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...

Happy Birthday John

Constipated

I am all blocked up. Easy now -- I am not getting ready to dive into any big gastrointestinal confessions here about how I haven't dropped any kids off at the pool in a week. No -- the kids are good. I'm all stuffed up in my brain. Mental Constipation my friends. Firmly plugged. Ideas pop up, urge to write moves them along, but then when it is time for the final posting push, they sneak back up and disappear. No joy. Nothing post worthy. Just flush that crappy little literary nugget and walk away.

Ideas and thoughts are definitely roiling around in there, but it all gels together into one ugly unintelligible mass when I go to write. And at the worst of time as my information intake is actually on an uptake these days with my reading of pretty much anything I can get my hands on. So why isn't that bringing about boundless subjects for me to write about? Post something I feel good about? Why can't I get some of my creativity to look good? Why goddamnit - why?!

I have several half finished drafts of posts saved, and I can tell you with confidence that they all suck. There was the one where I talk about getting a horse. If only it didn't go off on such a tangent and brought my real curiosity and enthusiasm through.

There have been some news items that I would like to rant about, but then the arguments don't look so solid and scathing when I try to extract them from my gray matter. I have had a bunch of different 25 List Of Whatever spin off ideas but talk about one hit wonders. I don't want a blog full of lists like 25 Lessons I learned on Facebook (although I am convinced that would be a good one), 25 Reasons I Hate 25 Different Things, and 25 Randumb Thing About 25 People I know. Things could get pretty snore worthy if I go list loco.

I even thought about making fun of the Bacterial Stinkeye I picked up, but then lost my comedic oomph on that one too. I think it would have been funnier if I had taken a pic in the first days when it looked like a seepy, oozing, beet-red, half swollen shut dead eye. Bahahaha!

I am afraid I don't even have a smooth transition into the closing of this post. Damnit.

Um.....Aren't We Supposed To Be The Ones Thanking You?

The irony of this comes in second only to the giant smile on my face when we receive these certificates.

I was going to go into a big, drawn out diatribe about how hard our troops are working when serving in combat. I was getting ready to go on and on about how I am always amazed that they take the time to be so gracious when they are quite literally under fire......and so on and so on.......blah blah blah.

I have said it all before. Peeps are probably sick of listening to me.

It will just have to suffice to say that being able to reach out to our troops serving in harm's way has been a privilege and an honor.


So, thank you LTC Morehouse! We should really be the ones extending the gratitude, but boy do we love your acknowledgement!

Kindle Puts Out My Fire

When I visit Amazon.com, I have diligently ignored Kindle for months now. I don't want to have anything to do with it. No thank you. Just here for a real book. My psyche does better when I pretend that this electronic madness is not in existence. I don't even allow myself to show the anger and disappointment I feel when I am shopping on Amazon and it punks me by throwing up a super low price for a book, and then I find out it is the damn Kindle downloading fee. Just stay out of my literary path Kindle. I am not your type.

But Kindle won't stand for it -- hence Kindle II came out this week. What-everrrr! All of your supposed techy fabulousness is still lost on me Kindle. I'm looking the other way.

Don't get me wrong -- I am not a complete anti-techite. I went along with the cell phone thing. My little Toyota Corolla had to break down in one of the worst areas of downtown San Jose at 1 a.m. for me to get one, but I got on board eventually. I obviously do the computer thing too. I even learned a little web code magic last year -- so there! I have surprised myself with the mastery of other technological advances as well, but I don't mess with books; I don't want Kindle to mess with them either.

Kindle is trying to rob me -- us really -- of all the pleasure that comes with a book. It's 1500 selection storage capability would rob the gems on my bookshelves of new neighbors. The instant downloading makes anticipation a thing of the past - ewww! The disembodied robot voice it uses to read to you if you so desire, is going to drown out the ones I already hear. And if I wanted that, I would take the meds my doctor is always recommending.

I simply want a book! I want to bend back the binding of a new read, and dig in. I want to turn back pages for a reread on little bits I can't get enough of, or possibly read over too quickly the first time. And once in a while.....I want to skip ahead to the end and allow myself the dangerous indulgence of skimming a sentence or two off of the last page. It's my right! It's my book!


