a sudden.  No one knew anything about it.  No one knew he was even sick.  When his obituary ran it said how he died.

"J m s V. T r , 51, a clinical social worker, died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound Sept. 25 at home in Ambler. He had battled depression all his life, and was being treated with medication and therapy, said his son, Jason."

Just.
Like.
That.

In the Philadelphia Inquirer.  That was the first line of his obituary.  I've never seen that before.  I talked to him every week.  I was his contact person for the program we worked on.  He kept in touch way more than he needed to with me and with the City and with our admin assistant.  It was annoying, actually.  But then it stopped.  And I was glad to have a break from him.  I liked him, he was funny, he was amazing at his job, he was kind and nice and caring and and and.  But I didn't have the time to sit and listen to every detail of his job and his grandchildren and his dog and his everything else so I was glad when he stopped calling every week.  When he withdrew.  And now he's dead.

I'm sure that I wouldn't have been the one to save him.  But I never saw it coming.  I never tried.  And now I feel guilty.  Me and probably hundreds of other people.  I thought of calling him, but I didn't.  I worried, but I didn't do anything about it.  I asked if anyone else heard from him, and they didn't.  And I still didn't do anything.

And when I see his name it haunts me.  And everyone else who I've lost to suicide haunts me.  And everyone you've lost.  And everyone we almost lost.  And everyone we might lose.  And and and.

And my child.  My sensitive, emotional, compassionate, empathetic child who takes on the world with a heavy heart and open spirit.  The things that are most beautiful about him are the things that scare me most.

I know I can't save the world.  No matter how I joke about my job description reading "responsible for saving the world and other duties as assigned".  But I can try, dammit.

Point to all this?  Call someone today.  Shoot an email.  Or a text.  Leave a comment on a neglected blog.  Poke a friend.  Ping a friend.  Be a friend.

And most of all, know you are loved.
Deeply.

In other news, Jake is just getting over a pussy pus-filled purulent case of impetigo. 
That was gross.

I came back from a (fabulous) couple days down in Baltimore to a spotty mugged kid.  He told me he ate something red and was picking his nose.  I gave him some Benedryl and Caladryl and sent him to bed.  Two days later, his face exploded.

Lovely.

I adore being treated like a leper by all the moms on the street and bus and doctor's office.  Listen bitches, unless your kid rubs its nasty little face on his face, you can't get it.  And thank you for the unsolicited advice about vaccinations and hand sanitizer, but this isn't chicken pox and I don't believe in hand sanitizer.  Let's tally how many times your kid was sick versus how many times my kid was sick and we'll talk about hand sanitizer then, mmkay?  Right.  Thanks.  And he is vaccinated.  Even though that still doesn't prevent chicken pox 100% of the time so cut the lip and turn around and mind your own.

It's funny because back in my day and the days that followed, it would be nothing to see a scabby faced kid running amok.  And we all knew that as long as they were scabs and not open lesions, the coast was clear.  Now it's so rare that a few spots has people running and closing the sunshades on the strollers (yes) and switching seats on the train and crossing the room while checking in to see the doc.  Poor Jake.  He was upset that everyone stared at him and moved away from him for a few days.  He thought it was rude, and asked me if he looked ugly.  I think so too, and I told him never.  Spotty, yes.  Ugly, no.

And then I almost kissed him on his face. 

Almost.

Here's a shot from a couple weeks ago, back when he was less contagious:

I'll let that tide me over until he's been on antibiotics for another day or two.  You know, just to be safe.

I'm here to admit two things today.

Thing one: I think some women look damned good with mustaches.  I don't think I'm one of them, but there are a few ladies out there who look great with a little hair on their upper lip.  I wouldn't have said this years ago, but after being at a men's group awhile back (okay, it was in a prison, but whatever) where men were brainstorming what they looked for in a woman and mustaches were at the top of the list (did I mention that this group was run in Spanglish?), I began to see things a little bit different.  Oh and bee tea double you before I forget, ten to twenty extra pounds were also high up there.

But who am I to say anything?  I like to look at men with boobs.  Like, store-bought girly ones.  Not moobs.  Although sometimes a well-formed moob isn't so bad either.

Did you know men can get breast cancer too?  Chickedy check yerself before you rickety wreck yerself, gentlemen.  If you have nice big tits, give me a call and I'll gladly show you how to run a self-exam.

Anyway.

