No Retreat, Baby, No Surrender

Raising Awareness

2010-03-04T11:33:00.000-08:00

For those of you who use Facebook, you know that someone is always asking you to repost something as your status for various and sundry reasons. For example, if you, or someone you know is affected by cancer, autism, diabetes, heart disease, pink eye, turf toe...it goes on and on. The point, of course, is to raise awareness.

While this isn't Facebook, I did run across a post that addresses one affliction I think we can all relate to, so I am reposting it here:

Please copy and paste this to your status if you know someone, or have been affected by someone, who needs a punch in the face. People who need a punch in the face affect the lives of many. There is still no known cure for someone who deserves a punch in the face, except a punch in the face, but we can raise awareness...

We Never Weren't

2010-02-11T16:13:00.000-08:00

I am a quoter. Books. Poetry. Movies. Television. Song lyrics. Someone out there has said it before, and said it better. If you are reading this right now, take a gander upward, and read this blog's title and subtitle. Clearly I have issues. Anyway, as a result of this quoting habit, I am also all about the obscure (or not so obscure) pop culture references.

As a fan of all of this, I am also a fan of the USA television series Psych. As a general rule, each episode has at lease one pop culture reference and/or quote. The shtick can get a little much at times, and as Cullen so correctly pointed out here, the story line often requires a little more suspension of reality than I can muster, I still adore this show simply for the pop culture references.

So in last night's episode, Juliet and Carlton made a reference to Grease in one of their conversations. Later, Carlton said, "Everything else is just speculation. It's like wondering what would have happened if Kenickie had driven at Thunder Road." Juliet asked, "Are we still on Grease?" To which Carlton replied, "We never weren't."

This was hilarious to me, because I am never NOT on something.

This quote has officially become one of my new favorites. Just for fun, here are few others:

From Two and a Half Men (Berta to Allen): "Did you see that bitch? You have to put a whole lotta gone between you and a bitch like that!"

From Something to Talk About (Caroline to her grandpa): "And I'm about running out of patience with you people."

From Grease (Rizzo to Sandy): "Peachy keen, Jellybean." and (Rizzo to Kenickie) "To you from me, Pinkie Lee."

From Happy Gilmore (Happy to Bob Barker): "The price is wrong, bitch."

From Bring It On (Whitney to Torrence): "Don't play dumb. We're better at it than you."

From Bull Durham (Crash to Nuke): "You couldn't hit water if you fell out of a fucking boat."

From the Breakfast Club (Brian to Mr. Vernon): "Could you describe the ruckus?"

From Steel Magnolias (Truvy to Shelby): "I have a strict policy that no one cries alone in my presence."

From Miss Congeniality (Gracie Lou to the group): "It's lite beer and she's gonna throw it up anyway."

From Coach (Coach to Dawber): "Bury it. Bury it with a shovel, then bury the shovel."
From Saturday Night Live (Peyton Manning United Way skit): "I'll kill a snitch. I'm not saying I have and I'm not saying I haven't."

There are so many many more. Some of the above referenced movies are just chuck full of quotable lines. These are just some that I use on a very regular basis. Probably weekly. Maybe daily. Seriously. I am that "demented and sad, but social."

See, I can't stop. I need therapy.

Heaven Help Me

2010-01-15T09:46:00.000-08:00

I need some advice, my ohhh so wise blog friends.

Over a year ago, the lovely and very talented Jayne wrote a post about a visit she received from her grandfather in dream, which I followed up on my old blog with a similar story about a dream-time visit friend of mine. The caveat to these two stories was that the visitor was dead.

I cannot speak directly to Jayne's experience, but in mine, it was as if my dearly departed friend really and truly came to deliver a message. He told me that it was time for him to go, and assured me that he was going to be alright. I awoke feeling better about him and his death. Not good, of course, but measurably less horrible. It was as if he knew I needed to hear it from him, and he came to tell me these things...to comfort me.

Now it has happened again.

My friend that passed away last May from ovarian cancer visited me a few nights ago. I was aware that she was dead, and as she turned to leave me, I asked her, "Is it beautiful where you are?"

She gave me a glowing, healthy smile and said with absolute wonder and conviction, "Oh yes. It really is." Then she was gone. It was beautiful and peaceful and very comforting to me.

Some would say I am crazy. Some would say my subconscious was manufacturing answers to a situation so lacking in them. Some would say it meant absolutely nothing. All of those people could be right, of course.

As all of you know, I struggle with religious ideology. I am very mired down in logic and reason, and as such I have a difficult time with faith. I believe something, but it is difficult to define. My experiences with organized religions have been deeply unsatisfying, and I cannot see past the greed for both power and money that seems ever-present in the business of religion, or the overwhelming hypocrisy that exists in many of these organizations*.

But all of that aside, I do believe, I really and truly do believe, that both D and A really visited me from where ever it is that they have gone. I believe they deliberately came to me to share a message, and that their purpose was to give me some measure of peace.

