In Order To Be Returnable, There Must Be Death

Not long ago I was watching Elmo with a very charming young man named Joe. In this riveting segment, Elmo was asking his goldfish Dorothy questions, and I'll be goddamned if she wasn't answering them!

Each time the E Man interpreted another tidbit of the sage advice of Miss Dorothy, I became more and more enthralled. I had to have one of these fish, so it could start talking to me as soon as possible.

Alright - cut to reality: I don't believe that shit. I know fish only talk to other fish. They aren't going to give up their magical watery speech skills to some red furry Plaza de Sesamo character. Sheesh, what kind of nutbag do you take me for?!

Anywho, despite my irritation at Elmo's attempts to trick me, I was getting a warm fuzzy over Dorothy. I remember my first fishbowl with it's two crap feeder goldfish in it, and how excited I was to have them for the 42 hours they lived.

I remember my dad taking us on a rainy afternoon to the local aquarium store to pick out our goods, and then helping me and my brother each put our fish bowl together. They were round, glass bowls complete with colored gravel, plastic plants, and the token must-have treasure chest.

I loved having a pet in my room and eventually our bowls turned into full-fledged fish tanks with all the fixings. I still remember falling asleep under the soft glow of the tank light and the hum of the air pump.

Ahh those were the days.....

Two weeks ago, I decided to indulge my nostalgia and went to Petsmart. I already had a bowl set up, and I decided ahead of time I was going to get me a couple of scrappy feeder goldfish to go in it. Recapture a bit of the good ole day's glory.

I had a touch of that little kid excitement too [ok - big touch] as I entered the store and started perusing the tanks. Fish, fish, fish, expensive fish, ugly fish, who would want that fish?, saltwater fish, glowy fish, tiny fish - where are the feeders man?!

Eventually I work my way back to where I started, and next to all the fancy goldfish I see a big empty tank. They were out. Noooooooo!

Like a seven year old, I was hell bent on instant gratification. I was going home with fish goddamnit!

I then proceeded to make a big mistake. I bought Ethel and Enid.

I have had fancy goldfish in the past and it has never worked out. They're snotty, spoiled and superficial. And then just so you can hate them that much more, they go and die right away so you can weep as you flush your $5.99 down the toilet.

What was I thinking?! Fancy goldfish?! Eck! As soon as I got them home, I knew I should have held out for my scrappy little faves, the feeders. Talk about an attitude of gratitude! They know how grim their prospects are. How you could have fed them to your snapping turtle or pet piranha or dumped them in bleach water like a certain brother I know. Their every move screams "thank you!" and you have just got to love them for that.

Alright, well so I fucked up, but I am a commitment girl so Ethel and Enid are going to shack up with me for as long as they haunt this earth.

If I hadn't been thinking like a kid, I would have got me some guppies. At least they are small and darty and you never know when they are going to splooge out some babehs - God's miracle every one of them.



But I digress.....back to E & E.

They are annoying as hell. My visions of relaxing evenings sipping a glass of wine, gazing at my peaceful little fishy duo are blown out. These two will not be any help in lowering my blood pressure.

For starters, they can't swim worth a shit. Everyday looks like it is their first day behind the fin. Most of the time they just look like they are trying not to float up to the top. They fight over the food like there isn't a thousand little flakes there floating for them to share. They're pretty much ungrateful little biotches........and I am stuck with 'em.

And we come full circle: When I was leaving the store that fateful day, the sales girl tells me that they have a return policy on their fancy goldfish. If they eat it within 14 days of purchase, and you have your receipt AND the dead fish, [she told me twice I had to have the carcass on me] they will give you a refund or store credit.

Well that little ray of hope blew out yesterday. Today is Day 15 and as I type this those two gaping fools are over there still trying to get the swimming thing down. Damn.

Super Power Ball Me!

I have given up all dreams of self earned grandeur for my life. I'm an American, goddamnit! I shouldn't have to work hard, or take responsibility for myself.

That sort of tomfoolery is for the Russians or something.

I on the other hand will be playing lotto from now on. Like a fiend.

I will let you know when I make it to the Big Spin baby - wish me luck!

Don't Let Another Child End Up Stoopid Like Me

The amazing Back To School sales going on right now at the warehouse office supply stores make it easy and inexpensive to help out students in need!

Too many kids go back to school each year without the tools they need to excel in the classroom. This is unnecessary - and easy to fix.

So how can you get involved? Glad you asked! Following are a few organizations that could use your gift.

C.A.S.A. - Court Appointed Special Advocates together with its state and local members, is to support and promote court-appointed volunteer advocacy for abused and neglected children so that they can thrive in safe, permanent homes. School supplies donated to C.A.S.A. enable their advocates to share with the children they are paired with. For more information on a branch in your area, click here

Foster an A+ by contributing to a local Sleep Train location's school supply drive to benefit children that are part of the California Foster Care system. You can visit their site and find by going here

I Love Schools is an online program aimed at matching classrooms with the people who can help them get the school supplies they need. Read through teachers' wish lists to see if there are any school supplies you are willing to donate. You may also post a "donor offer" and let teachers contact you if they are interested in the items you would like to give. You can find out more here

Want to go international with your donation? Awesome! Here are a couple of ideas.

Operation Iraqi Children does amazing work for the Children of Iraq. They have ongoing needs for school supplies. For an outline of what they need and how you can pitch in, please visit there site here

Have you read or heard of the amazing book Three Cups of Tea? The Central Asia Institute was born out of Greg Mortenson's incredible work in Pakistan and Afghanistan. They continue to aid central Asia in educating it's youth. To find out how you can help them, please click here

Operation Action Packed! sends small toys and school supplies to our deployed troops so that they may share them with the children they encounter incountry. You can visit OAP's site by clickinr here OAP also ships reserve supplies to an organization in Afghanistan, Women Of Hope, that aids Afghan women and their children rebuild. More can be found out about WOHP at there site here

Just want to keep it super simple? That's easy -- simply shop till you drop and take a quick drive over to your favorite school (one in a low income district will probably be able to make even more of an impact with your generosity). In most cases, you can drop off your donation at the main office and the supplies will be distributed to those most in need.

Typical supply needs include:

* lined paper
* pens and pencils
* rulers
* erasers
* highlighters
* dry-erase markers
* overhead projector transparency sheets
* overhead projector markers
* paperclips
* binders
* report covers
* staples and a stapler
* construction paper
* glue sticks
* markers
* tape
* art supplies (for elementary and art classes)
* text and reference books

Many of these items are less than a dollar each right now! Dollar stores are always a great place to shop for school supplies as well.