Books are my favorite form of nostalgia. Sometimes I just gaze at what sits on my shelves and my thoughts will drift to memories of each read. Sometimes I share my books. I have been given books from other people's collections and I treasure that added dimension of what they offer me.

As the great Jon Stewart once said, "books are comfortably low tech" and I love them for that. So suck it Kindle and you can pass that along to Kindle II as well! Thank you.

Outside

"Eat that out on the porch please" came the curt voice from the kitchen. Why always outside? the little girl thought as the screen door slipped from her small hand and softly latched shut behind her.

The thin tendril of steam from her lunch, a thin burger patty with little McDonald's sized minced onions fried into the meat, was actually making her hungry for a change.

Until recently, her appetite had been a thing of the past. When her mother died in the Spring, the stone of the child's grief lodged itself in her throat, and she refused almost everything that arrived on a plate.

Before that, it was constant nausea. As her mother's death drew closer, the fear of getting sick forced a tube of Rolaids into the seven year old's hand. She had only broken down and eaten two so far, but she didn't go anywhere without them.

Now Summer was leaching into Fall, as the girl found a shady spot on her aunt's wrap-around porch bench, overlooking one of the horse pastures.

A black mare wandered to the corner near where she sat, and her tail made a soft swish -- like a switch moving through the air, as she warded off flies. The girl loved to hear horses chew. There was just something about the hollow, soft sound of their slow, methodical mooshing that she found soothing.

The screen door closing broke her attention from the horse. "You actually ate something" her aunt flatly commented as she looked at her on the bench. "Yes", she nodded as she looked down at her plate, only then fully realizing that it was empty. The woman took the plate from her lap and walked back into the house, leaving her alone again outside.

Outside.

The girl didn't know it then, but just like the stone, Outside was a piece of her now.

Happy V Day!

Don't get me wrong, I am no hater of the great Saint Valentine -- I just think this is too funny not to post!

25 (More) Randumb Things About Me -- The Facebook Version

I cleaned up my craziness a bit so that I don't lose all of my FB friends. Oh wait, no I didn't.....








1. I dated my brother for a while, but it didn't work out. We just wanted different things.

2. I am left handed.

3. I heart books. The way certain authors put words together is just so delicious, and then these little literary tidbits will nestle in my head for years.

4. I was held back in Kindergarten and got many NI's (needs improvement) in cutting and pasting. I still suck at cutting, but I can paste like a Nin-ja!

5. When I see super fat people I almost immediately wonder how much they sweat and how pungent their genital/bum region is as a result of being so well "insulated".

6. My long term goal is to escape to Sicily and live out my Golden Years with a hot houseboy that I sexually harass on a daily basis.

7. I am a college graduate -- beauty college -- yeah, good times.

8. Even though I am an animal lover, I am often completely frustrated by our country's habitual overspending on animals [think Petco, Petsmart, and the ASPCA's $30 mil new facility in San Francisco]. Is all of that really necessary in order for you to take proper care of an animal? Really?

9. I have a crush on Christopher Walken, and would run away with him if he ever came for me.

10. I think tutelage, accoutrement, and turd are completely underused gems of our language.

11. I struggle on a daily basis to not take it all personal.

12. All religious stuff aside, I love Christian iconography...hence the Last Supper in one of my bathrooms and the crosses around my house.

13. In my young adulthood, I was fortunate to have a several people not hold Me against me. They collectively were the best thing that could have happened to me during that time. [insert grateful sigh here.]

14. I still make crank phone calls. Quick shout-out apology to Curtis: Melissa from Mountain Charley's was me, soooo that whole "I missed my period, you better call me!" thing was a false alarm........funny though, right?