I believe. Not an easy thing for me to say, but with all that I am, I do believe.

Now here is my dilemma. A left behind a husband, E. I was as close to E as I was to A at one time. I truly and deeply care about E. He is a good man, and he is struggling mightily with A's death. He is hurting. He is angry. He is lost. Knowing this, should I share this dream with him?

While I found her visit to be of tremendous comfort, I don't know that he would. The very last thing I want to do is cause him more pain. Another person I know who lost his wife last year said that the worst thing people can do for him is to bring his wife, and thus his loss, up in every conversation. He is struggling for a sense of normalcy in all of this. He wants to get through the day without all of the sharp reminders of what he has lost being thrust at him from unsuspecting friends and family. It hurts him to talk about her. What if E is feeling the same way? I don't want to rub salt into his wounds.

But then I think of A. She came to me for a reason. Maybe she wanted me to tell E about this. Maybe I have a duty of some sort to do this for her. Maybe it would help him rather than hurt him.

What do you all think? I value your advice, and I really need to know.

*I know not all good religious people are hypocrites. In fact, those of you I know through this blog do not fit that mold at all. But it has been my experience that in a church setting, the good religious folk are quiet in their faith. Those who are pushing, and talking and taking charge tend to be the very worst examples of faith the church has to offer. That is simply my experience, and hopefully, not a universal phenomenon.

Jilted

2010-01-11T10:16:00.000-08:00

Deep down I always new he'd leave me someday. I knew someone else would come along who was bigger and brighter and better. But through our years together, he seemed so happy that I allowed myself to hope that he really loved me enough to stay forever...the way I loved him.

But that's all over now. He has left and I am heart broken.

Of course I should thank him for the good years, because they were very very good. I will look back on those years with complete joy. I know I may very well never see their like again...rich and wonderful days with him by my side, smiling that wonderful smile that made me think we had really built something strong and lasting.

But it was all an illusion. At the first sign of trouble, he bolts. Without warning. Without preamble. Poof! Gone!

Many say I should wish him well...I should be happy for him, and want what's best for him. But I don't. I hope his new affair becomes a dismal failure. I hope he has made the biggest mistake of his life. I hope he suffers.

Maybe this is selfish of me, but I don't care. I am bitter, and I freely admit it. Why shouldn't I be? He left me. I adored him, and he just left me here alone and confused. Why should I be happy that he found someone else to share his life? That he left me here, a broken shell of my former self?

Leave if you must...I cannot make you stay. But expect no happy "fare thee well" from me, Pete Carroll.

Auld Lang Syne

2010-01-03T19:41:00.000-08:00

On New Year's Eve, I was reminiscing about the December 31sts of yore. Some were hilarious, some disappointing, and some bittersweet to recall, but it was nice to bring to mind some of those old acquaintances, as the song suggests we do.

I clearly remember December 31, 1985...which was 25 years ago now. I was a sophomore in high school, and spent it hanging out with three friends, R, D and J. We were calculating how old we would be in the year 2000...30. D never saw 30, having died in 1993, but the rest of us have long since passed that landmark and hit another. Both of these thoughts were incomprehensible to those 15 year-olds who thought 1987, our graduation year, would just never come.

I also remember December 31, 1980...shooting off pop bottle rockets at midnight with T and her brother B. 30 years later, we are a long way from those wide-eyed kids. T is the mother of four, and lives halfway across the country, but she and I are still friends. B died in the same year as D, over 16 years ago now.

December 31, 1987, my friends and I attended a party, went home and changed into warmer clothes, then drove to Pasadena to watch the Rose Parade. We had been up all night, and we didn't think to bring any food at all. We were starving. My best friend, S, and I went searching for a bathroom around 5:00am, and we found pancakes to go along with it. Pancakes never tasted so good. We returned to our friends, sitting cold and hungry on the sidewalk, saving our places, and we kept our pancakes our sweet, guilty little secret. Later that day, we went to the Rose Bowl game and watched our team get beat; and that night...that night I did something I had never done before, but all of my friends had, because I waited to be in love. It was worth it. I don't know where he is today, but I remember him with warmth in my heart.

December 31, 1992, I was a recent college graduate, and living in Las Vegas. A bunch of my college friends came over, and we spent the night in Downtown Las Vegas on Fremont Street. I had been recovering from a breakup, and feeling sorry for myself. That was one of the first nights I just went out and had fun. I can't honestly saw I remember much of this night, other than the fact that I lost one of my favorite earrings and got sprayed with beer (and God knows what else) at midnight...and I couldn't have cared less. It was one of the best New Year's Eves I can recall. I was completely crazy and completely in the moment. I had my first and only one night stand with an old college friend...not something I am proud of, but not something I regret either. I needed to breakaway from the old and move on. It was a fitting new beginning to a new year and a new life.