There are many ways you can help a student.

We don't need any more tit-a-whirl operators over here at Daniellaland, so I hope this has inspired you to reach out through an organization that shares your vision.

You can make a difference for these kids!

Thank you,

DL

Funny Fecal Friday

Scroll down, smile and have yourself a little chuckle because this shit right here is funny. Happy Friday!

Joe's Special

How can I put this? Joe's Special isn't all that....well...er...special. Don't get me wrong, I love me some JS, but the specialness definitely lies in how unsophisticated it is.

I first enjoyed this dish at Original Joe's, a restaurant that has been in my hometown since the 1950s.

Being part of a large Italian family, many occasions called for a trip downtown and a big booth at Original Joe's. Many traditional, Italian old world specialties are on their menu.

My first OJ memories are of large, white oval plates of steaming ravioli in hearty Bolognese sauce. I think The Adults ordered that for me on every visit until I was street legal. Left to my own vices as an adult, I definitely got more adventuresome on my travels through the menu. One day I happened upon Joe's Special. That moment began the love affair that lives on to this day.

So just where did Joe get his special?

According to legend: Folklore has it that a customer ordered a spinach omelet very late one night. The customer asked the chef if he had anything else available to cook. The chef replied he had some hamburger left. The customer asked him to throw some of the hamburger into his omelet. The dish became so popular that they eventually put it on the menu. ~Original Joe's website

A simple pairing of flavors and ingredients that comes together to be absolutely delicious -- and satisfying.


To begin, heat olive in a skillet and brown ground chuck (I used ground buffalo because I prefer the taste and leanness of the meat,and it was still de-lish).



Once meat is mostly cooked through add finely chopped onions, garlic, and after a couple of minutes, the chopped spinach (I used fresh spinach but frozen would be fine as well).

Once the onions, garlic and spinach have had time to soften, add eggs and cook through until not runny.



The rule of Joe's Special is one egg for each person you are serving.

Beat 'em!

Salt and pepper to taste, then your ready to plate! A little grated Pecorino Romano cheese on top is the perfect finish. In the OJ's tradition, serving this tastiness with fresh, crusty sourdough bread is highly recommended.

Manga!

The other thing of beauty about this recipe is how well it lends itself to your own creativity too. Have some mushrooms in the fridge? Throw those bad boys in with the onion and garlic. Summer time tomato calling your name from that bowl on the counter? In it goes! Have a bell pepper that is just asking for it? You know what to do..... And there you have it -- Joe's Special just keeps on getting more specialer.

Looking for a more regimented recipe? I think the OJ's San Francisco adaption will do.

Original Joe's Special
Source: Original Joe's, a restaurant in San Francisco
Serves: 4

1 pound ground chuck
1 box of frozen spinach
2 medium onions (sliced thin)
1 clove of garlic
1 egg per person
Olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Drain spinach and squeeze out as much moisture as possible. Set aside.

Brown onions and garlic. Add crumbled meat. Sauté until it loses red color. Mix constantly. Add spinach bit by bit, and stirring in.

Break eggs into skillet and stir constantly. May be served immediately or allowed to brown further.

A Miracle Is Never Old News

I heard about this when it first hit the news, and I have been meaning to do a post ever since.

Long story short, apparently God so loved the world he decided to send his virgin mother's image to us....in the form of......loose stool from a bird's pipe.

I'm not making this shit up. ABC and many other news agencies actually reported on it.

A miracle. Moved by the grace of the spirit. Touched by a bird's ass.

What?! Come on, people aren't really buying this crap, (full pun intended party people) are they?

If you watch the video, there is no shame in anyone's game as they gush over the miraculousness of dried poo on some dude's truck mirror.

They're full of it, right? I mean, come on. Our creator actually expects us to draw the sacred from this? In these troubled times, what message are we supposed to take away?

Bird poo? Really?

But what if....

What if the Divine really is trying to shine through shit? Trying to reach out to us. Send a message. Let's suspend doody disbelief, and go with it. However, I offer you this: The supposed miracle detailed above is simply not grandiose enough.

Here is how I like to envision it.

A zookeeper enters the Elephant enclosure early on a Sunday morning. The zoo won't open for visitors for several hours, so it's very quiet as he works. The hills in the background are misty and the there is a golden Sun Ray coming down right over the pen. A truly glorious morning. After water troughs are replenished and hay bins refilled, Jesus grabs his shovel and prepares to muck out the stalls.

As he enters the enclosure the sight before him takes his breath away. There on the concrete floor is a giant pile of dung, and in the center is a perfect image of the heavenly father. Swathed in a deep red robe, one hand outstretched, the other over his heart. He smiles peacefully as he lovingly looks up at Jesus. His halo and the surrounding divinity glow coming through the pile have filled the room with a soft yellow light.

This humble zookeeper can't believe his eyes. As he steps closer a voice emanates from the heap before him, "Jesus my son, I love you and I want you to be happy."

As tears stream down his face he replies, "Yes Father, thank you for showing yourself to me. I have loved you all of my life."

After a few moments, the image starts to fade and the light around this miracle starts to dim. Seeing this, Jesus fills with urgency. Surely, there must be something God has come to tell him to do. A special task he must carry out to save the world.

He stammers, "My father, before you go, is there any way I can serve? I am here to do your will."

God smiles again and says, "Yes my son there is. Clean up this shit."

The Book Of Ruth - Chapter One

Fixer-uper Puppy

Ten years ago today I brought Ruth home. Well actually We brought Ruth home. You see, back then I was married and it was the other half of the We, John, that wanted to bring Ruth home.

I admit I started it. My not-so-subtle pleading to at least go down to the Humane Society and look around had finally paid off -- or so I thought.

August 4th 1999 was our third trip down to the pound. Our house was small and we were on the hunt for a petite pooch to match. Our previous two visits the preceding weeks were Pit Bull and Shepherd mix adventures. No-go.

This visit was shaping up about the same. Row after row of large breed puppies and large breed adult dogs watched us walk up and down the rows of runs. There was the occasional small dog garnish amongst them but they were all on adoption hold already. We were never going to find a dog this way.

As I frowned into one of the last runs full of Shepherd mix puppies, I marveled at the little brown dog toy they had in there when I realized it was moving. What in the french toast was going on here?!

John caught up to me, and as I pointed, his smile confirmed that my eyes were not deceiving me. A tiny, brown scraggly little puppy was sitting in the middle of this pack of dogs destined for great...size. Each time they tried to play with her it looked more like a pummeling. Paws on head, playful nosey nudges pushing this little thing right over.