15. If I don't pee right before I get into bed, I can't fall asleep.

16. I believe donuts, mayonnaise, lemons, cheese and wine are all ways that a higher power shows love for me.

17. I hate when people tell me that I am loud, because it reminds me that I do not hear well.

18. If I have done something to help someone, or make them smile, then I consider that day a productive one.

19. If I could get in the flux capacitor (sp) and go back in time, I would like to meet Jesus (I want to ask him for some tips on how to wear my hair long, properly and how to be more popular) Beethoven, (Just let me sneak in the back of the hall and hear the last movement of the ninth or the first two of the fifth -- I'm not greedy) my mother (I just think it is thoroughly assy to live inside someone for nine months and then not even really get a chance to get to know them or say thank you.)

20. I love when people remember a story I have told them, and ask me to tell it again.

21. I wish that I felt confident in a career field, so that I would be motivated to pursue it with abandon.

22. I am a total hypochondriac and have diagnosed myself with multiple maladies including, Tourettes, MS, wrist cancer, brain aneurysm (multiple), Schizophrenia, and Rickets.

23. I am easily overwhelmed by the amount of discipline it takes for me not to be an asshole.

24. I named my dog Ruth after my cousin. In hindsight, this decision was one of my earliest adult examples of misguided, slightly distorted acts of love..........but love nonetheless people!

25. I have a horrible habit of etching every little awkward thing I have done into my brain, so that I can relive the moment over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over......

[Insert big, fat, awkward transition here.]

Without A Witness, We Just Disappear

I read quite a few books written by our service members. I do it in an attempt to try and gain real perspective. After all, if you are the one getting shot at, and going without running water and warm food rations for days, then you are also probably the best person to speak on it. I don't care what the news networks have to say.

One of the first books I ever read was a compilation of works titled "Operation Homecoming". Among them is Lt. Col Michael Strobl's account of the journey to Wyoming to bring LCpl. Chance Phelps back home. Phelps had been killed outside of Baghdad, and the DOD report caught Strobl's attention, when he read that they shared the same home town. The Colonel volunteered to take this Marine back to his family. In fact, every branch of the military sends a uniformed escort with their fallen. That is how it works -- when one falls, another carries him.

Commercial planes are often utilized for this job, and unlike this group of passengers, you might not even know if you had shared a flight with one of these fallen Americans.

That is going to fuck up the taste of those little, free crackers for sure.

Most of us get up every day and never even know that this is even going on. We all hear little snippets about this attack and that Taliban strike, but how many of us really see this? The war isn't here. Starbucks is. The death isn't here. That 24 hour sale is.

Without a witness, we just disappear.

If a tree falls in the forest...

It takes some effort and courage to bear witness. You are committed. Where is this journey going to take me? What if it is painful? What if it doesn't have a happy ending? Am I going to have to be uncomfortable?

Without a witness, we just disappear.

I want this country to step up and commit to being a witness for our troops. I am not talking about tax dollars or the collective, "I feel bad for them." this nation sighs every time a news story about the war hits the networks. Go find out! Reaching out within your own community is all it takes.

Our service members are already fighting this war on their own, they shouldn't have to do it while we shield ourselves from their truth.




Number of Operations Iraqi Freedom and Enduring Freedom Casualties as of 06 February 2009: 4863

Without a witness, we just disappear.

HBO has made a film about the story of "Taking Chance". It will air on Feb 21st. It has also been picked up by the Sundance Film Festival.

You can read "Taking Chance" @ http://www.chancephelps.org/?page_id=126

[Insert big, fat, awkward transition here.]

Who Says Rape Isn't Funny?!

I don't consider myself to be particularly newsy, but in the face of all of the New Year humping, I am forced to report on these two.

A FEISTY raccoon has bitten off a pervert’s PENIS as he was trying to rape the animal.

Alexander Kirilov, 44, was on a drunken weekend with pals when he leapt on the terrified – but toothy – fur ball.

“When I saw the raccoon I thought I’d have some fun,” he told stunned casualty surgeons in Moscow.

Now Russian plastic surgeons are trying to restore his mangled manhood.

“He’s been told they can get things working again but they can’t sew back on what the raccoon bit off," said a pal. “That’s gone forever so there isn’t going to be much for them to work with."

You really don't need me for this one, do you? Just sit with it.