Thing two: I'm going to openly declare that I've read Gone with the Wind.  Despite the fact that I felt like a Klansman the whole time I was reading it.  I'm also going to admit that I liked it.  So much that I considered following it up with Mein Kampf, but I haven't found a copy of that lying in someone's trash.

Oh yeah, I trashpicked GwwW.  I was young and poor and I didn't want to buy a copy and have people think I was a Supremacist or anything.

Also?  I tore off the front cover so I could read on the bus and in the park.  I hang out in a lot of black neighborhoods between 9 and 5, and I didn't want to get hatecrimed.

Thing 2b:  Jake has a General Lee toy at my mom's house.  It has little buttons on the back that play the horn (Dixie) and one that makes the car say "yeee haw".  It's a pretty awesome toy.

With a Confederate Flag on top.

And one day I let Jake pick two toys to take to the nursing home where my grandma lives and he picked his "Generally car" and Green Eggs and Ham.  I never thought anything of it until a team of nurses came in to help my grandma out of bed.  And they were all black.  And Jake was showing them the ins and outs of it all.  "This is my Generally and it's a Dodge Charger and this isn't a ten it's a oh-one and this is the X on top and it stands for the Dukes (yeee haw) hear that?  That's the battle cry".

I wanted to effing die.  I may as well have pulled Mimi's sheets over my head and burned the cross that hangs above the mirror.

Fast forward almost a year to a couple weeks ago.  We took a family trip to the beach in New Jersey.  On the beach in New Jersey there are boardwalks.  On the boardwalks there are t-shirt shops.  Lots and lots of t-shirt shops.  They are basically cut-rate silkscreen shops where  you can get anything on any shirt.  Sort of like the old iron-on t-shirt kiosks in the mall from the 80's.  A lot like that, actually.

Most shirts have everything to do about drinking and drugs and sex and motorcycles and machismo and being either Irish or Italian or owned by a man.  Some of you are familiar with these stores.  Even if it's only from the critically acclaimed docudrama Jersey Shore.
Here's a random sampling of the least offensive ones I've seen:

So, yeah.

But this time around I saw lots of Confederate Flags.
Now, this is the N'awath.  Up here in the N'awath a Confederate Flag is tantamount to a swastika.  A symbol of hatred and racism and- well- hatred and racism.

We all don't take too kindly to Confederate Flags here in these parts.

It was really uncomfortable to see it, right there outside of a store, flying freely on a t-shirt.  The two shirts that seemed quite popular was one that said "You wear your X and I'll wear mine" over top of the Confederate flag.

The "X" the shirt was referencing was the Malcolm X x.  You know, the movie?  With the letter X as a logo?  The MOVIE with a letter X as a LOGO?  It's an effing movie logo and no one has worn it for fifteen frigging years!  Sure Malcolm X was a little bit heavy handed in the white devil thing for awhile there.  But where do you think that came from?  Right.  And he mellowed out after some time.  And went on to be one of the most influential human rights leaders the world has ever seen.  So, I'm going to go with calling billshut on the "you wear yours and I'll wear mine" thing.

T-shirt number two that was all over the place was a Confederhate flag over the words "if this is offensive to you, you  need a history lesson".  I'm well versed in American history, thank you.  Yes, it's a bit slanted to the North.  Yes, it's a bit geared towards all men being created and treated as equals.  And yes, it's coming from deep within the SIDE THAT WON, but I'm well-versed.  And I am quite sure that history teaches us that the Confederacy pretty much stood and fought for the rights of rich white people enslaving black people.  And, you lost.  Bad.  End of lesson.  But I'm open to hearing something different, so have at it in the comments if there's another side to the story you think I should know about.

So, yeah.  Confederate flags in New Jersey.  Not surprising, considering that New Jersey has the highest concentration of supremacist in the country.  Or at least did, years ago.  I'd Google that but I'm at work and the last thing I want on my work computer is proof that I'm looking into hate groups.  And not surprising with all this Tea Party garbage spreading around amongst our nation's racists and illiterates and assholes elite Conservatives.  And not surprising with the rise of popularity in a false post-911 Patriotism and country music.  I think a lot of people see the Confederate flag as a trendy symbol of nitty-gritty gravied-biscuit down-homeyness, and don't think twice about what it really is.

But I'll always see it as a symbol of intolerance and violence and hatred.

And Looossssserrrss.

All hail the mighty Union, defenders of Might and Right.

What did Jake have to say about all this?  "Hey mom!  I want one of those real cool Generally shirts!  Please please please if I promise to be good!"
"No."