Bummer for that puppy or squirrel mix, or whatever, I thought as I walked towards the exit. But John was not so quick to follow. "Where are you going? This could be the dog for us."

Um, what?! I only agreed to the strict size limit on the prospective puppy because I thought I was going to end up with a CUTE one!

This is a cute puppy.












This is a cute puppy.

This.....not so much.













Alright, alright.....but still...


















Before I can even spell UGLY, John has hurried off in search of an adoption counselor. Five minutes later he returns. Alone. "She's already on hold" he tells me in a disappointed tone. Whew! That was close. As we leave, the woman who had helped John stopped us to tell us that if the potential adopter doesn't pass muster during the scheduled interview that was to take place that evening, She-It would be back up for takers starting the following morning.

Oh great.

There we were bright and early the next morning; arriving when the Humane Society opened. We waited to speak to someone, and were informed She-It was off of adoption hold and back on the market.

Apparently the woman who wanted to adopt her had what else but a big dog at home. Since that Rottweiler of hers was an adult, it made the environment for She-It unsafe by HS standards, and her application was denied.

Oh great.

We followed the woman out to the kennels and the little brownish clump of steel wool managed a half wag as we approached. As John stepped into the run and picked She-It up, a yellow sprinkling hit his jacket. "She peed on you!" I screeched. Unfazed, John held She-It close and softly dismissed my resistance with, "She's a fixer-uper puppy"

Oh great.

Get A Brian Morons - Go USA!

If you don't love this picture, then you my friend, do not love this country. Might as well put your shit in a shoebox now and get on the next plane to France.

This picture encompasses all of what is right and good about the USA. Well, not really, but it's funny as hell!

Let's start at the top, shall we?

White stars on blue do-rag is fabulous. I like to think this piece of patriotic headgear is covering a red stripe of faux-hawk to round out the theme. And if we look closely, our friend has a healthy amount of hair coming out the back there. I think I might have to call a Mullett Alert. The Go USA Mullet -- the ultimate in patriotism. It's one thing to die for your country. It's a whole different sacrifice to look like an idiot for life for it.

On the subject of hair: a moment of respect and deference for this man's Magnum PI would be nice of you.

Right now I am wishing that I was more of a sports buff so I could find some witticism about his shirt, but I got nothing. I do love the hint of the shed he is building to cover his tool we get under that shirt though. Niiice.

Now we come to the signage - it's just so perfect! Or purfect.

And hell yeah - GO USA! Who wouldn't want those morans to get a brain?

I encourage all of you to get out there and follow this man's lead -- show your nation something GO USA! about you!

Ay! Dios Mi!

Yo quiero what the fuck?! Is this summer of celebrity death ever going to end?! I can't take it -- too much loss.

The Taco Bell chihuahua is dead. Yes, you read that correctly: muerto.

Ed McMahon, Farrah, MJ, Billy Mays, Walter Cronkite -- not enough -- no, no the Grim Reaper's appetite for death was still unquenched, so he took his vengeance outside the bun.



Gidget is gone. Apparently she just stroked out on Tuesday evening and no quantity of steaming Chalupa or piping hot Churro could save her. She was 73 (about 15 in dog years).

Her trainer confirmed the sad news stating, "She made so many people happy." Amen sister, amen.

What Would You Do If I Sang Out Of Tune?

A while back a friend of mine once told me that her therapist always advised paying attention to those songs that just seem to pop into your head. The notion intrigued me so I started to consider these lyrical, potential messengers.

My brain pops up with a myriad of theories for each tune's visit.

Last week I was sitting on the toilet, (honoring a number onesy call) with a thousand yard stare loosely focused on the Man Wall, when a song popped in. To be more accurate, just the first line of a song.

What would you do if I sang out of tune?

Where in the hell did that come from? I don't care for the Beatles -- or that song -- nor do I even recall hearing it any time in the recent past.

But see, that's the thing. Your brain just bubbles this stuff up to the surface, and then you kick it around like a beach ball until you like where it settles - or just get tired.

I had to sit and think for a second what the next line of that song even is, then it came to me.

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Ahh -- now we are getting somewhere. I don't know why both lines didn't show up in my gray matter at the same time, but I do know that considering both lines made more sense and ended up resonating with me.

I always grapple with loyalty and acceptance. Not so much as to whether or not I can offer those in my relationships, as I think I am pretty damn good at it actually. I struggle more with being secure in knowing that I have those elements in my relationships, and therefore can relax and just be. More simply put: I [still] need to learn I don't have to take care of everybody to be accepted.

In trying to remember more of the song, [that again, I don't even like] I got a whole lot of nothing, until part of the chorus came to me.

I get by with a little help from my friends

Alright party people, this is where the shit gets heavy. Deep.

As I ponder, I'm redefining friend in my head. It becomes more of a representative term for everyone who loves me, a broader category than their title of Friend, Family, Chicken Fucker, if you will.

And that brought me to the final piece of the Name That Tune Introspection puzzle.

I absolutely get by with a little help from my friends. Actually, I thrive with a little help from my friends. If you do stand up and walk out, I will get by. Your retreat may come as a blindsiding gut punch, but someone who loves me will have their arms out as I fall backward like a drunken sailor.

A day may come where I am just too "out of tune" for you. You may be living and loving blissfully tone deaf for 20 years and then one day, off you go. Who knows. The future can't be told.

For now, I guess I have to live by the words of the stinkin Beatles anyway, cause the shit just makes sense to me.

Live without regret and the rest will all come out in the wash. **

I take it all back. I think it was just a reminder that I am a craptacular singer, so mark that off of the Ways I Might Be Able To Make A Fortune list. Oh well. On to the next item: Stunt double for Liza Minnelli.


**I just typed that, impressed myself with the poignancy, then googled it to see if anyone else has posted it before. Holy crap - I think I might have just come up with a quotable quote!

Hey Peter, I Can Smell Your Ass From Here

I am dedicating today's post to my cousin Ruth. She was on a flight yesterday that included the distinct nasal experience of having a seat at the back of the plane.

This same letter was sent to me by a friend after I had my own experience of this special kind a few years ago.

Seat 29e -- Airline Bathroom Row

Grande Pessismisto?

I have to work really hard at being optimistic. I just don't have light roots. My tethers are darker and heavier than many. This is not to say that I am always in Half Empty mode. I meant it when I wrote I work hard to spend most of my time at Half Full. I think I have made some pretty good strides over the years, but I suspect if I didn't work at it, I could be a Grande Pessismisto - no foam, extra whip of course.