And then we have Mr. Asia 2009 who dangled his dingle into the hole of a park bench, actually got turned on by dangling his dingle into said park bench hole, and got stuck. Good times.

Last night in Hong Kong, the police received a disturbing call from a man in trouble.

Xing, a 41 year-old man, was calling from LanTian park in the middle of the night. The lonely and disturbed man had apparently thought it would be fun to have sex with one of the steel sit-up benches around the park.

The bench has numerous small holes in it, which Xing used to attempt to satisfy himself. However, once he became aroused he found that he was stuck and could not get his penis out of the small hole.

He panicked and called the police to help him. When police arrive they found Xian stuck face down where he had been stuck for some time.

When doctors arrived on the scene they tried to release some of the pressure by removing some of his blood, but the penis was so swollen that they ended up having to cut the entire bench free and take it, with Xian attached, to the hospital. 4 painful hours later, Doctors finally separated Xian from his bench.

Doctors stated that if he had been stuck for even an hour longer, they would have had to remove his penis.

Oh boy, oh boy! We are off to such a good start this year with the crazies. I can't wait to see what other stupid shit people think of to do.

25 Random Things

This survey is everywhere lately, and as a huge fan of both trends and peer pressure, I have decided to do one.

Please familiarize yourself with the rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about yourself. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you.

I am not tagging anybody though [primarily out of my shame-filled, painful tag memories of standing all alone on the edge of the schoolyard during recess waiting for someone to notice I hadn't been tagged...sniff, sniff].

1. I am left handed.

2. I love books. The way certain people put words together is just amazing and these little literary tidbits will nestle in my head for years.

3. Sometimes as I am falling asleep, I remember something I am going to get to eat the next day, and I get very happy.......drift off with a big smile on my face, I'm sure.

4. When I see super fat people I almost immediately wonder how much they sweat and how pungent their genital/bum region is as a result of being so well "insulated".

5. My long term goal is to escape to Sicily and live out my Golden Years with a hot houseboy that I sexually harass on a daily basis -- and he loves it!

6. I am a college graduate -- beauty college -- yeah, good times.

7. Even though I am an animal lover, I am often enraged by our country's habitual overspending on animals [think Petco, Petsmart, and the ASPCA's $30 mil new facility in San Francisco]. Is all of that really necessary in order for you to take proper care of an animal? Really?

8. I have a crush on Christopher Walken, and would run away with him if he ever came for me.

[This survey is a little more difficult than I suspected, and I am fighting the urge to only add things I think are amusing or entertaining.]

9. In my mid-twenties, I was the only person I knew holding the Death/Near Death Trifecta with a father who had been in a 7 week coma when I was 4, a deceased mother by 7, and a husband who had passed away by the time I was 26.

[Now that wasn't funny - aforementioned urge thoroughly staved]

10. I struggle on a daily basis to not take it personal.

11. All religious stuff aside, I love Christian iconography...hence the Last Supper in one of my bathrooms and the crosses around the house.

12. I get very happy browsing Italian stores. Lupini, Calamari, Marscapone, San Marzano region tomatoes, Cannoli, and Ricotta -- I heart you big time!

13. I still make crank phone calls. Quick shout-out apology to Curtis: Melissa from Mountain Charley's was me, soooo that whole "I missed my period, you better call me!" thing was a false alarm........funny though, right?

14. If I don't pee right before I get into bed, I can't fall asleep.

15. Being a true believer of Alexander Hamilton's theory that "the masses are asses", I do not really care for crowds or population density in general.

16. I believe donuts, mayonnaise, lemons, cheese and wine are all ways that a higher power shows love for me.

17. I hate when people tell me that I am loud, because it reminds me that I do not hear well.

18. If I have done something to help someone, or make them smile, then I consider that day a productive one.

19. One time in preschool this little jerk peed on me in the bathroom, so I bit my arm and told the teacher it was him. He got in big trouble -- take that you little terrorist!

20. I love when I tell a good story and people remember it and ask me to tell it again.

[I feel like the loaves and fishes miracle is taking place with these g.d. numbers! When are we going to get to 25 already?!]