So this morning I am sitting at my desk thinking that this all is just fucking great. By "all" I mean my life. I got into this head space where I am wondering where the hell I am going and what am I doing anyway? I even made a list for god knows what reason.

I will spare my vast readership the oodles of optimism embedded in the list. Highlights include being a lard ass, one of my neighbors wanting to sue me (and not for having said lard ass), and a couple of fall-on-my-face failures.

So where am I going with this? We all have problems. It always occurs to me how inherently lazy and spoiled it is of me to sit and complain -- even to myself .

I need to turn this around.

Stoopid, (I like to spell it that way) self-congratulating Oprah always talks about her stoopid gratitude journal....."Write five things everyday for which you have gratitude". Whatever Oprah.

But still, it is a good idea.

Let's see if I can turn my mental frown into at least a straight face...

1. I live in Santa Cruz. I may have crappy neighbors, and a little isolation going on, but it could get a hell of a lot worse than owning a home in a coastal Northern California town.

2. I have choices and resources. e.g., I can choose to learn from my failures and take that into my future. I can afford to bolster my job training with some online courses (even if it is boring-ass, tedious bookkeeping).

3. My brother showed up in the middle of my Monday Mental Meltdown and offered to run an errand for me, make a repair to my vehicle, and replace my broken smoke alarm. Thanks bro!

4. I am a fortunate person -- I have food in my fridge, I'm not schizophrenic, I won a free rent lottery once, etc.

5. There's a donut in my kitchen right now....and some hot coffee.

Bonus two things because I like the number seven as much as I like the number five.

6. There are some awesome people out there who care about me. -- Not much more to say than that -- it's a huge gift.

7. I have Now. The potential is limitless.

Now you do it. What fills you with gratitude?

And let's be original people -- no, "Well I don't have Schizophrenia either - done."

The Menu

I am trying to be a big girl (in the preparation and maturity department, not the ass width department) so I have been planning out meal ideas before going to the grocery store. My next five dinners are slated as follows:

Rosemary Chicken Burger with *fries and sauteed Zucchini.
(I saw Giada make this forever ago, but couldn't seem to get anyone too excited about a non-beef burger. Well I'm excited about it!)

Stuffed Eggplant with Romano topped Angel Hair
(My stepmom donated the fixins for the eggplant (thank you, thank you) so now I just have to pull the pasta together - love it!)

Salami and Munster Panini with fries and steamed Broccoli
(I saw Emeril make this yesterday. Looked so easy, and mmm-mmm good!)

Honey Lime Pork with Jasmine rice and sauteed Green Beans
(The sauce is so easy and so delish that I am remaking it again from it's maiden voyage on my palette just last week.)

Campanelli in Red Sauce with mini Chicken Meatballs and sauteed Zucchini
(I'm going to have chicken left over from those Rosemary Burgers, so......)



*Don't know what it is about fries lately. Usually I can take em or leave em, but they have just hit the spot lately on a few different occasions.......there goes the ass width department...

Edit: The Rosemary Garlic Chicken Burger recipe can be found here. -- By the way, this recipe is the perfect opportunity to try out that new mayo made with olive oil for an even healthier, but juicy burger!

The Honey Lime Pork recipe is here. Technically a chicken recipe, it was (I think) equally delicious made with pork loin fillets I sliced into thin strips and dusted in flour. I then wok fried them in some olive oil, poured the sauce over the top, tossed, and sprinkled with sesame seeds. I did take her advice and double the sauce. This ensures you have plenty should you decide to share it with your rice.

Enjoy!

The View

My yard needs some serious weeding and trimming. I feel a little guilty that I haven't gotten out there and done it yet, so I tend to turn away with a little bit of a wince when I let the dog out. Well that resistance to taking a real look, caused me to almost miss this little beauty.



I am a craptacular photographer, but trust me -- it's a pretty little trumpet vine flower smiling at me from the fence.

So I would like to take the moral of today's post from the cranky bitches on that morning show that I love to hate to watch their douchebaggery: Take a little time to enjoy the view. *gag*

Yesterday

What I missed because I couldn't find time in my busy schedule of arguing with someone all day to get to Hollister. Gah!

My brother (center) competed in the steer roping at the Hollister Rodeo - Go bro!

Nice - Giddy Up!

The Best Thing I Have Heard Today

"A Handjob is still a job, okay?"

~ Terry of Tacos, Tacos, Tacos, Tacos (Reno 911)
after getting caught on the intersection camera
giving handjobs for $3.00 each during the red lights

I Love A Good Lecture!

Anthony Bourdain had a speaking engagement at the Flint Center in Cupertino, and I was there baby! I can prove it.

Oh my god, there he is!

This photo may be slightly clearer...maybe [I didn't take this one, by the way]

What an entertaining evening! AB is interesting, engaging, intelligent, honest and not afraid to be pretty damn candid - love it!

In addition to being quite an accomplished chef in his own right, AB is also an author and host of No Reservations on the Travel Channel. To some he may be considered a bit of an acquired taste, but I like to think to many more he is a refreshingly honest voice in today's food culture in this country.

Some of the highlights:

Thinks Vegetarianism is fundamentally just rude, and wasn't afraid to say so as he supposed the veges in the audience didn't have enough strength to get too angry. The idea that someone cooked for you, extended their hospitality and generosity and then would have that refused seems horrible rude to AB. [This was ultimately why my attempts at vegetarianism failed. When applying it around others, I felt awkward and rude all the time.]

He is not a huge fan of Guy Fieri and thinks his bling makes it virtually impossible for sanitary food handling to be taking place. [Something to think about there people...]

IS a Mario Batali fan. [Bravo!]

Considers Sandra Lee's Kwanzaa cake one of the most painful television pieces to ever hit Food Network. [I agree; it is horrible -- I keep waiting for her to make a formal apology. It really is an all new low on her "cooking".]

AB resides in New York, but Vietnam is in his top five places he would want to live. [You just don't hear about people falling in love with Vietnam all that often.]

Have You Told A Doughnut You Love It Today?

I made these........and I love them.



What are these little blobs of fabulousness, you ask? These gently oil bathed orbs of sugar-coated delight?

They are pizza dough doughnuts, and they are friggin awesome!

I used store bought plain pizza dough and tore it off into small clumps. A let them warm up a little bit on a cutting board while I heated some oil and then the fun began! In batches of two or three at a time, they blossomed into all sorts of shapes as they cooked. It didn't take more than a couple of minutes to do each batch. After I set them on a paper towel for a minute, I just rolled them in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar and grabbed a big cup of coffee.

Crispy and sweet on the outside, warm and slightly chewy on the inside, and yummy all over!

Alviso

Yesterday I wandered around Alviso for a little while. Technically a part of northern San Jose, Alviso's small town atmosphere and tidal marshes make it seem like it is miles from the techno hustle and bustle of Silicon Valley.

Settled in the 1700's, Alviso's golden era was between 1849 and 1864 as a major shipping port for San Jose.



With the growth of the railroad system, the use of Alviso's ports declined, and by the 1970s the community was largely overshadowed by the growth of San Jose.

Now what greets you when you pull into town are a few established restaurants, a smattering of maintained homes amongst several dilapidated residential areas, and a tiny harbor with many of the boats stuck in their places by the low water and high reeds.



If you jump over to one of the roads that run the outskirt, you will come upon the Don Edwards Wildlife Refuge. Don wasn't there when I arrived, but there was a little bit of small town animal action already in progress. In true well-prepared douche fashion, I only had the camera on my phone with me so apologies in advance for the following photographic crappiness.

Just before the refuge's parking lot, I encountered a waterfowl road block. Two geese and their three little fuzzy goslings were apparently taking a cue from the chicken they heard about, [Sorry -- I know that was awful, but I couldn't resist] and were crossing the road. Everyone makes it, but only two of the dark gray and neon yellow babies can seem to get over the curb to the embankment. Due to their strict No Gosling Left Behind policy, a very challenging parenting moment ensues.

I guess it doesn't matter what species your kids are, they are going to melt down when there is an audience, as there are three cars watching now. The first approach Mom and Dad try is the ole "Bye - we're leaving. You better hurry up if you want to come with us." as they waddle up the dirt shoulder of the road. This tactic leaves G-3 peeping his head off and jumping against the curb without making any real progress in getting over it. Everyone stops and turns back to see if G-3 is bluffing, but he means business and is not happy. Now Father Goose realizes something must be done so he heads back out to the road to stand by G-3 while Mother Goose hangs in the shade on the embankment with G-1 and G-2.

At this point I think Father Goose pretty much leans in over G-3 and through clenched beak tells him to peep down, or he is going to get the beating of a lifetime when they make it to the marsh. [Don't judge -- Geese have to do what they have to do to get their kids ready for the rough and tumble avian life they have ahead of them.]

The talk seemed to work because G-3 shut the hell up, but his tantrum exhausted him. He ends up just laying down right there in the street next to his dad, who is begrudgingly protecting him from the mini-traffic jam of voyeurs.

Once Mother Goose sees G-3 go down from sheer flopsweat exhaustion, she hangs it up. There will be no trip to the marsh this afternoon. No doubt she was questioning some of the decisions she has made in her life as she walked G-1 and G-2 back down to the road to be with their Father and dim-bulb, lazy sib.

Who's in the middle wallowing there and feeling sorry for himself instead of trying harder....

Back out on one of the side roads from the refuge, was our next bird buddy. I think he said his name was Larry but I am not positive, because quite frankly, homeslice was pretty jumpy.



When I caught sight of his lunch, I realized why he was so nervous about giving any identifying information about himself.

Yeah, one bird eating another bird..........awkward.

I didn't really know what to say at that point. Larry was hopping around talking really fast about how he is some sort of vulture all of this normal in "nature" or whatever, and that he is an upstanding citizen who does all this community outreach work. I don't know dude, I'm not saying you don't give back, but what you were doing looked pretty sick, and if you were so okay with it then why all the squirellyness when I asked to take your pic (notice he didn't want to be photographed with his lunch)?

So, I hope Larry figures it out. It's hard to see the good vs evil struggle like that. I think there is some good in Larry, and I could tell he felt bad about what he was doing, but he was also getting really into his meal too, savoring it. At one point he was enjoying it so much, that he was actually standing ON it. Not pretty. I was able to snap a quick pic of him getting ready to dive back in with abandon before he caught me and starting screaming profanities and throwing rocks at the car. I had to get out of there to save myself.

Larry got really pissed at me right after I took this pic, so I had to jet. I wasn't going to wait around to see if he had a gun, or take a chance on ending up like the poor schmuck he was munching on. No thanks.

I will be honest with you, the encounter with Larry was pretty draining and I just wanted to be out of there and heading towards a cocktail.

Two cosmos found their way to me about a half hour later, and as I sat at the bar enjoying them, reflecting on the afternoon, I felt pretty damn good.

Horsemeat Anyone?.....Anyone?

Okay, I know I am a pain in the ass with my dreadfully dark topics sometimes, but I can't help it. My brain whirs all the time and sometimes it is a total buzzkill with the stuff it churns up.

Animal slaughter, and even more specifically, horse slaughter has been one of my latest points of ponderment (making the English language work for you people!).

For several years now I have been aware of/and researched somewhat the American animal slaughter market. The injustices (both to animals and humans), corruption, and downright filth, are way too broad of a topic to discuss here. However I do think I can scratch the surface on the horse slaughter issue, and that has been the focus of my musing lately.

It all started several months ago when I admitted how much, and how long I have had a crush on horses. It started as a kid with the Black Stallion books and an uncle who let my brother and I ride his Quarter Horse, Sugar Foot. As I got older, I just admired them, and the people who got to ride them, from afar. With this admiration came the knowledge that somewhere between calm, sweet Sugar Foot and the present, I had developed some fear.

My brother now has three horses and every time I get around them I feel anxious I am going to get stepped on and the notion of riding one of them fills my head with ugly fall scenarios; complete with broken bones. Yikeys!

Anywho, back to the crush*. I decided to seriously consider getting my own horse (under my brother's tutelage) and wanted to educate myself before making any final decisions.

I started with several books about horse care and "horse people" relating their experiences at all stages of equine knowledge. At the same time I added a few horse blogs to my morning lineup; including Fugly Horse of the Day and NorCal Equine Rescue. Lately both of these blogs have had several posts on the issue of horse slaughter in this country. I am sure it comes as no surprise that they are both staunchly opposed to horses being slaughtered and their meat being eaten. No shocker here either that many are for the slaughter and meat use of horse, and so the grand debate begins.

Currently in the US (and these could be rapidly changing in Montana) horse slaughter has been banned in most states sine the 1990s. Most of the horses purchased at livestock auctions in this country, are sent to Canada or Mexico for slaughter.