21. I wish that I felt confident in a career field, so that I would be motivated to pursue it with abandon.

22. I secretly believe that I should have focused on more gym time in my 20s and subsequently would have had a better shot at becoming someone's trophy wife. As a career, that would have freed me up to found and run all of the organizations I have thought up. Damnit!

23. I am easily overwhelmed by the amount of discipline it takes for me not to be an asshole.

24. I think some struggling and suffering in this life is the only path to gaining a little depth.

25. I have a horrible habit of etching every little awkward thing I have done into my brain, so that I can relive the moment over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over......

As soon as I post this, I am going to think of 25 "better" things I could have put on here.

Goddamn Hippies!!

Phase II of Operation: Sayonara Santa Cruz has to be expression of my fed-upness over hippies.

My open letter to you 'O lame Hippie:

Over the near seven years I have spent in your sacred city of Santa Cruz, I have had many experiences. I would like to discuss a few here as I prepare to depart one of your flag ship towns.


To the UC Santa Cruz Tree Sitting dorks: Get the fuck out of the trees hippies! With everything going on in today's world, that is the best you can do? Really? Just sit in a tree. Riiiighhhht. We are in a war, world hunger is a growing problem, we still have orphans. Find something useful to do! How about getting a job?

[note: bird crap from the skies above is annoying enough, but if enough of you start hangin out up there all the time, someone is going to catch some hippie shit. Eww!

On that note: Get a freakin job! Working and paying taxes is a refreshing way to contribute to the economy. You can sit in the trees on your days off.

To the smelly guy with the Jesus hair and beard but not the divinity glow: I resented being stopped in front of the grocery store while you tried to explain to me how you are teaching The Man a lesson by being homeless, and then in the same I-haven't-brushed-my-teeth-in-two-years breath ask me if I can buy you some potato salad. No, I will not buy you potato salad! It's made by The Man. Get a job!

To the dude that parked next to me at Safeway last year in the old beater Ford truck: Your cat looked miserable in there man. Why in the hell did you think it would want live in that conversion contraption of a camper shell?! The lethargic little eyes peering at me through the chicken wire window holes you made, sort of smacks of ......... oh wait........you are living in there too aren't you? Yikeys! Get a job!

To the wandering Sir/Maam with the full blonde goatee and pendulous breasts: You make me uncomfortable. You are nice enough, but I have to admit that you startle the fuck out of me every time I see you. The day you asked me if I could buy you some shoes while in the store left me fighting the urge to offer a bra instead. Although judging by your attire, "new" is probably not the look you are going for. Maybe I should have offered you mine. I think we might have been the same cup size. Again...uncomfortable. And I am not sure where you are going to be able to get a job. You look like a little bit of an HR issue.

To the two topless girls that were wearing just the flannel pajama bottoms and Uggs. It was wasted on me that day in the cafe window sisters - sorry. And you looked really cold, if you know what I mean. I did immediately call my bf though with a full description and he really wished he could have been there.

In parting, suck it hippies -- and I don't mean the peace pipe either!

Sincerely,
daniella

A few links that help to make my point:

http://www.southparkstudios.com/episodes/103815

Once again, South Park saves the day but putting things out there so perfectly. Short on time? All I ask is the first 1:52 on this one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSEaHyzbqTA
Creepy, tree-mourning hippies....a very unsettling variety.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PyBj2WZIw_I

Once you let them form a drum circle, it's all over.

Hey Vince, One More Thing

Now that I know you get a little butt-hurt when you find out about things that are going on with me via the blog, [before I have called you] I have a moral obligation to exploit that to the fullest extent.

So on that note my friend, I forgot to tell you when we last spoke that I am not going to try and dye all the new gray hairs I have. Instead, I am just going to embrace my premature introduction into looking like Mama. Fuck it.

Call me if you need further info on this, or would like to share your thoughts.

Happy Thursday!
dani

Normal Thoughts...with Daniella

I like to think I get my feistyness from being conceived in the Reverse Cowgirl. Maybe I should ask my 73 year old father if he remembers.