I do not regularly comment on blogs (other than my own) but yesterday I did weigh in at Norcal's blog on the slaughter issue.

Daniella said...

I think the work Nor Cal is doing is not only amazing, but wonderful. I have great respect and admiration for all of the work to help as many horses as possible.

The animal slaughter issue in general is a difficult one. Who are we as a nation to decide which animals are to be eaten and which to be spared, or made into pets?

We routinely, and by vast majority, inhumanely slaughter thousands of animals a day in this country alone for their meat. No, we do not currently slaughter dogs and cats for food in the United States, but is that to say other animals like cows and pigs and chickens are just plain more deserving of this fate?

Does that also mean European markets for horse meat are somehow wrong in comparison with our meat consumption?

I don't think it is about how many animals are killed and what we are doing with them.

I think we need to shift our thinking to one of a unified intolerance of any animal being inhumanely treated/slaughtered; no matter their human labeled status as "pet" or "food".

As humans, we have chosen to overlap our existence with many different species. If we respect that choice by making sure every animal we deal with has a dignified, peaceful life - and death, then I think we will have brought some much needed humanity and grace back into our interactions with these animals. That is what they deserve.

May 20, 2009 11:50 AM

So there you have it. Not the most eloquent comment in the world, but hopefully I got across my point that if we have dominion over an animal, it is our duty as humans to make sure that our time with them does not include inhumane or unnatural treatment.

Did my cheery look at such a lighthearted topic stir you to the point where you just have to know more?

Here you go:

Legislation information from the Animal Welfare Institute

The Montana chapter of the Quarter Horse Association jumps into the slaughter ring, but maybe not on the side of the issue you would think...

A surprising look into the horse meat black market in Miami

A Pro-slaughter article from the NY Times

A Fugly Anti-slaughter post



* Afternote: My equine education really showed me that I cannot afford a horse at this time. It didn't wipe out my crush though, so we shall see!

Does Anyone Have A Pocket Plunger?

This is the toilety little tale from a dinner I had with my brother and some other family at my uncle's house. My brother relocated up to Northern California for work about a year and a half ago and stayed with this aunt and uncle for about a month when he got into to town. Being the toilet seat Sal is, he gets a lot of tail and quickly went into Ladies Man mode and landed a waitress from the steakhouse across town. It had been a month or so and we were all dying to meet her. Finally, he brings her by after we are done eating, this particular evening.

I have no idea why Sal signs up for this, but of course my cousin instantly angles the conversation into "Tell your favorite Sal moment" stories, for the benefit of this girl -- and of course we all love to torture Sal. My uncle Joe goes first and we all know he is going to tell the Bedke story.

[Renactment photo]

The Bedke's are this ranching family in Nevada and all the boys in our family go out there every October to hunt. Soooo..... the Sal/ Bedke story is a fabulous tale about how Sal had too much whiskey at the little bar in town, walked the wall to the men's room to poo, and then was too drunk to get himself off of the toilet. He starts yelling from the stall to my cousin Victor to help him up so he can wipe his ass (sidenote: we believe Victor told Sal to fuck off when he asked him to hold him up and that when Sal did manage to make it off the toilet, no real ass wiping took place). But Sal insists he wiped his ass (with Victor's assistance) and then someone threw him into the truck and he passed out.

Either way, it's pretty funny and we love what a tool Sal can be. Everyone is laughing their asses off and his g.f. is now saying she is not going to ask about Sal stories anymore (Whatever! We got me where that came from sister - don't be shy!). Shortly after this, I notice Sal is rubbing his stomach.

He heads down the hall and disappears into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later he comes out and is looking all over until my uncle asks him what's up. He needs a plunger. That's right -- on the heels of Sal Toilet History telling, he just made some more by plugging up the toilet -- again! We are all just sitting in the kitchen laughing our asses off as he keeps looking for the plunger grumbling that "this house has fucked up plumbing" But we know what's fucked up -- it's Sal's ass!

My uncle then reveals that Sal has plugged up the loo at least four or five times at his house already. This alarms me -- not just for my uncle's future house values if all of the damn toilets blow out, but also for Sal. How many other toilets has he plugged? How many lives and pipes shattered in his colonic aftermath? Something had to be done.

But what to do, what to do? In an effort to assist everyone involved, my cousin Ruth and I suggest a pocket plunger. We are summarily flipped of by Captain Turd himself. Not very nice when people are trying to help...sheesh.


*My dear Shannon, this was not a recent trip to the Roy. I don't want you thinking I would be rolling into town after all of this time without seeing you!

Alarm Apathy Followed By Stupidity

I have yet another reason to hate Santa Cruz........even though this really has nothing to do with the actual city. This is about my lame neighbors. But still....they're in Santa Cruz.

Some Background

I got a phone call at 9:00 on Sunday night from the property manager of my condominium complex. [I was not in Santa Cruz at the time.] Her voice mail informed me that the police had been called and were out in front of my house because a neighbor called about a loud beeping noise coming from my unit. I called the property manager back within fifteen minutes of her message, but I got her voice mail. Being disturbed by the fact that the police had been called, I didn't feel like just waiting for her to call me back, so I called the Santa Cruz Police non-emergency phone number to try and get some information. They informed me that one of my neighbors had called them about this beeping, and that they claimed it had been going on for three days. Apparently the police checked for smoke or any other obvious issues, found none, and then left. Shortly after this call, I did speak to the property manager. During the call I told her that I suspected it was the smoke alarm, and that there was a key hidden if someone wanted to go in and check on my house. Now don't let the title of Property Manager fool you, this woman had no intention of setting foot on the property, or managing anything. No, she just suggested I let it go another twelve hours or so and send someone over tomorrow to look in on the situation. Nice. Happy ending to the story came when DS Man self-motivated and got a hold of my celly and called me [my guess is that he was the one who called the property manager when the police showed up.] He was more than willing to locate the key and check on everything for me. It was indeed the smoke alarm making the noise, and he disarmed it. Thanks DS Man. Who would have thought he would be the hero in this story, but life likes to throw you those curves sometimes.


So there you have it. I left all of my massive irritation out of the background, but I am going to mad-dog infuse it into the next section.


Some Thoughts

Why in the fuck would you let the damn thing beep for three days?! Three days! Are you kidding me? Idiot -- I'm sorry -- that is sheer stupid right there.

Smoke alarms are pretty distinctive sounding. I am going to guess that if anyone went near my front door they would be able to determine that that was probably the culprit for the noise. Why would you ignore that -- for any reason?! Fires can spark and smolder for days before becoming full blazes. Smoke alarms are designed to detect that. Ignoring the alarm makes no sense to me. I am fortunate that it was not sounding for an actual fire because State Farm's motto don't apply at my place apparently.

So okay, shared walls and all, you don't care if my house burns down, but you do want some quiet. It's been three days, it's the end of the weekend, you're over it already. The beeping has got to stop. I get that. What I didn't know, but should have seen coming, is that dumb people employ dumb problem solving choices. They called the police. It is a condo complex with a circulated phone list of, and for, residents (one I should have been traveling with, by the way), and a property manager (I have her number in my phone, but it didn't do me much good.) and Brainiac calls the police. Don't they know that the police are not sanctioned by the city to slay the Beep Monster? I think only Captain Common Sense can do the killing.

And why in the world would you wait until Sunday night to contact anyone about resolving the issue? That is just another layer of Stupid on the already Stupid filled Stupid with hard Stupid shell. Even still, if it has to be Sunday night why wouldn't you just phone the property manager and have her call me?

If it were me, this is how three days of noise and possible danger could have been condensed down to about one hour of resolution and quiet. If we count backwards, the beeping started Friday apparently. I am waiting no more than a few hours, and that is after I have rung the bell and made sure I do not notice anything wrong while I am standing there. After that, I am calling the owner of that unit. If I do not get a hold of them, I am calling the property manager. Between the two, it would be reasonable to expect a call back as soon as possible and then we are on Resolution Road party people. No sitting on the mystery of the beep for days, and no complaining to the police who can't do anything about it. End of story.

I hate Santa Cruz.

Normal Thoughts With Daniella

* What kind of acne does a Feng Shui specialist get? Chi Zits

Holy crap that was funny, right?!

* This is the kind of wacky shit that goes through my head at 3:00a.m. when I can't sleep and then lay there long enough to feel hungry. Cheezits sounded good at the time, and I obviously had too much time to say the word over and over in my head......and then things went a little sideways.

Why I Love Facebook

I joined Facebook earlier this year, and I think it can be solidly categorized as one of my Best Choices For 2009.

As an avid people watcher, and someone who derives no better enjoyment than just watching someone being themselves, FB just simply hardly ever disappoints.

The best stuff seems to come from people I do not know very well. People who have found me after years of non-contact, or friends of friends that are more acquaintances. They throw it all out on FB and I just can't be more grateful!

I have tried to showcase here a few of my favorite kinds of stuff. Names have been changed lest a FB "friend" decides to try and sue me. I would hate to lose Lil Ruthy in a take-all lawsuit.

Okay, let's dig in......

Lord Help Meh!

"Mios Dios" wrote as a status update: "I need a vacation with my husband and Jesus I think the beach sounds good"

Really? A vacation with Jesus? What makes you think he would be such a great travel companion? Was it not his idea to spend 40 days and 40 nights in the desert?! Does that sound relaxing? Is that anywhere near -- or like -- a beach? I don't think so. Just because his year-round wardrobe was sandals and a toga doesn't mean he is going to be up for a party. And remember the little incident with the money changers? This makes me think Mr. J might be anti-The Man and looking right at you when the tab comes at the end of your big Funship with Jesus and Hubby Cruise. Rethink this and let Jesus get back to what he does best (I don't know what that is; I didn't know the man. Leave me alone.).


"Lacey Prayer" wrote as a status update: "I will not lose my joy today. I will not let Satan win."

Well that sounds like a good strategy, and I am all for it. Why should Satan win anyway? Doesn't he already have countless souls, the Mortal Sins, and all of the underworld?! Why should he get Lacey's day too - no way! I say Lacey Prayer - 1 Satan - 0 I'm rootin for ya girl! Where are my fire-proof ankle socks and Pope anointed pom-poms?

On another day Lacey had some potty training woes and lamented on her status update. It wasn't really all that riveting...until...one of her friends comments.

"Potty training is always a stressful time, especially with a baby in the house. Today in our Bible time we were talking about how Adam and Eve's sin affected all of mankind. I'm convinced that potty training ranks up there with pain in childbirth."

Okay, let's pull this crazy train back on the track here -- what?! I think childbirth hurts because one human is passing another human. You mean to tell me that process would tickle under more holy, sin-free circumstances? Hey lady, Do you tell that to everyone who has ordered one of those burritos that is newborn sized, or some poor soul who lost themselves at a cheese party? They are feeling the pain too. I say sin is going to have to suck it on this one.

Just plain TMI

"Trixie Chatterton" posted this as one of her status updates: "do not i repeat do not let hubby take naked pictures of u it will ruin your week!!!!! this is a warning do at your own mental health risk....."

I always love these people. The "Look at me! Compliment me!" peeps are always the first to come undone when they are jonesing for a "You are Fabulous!" fix. Praise thirsty = Endless entertainment. It would probably come as no surprise that Trixie has many home modeling self-portraits on her profile; complete with bikini shots and lots of boobage. And God love her, she has several hundred "friends" on FB from literally around the world...um...even though she has not traveled outside of the Western US. Good times.

"Toasted Pubes" wrote as a status update: "holy crap!!!!! lap top's should be called burn ur crotch tops....ouch!!!!"

Actually I think the burn is to alert you to the fact that you need to get the fuck off of Facebook and get a life! Yeah, I think that's it.

"Fake Fido" wrote "hey can someone tell me how to change my pet in pet society..."

Pet Society? How about real society? How about work society, as in -- get a J-O-B!

Um, What The Fuck Are You Talking About?!

"Jibberish McJibber" had this status update: "my cat, Taco, just wrote her first sonnet and, after considerable review I'm happy to report that it's perfect - 5 iambus per line for 14 lines. quite proud."


Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?!


Application Crapification

Apparently anyone with a FB account can create a quiz or some other silliness and then circulate it around faster than herpes at a rave. The applications have presets to post your quiz results or application uses on your profile so everyone and their uncle can see how many different lame ways you will resort to when wasting five to seven minutes of your life that you can never get back. Never get back.

The Best of the Worst:

"Appy Crappy" took the Ladys whats your best body part? quiz and the result is BUM

"Quiz Queen" just took the "What Beverly Hills 90210 Character Are You?" quiz and the result is Kelly Taylor.

"United Notions" completed the quiz "THE INNER NATIONALITY QUIZ: WHAT ARE YOU REALLY?" with the result You are Russian. .

"Swal Low" completed the quiz "Which of your Chakras is most open?" with the result Throat.

"Without A. Point" completed the quiz "What Random Object Are You?" with the result Dryer Sheet.

"Spring Chicken" took the What's your old lady name? quiz and the result is Ethel


Thanks to everyone who let me sit in my Captain Voyeur bucket seat on the USS People Watch and sail the FB seas.

I Want My Fucking Money Back!

The title of this blog is what I feel like screaming at the psychologist to which I used to drone on and on. Actually, I think I would rather lean over her in a menacing, intimidation stance and hiss it at her through clenched teeth.

Why the hostility Daniella? Why the anger? Why the throwing of people skills to the wind?

Why?

Because I am still a bonafide fucking wreck, that's why.

The psychologist I am talking about was supposed to help me be human. She was supposed to help me be more flexible, less driven by worry, anger and phobia. She was supposed to help me build the tools needed to be open and ready for a well rounded life full of all different kinds of experiences.

Yeah, well I want my fucking money back.

If I had put all of her fees on a charge card, these are the highlights of the itemized list I would submit to the credit card company when disputing the charges.

• Cardholder still worries about food poisoning on a daily basis; to the lifetime banning of the McDonald's Fillet-O-Fish sandwich, and numerous other neurotically deemed high-risk foods.
  
• Continued angry Tourettes-esque outbursts while driving are experienced by cardholder, accompanied by hand signals directed towards other drivers.
• Both romantic relationships subsequent to visits have proven cardholder is still a complete idiot.
• Cardholder still firmly believes dead grandmother is alive and well in grandfather's morbidly obese, wheezy Pug.
• To date cardholder is still overly interested in/fascinated by prison documentaries, Christmas lights, and donut sniffing.

Yeah, I want my fucking money back.

Why God...Why?

Dear *Higher Power,

You put me through a few uncomfortable mini-ordeals today and I am not thrilled. I don't know why you hate me. Well, I suppose there could be some reasons, but talking to me about itbeforethe public shaming would have been nice.

Anyway, why do you wait until I look homeless in mismatched sweats and ratty hair without an ounce of makeup on to send the neighbors to my door for first introductions? Why? It's really hard to be taken seriously when you look more like a suspected squatter than a home owner.

And why do you let my dog hang on to her dingle berries until she is at someone's home? You know she then proceeds to drag her brown eye across their floors, so why do you do it? It would save me a lot of ridicule if you could let this smudgy sitch drag itself out at home, but then again you knew that now didn't you?

Speaking of animal crap, why did you wait until the very moment I was getting ready to step into that lady's living room to let me realize I had a heel full of poo? Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate you catching me before I actually stepped into the room, but still man, that was super awkward to explain why I was not able to come in. Seriously though, why do you want me to look like such a tool?

I wish you loved me like you do everyone else.

Sincerely,
Your confused little friend Daniella


*I hesitate to name you as that would be an attempt to pull you down to my level and label you as something/someone I might be able to understand. I know you are not a person or a Chia Pet, so I will refrain out of deference and respect for your Almightyness.

Overwrought Thoughts

I think too much. Today's proof below.

How did a full-boar, fresh of the boat British dude come to head Kentucky Fried Chicken? I realize that as a conglomerate of franchises, KFC needs a solid, qualified business head, be it an English one or not, but he's on the commercials now! Every time I hear him enthusiastically plugging their new product in his heavily accented refined English, I just can't get over the oddity of it. How does he drive home Kentucky? Fried? American Fast Food? Just like the birds they are frying - this just don't fly. And I know the British have historically gone down with a pretty bad wrap for their cuisine, but come on now. The Queen should be crying.


I worry sometimes that eventually there won't be any more songs to be sung. What if all the new lyrics and melodies run out, and we are left with nothing new to go nuts over?! Nothing else to have that "I won the lottery!" feeling over when you are driving along and your new fave tune comes on the radio. Nothing new to play over and over until...well...it isn't really new anymore. Think about that. Yikeys!

Does This Make My Butt Look Fin?

I have been craving fish like crazy lately, and I am not normally a big Seafoodie. Up until recently my average consumption of fruit di mare would consist of a little fried Calamari once in a while, some sushi, and the occasional piece of Salmon my dad would prepare for me.

All of that has changed. My intake of the previously mentioned foods has increased for sure. April has ushered in three consecutive Sushi Saturdays wherein I ordered so much for take out that there were three or four spork/napkin rolls in the bag! Good times. The other night out with a friend, I ordered a salad specifically for the steamed Calamari on it and just couldn't get enough of it -- especially the tentacle pieces. I had to hold back on ordering the fried Calamari as well to try and satiate my appetite.

There is a darker side to my new addiction though. I am catching myself doing gross stuff. Real nasty Dirty-Italian-That-Will-Eat-Anything kind of stuff. Two mornings this week alone I have made myself a couple of pieces of toast and opened a can of Sardines. Damn tasty way to start the day even though I was grateful I was alone so I wouldn't have to endure any sort of intervention on my repulsive habit.

A few weeks ago, I also went out of my way to prepare a giant recipe of Pasta con le Sarde which consists of Sardines and Anchovies. The sauce was a pasty gray and turned more than one face at the table green while I gleefully dug in and then coveted the leftovers like I was in possession of a bowl of thousand dollar bills.

I don't know what is up with me. I am waiting for a giant fin to pop out of my ass.

Okay, you can make a dash for the toilet to yack now. I will keep you posted.

Your Hand Is Bandaged Because You Are Retarded

When I was somewhere around three, I reached up to the electric stove in our kitchen and placed my little hand right on a red-hot coiled burner. My dad still to this day recalls how the burn was in the same curled form on my mini-mitt, and from time to time could be seen as a sort of phantom's shadow long after I had healed. The only memory I have of this incident is being rushed to the bathroom for some much needed First Aid treatment.

Within six months I had done it again.

Why? It had to have hurt like hell the first time, so why did I through total self regard right out the window and volunteer for round two?

Of course there have been a lot of humorous speculations about my possible mental retardation being the cause. Owning my own self-decorated helmet as an adult probably does very little to make a case for something different.

When I think back on my antics as an adult, the lack of self-regard in my act is what sticks with me.

I could go in to the whole symbolism of the pattern as I got older, but that would be creepy for a blog. I would hate for anyone to stumble upon my drivel and think I am a freak. I am confident that if I wrap things up here, all of this will look completely normal. Riiiggghhht.

Actually I just wanted to post a picture of my brother's ass on my blog first thing on a Monday morning, so had to spin a little tale to go with the visual. Yeah, that's the good stuff.

Now Let's See That With Kittens...