The best New Year's Eve I can recall was the very next year...December 31, 1993. Friends from nearly all of my various life experiences seemed to be in town at once. J, my high school friend (the same one from 1985); M & J from college; R, M and P from my stint in New Mexico, and my new boyfriend, P. We spent the night on the Las Vegas Strip. It was crowded and crazy, but we had lots of people with us, so we made sure someone was in line for alcohol at all times, and each time that person purchased a beer and a shot for everyone in the group. This plan paid off in spades. I fell down in the middle of Treasure Island, which I still blame on my new, slippery, boots, and my college friend, J, passed out with her face in the ashtray attached to the side of the trash can. It was absolutely priceless.

The next year, December 30, 1994, M and J from college got married (she kept her face out of the ashtray for that event), and threw a New Year's Eve party the next night for all of their visiting friends. We played a drinking game I had never played before (or since), and I still wish I could remember how it was played. Unfortunately, all I remember was that at one point I had socks on my hands, and everyone's watches on my wrists. Don't ask.

This year I celebrated more quietly, at home with my wonderful husband, my parents and my cousin and her husband. We ate, drank and played cards, kissed at midnight, and called our kids to wish them a Happy 2010. Quieter, yes, but still as wonderful. And I felt much better on January 1st than I did in 1993, 1994 or 1995 (and probably some other years too).

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

Here's wishing all of you a very happy 2010.

Tweet...Tweet...Tweet

2009-12-28T14:00:00.000-08:00

Rockin' Robin? Oh, I wish. But no. I am in charge of getting the Twitter account up and running for the firm. After all, "this is the business networking wave of the future," and blahdie blah blah blah. Oh how I miss the days when the term "network" was a noun that referred to computer stuff beyond my ken rather than a verb that refers to marketing stuff beyond my ken.

Anyway...here we are.

"We" wanted to have this up and running and able to spout off one liners by January 4, 2010. I have it all set up, but NOW WHAT?

I have read 15 articles in the last few months saying "you MUST use Twitter for your business. You MUST!" I have listened to two presentations, and met with one consultant with the very same party line.

Yet NO ONE can seem to tell me exactly HOW to do this. They only tell me that I MUST do it. What they don't seem to understand is that I am secretly a boneheaded moron (or not so secretly, as it turns out, but whatever) and I don't know what to do next! I don't know HOW to "make Twitter work for me." I don't get it.

So I appeal to you, my favorite people in the blogosphere. HOW DOES TWITTER WORK? How do you get people to "follow" you? How often should I "tweet?"

I can't even say "I tweeted" with a straight face. It sounds like something I wouldn't want anyone to overhear or know about. I feel like I am grade school when I say it, and I want to giggle like a school girl too.

So HOW am I supposed to DO it, if I can't even SAY it?

I am clearly and chronically stupid. Please help me.

Merry Christmas

2009-12-21T16:00:00.001-08:00

...to one and all!

Jackassery Begets Jackassery

2009-11-30T11:04:00.000-08:00

Okay, after my "Jim Harbaugh is a douche" post, I suppose I need to address the long pass at the end of the game .

I had said Pete Carroll never did anything like that. Well he hadn't until Saturday. Was it a jackassy thing to do? Probably.

But...

USC was taking a knee to run the clock out, when Neuheisel called a time out to try and force a USC punt so that UCLA could attempt to score again. They sent a message that they wanted to keep on playing, so USC kept on playing.

Karma is a fickle bitch, Rick.

As I said in the previous post, if you can score, you should score. At least The Trojans did not go for two.

To try and avoid hypocrisy (as much as is possible where sports are concerned), I will no longer paint Pete Carroll with the hallowed glow of sainthood.

But I will still think Jim Harbaugh is a douche until the end of time. And Rick Neuheisel too.

Yeah. Yeah. I know. I said I'd TRY to avoid it, didn't I? Besides, you can't have football, or a good cross-town rivalry without it.

This Just In...

2009-11-17T17:21:00.001-08:00

From http://fakewhale.com/tweets/835

"I apologize to USC and all of its fans for being a classless douchebag." Jim Harbaugh

Yeah, I know it's fake, but a girl can hope, right?

After all being a classless douchebag would be the only explanation for going for a two-point conversion when up 48 to 21 late in the 4th quarter.

Yes, I get it. To get ahead in the rankings, you MUST score points, but it isn't like you are vying for a National Championship spot. Still, I had no expectation that he, or his players, should take a knee. If you can score, you should score. But kick the extra point. There is no need to be so disrespectful as to go for the two-point conversion, just so you could say you scored 50. As it turned out, the point was moot anyway, after Barkley threw another interception and you scored yet another touchdown. But by then you had revealed to the world what a small, petty little man you are.

I know USC has scored its share of points over the last seven years, and many times the score was quite one sided. The difference is Pete Carroll never went for two simply to embarrass the other team, he never walked off a field with an arrogant sneer, and he never, ever treated the other team, it's coaches, or it's fans with anything but respect.

You won the game, Jim Harbaugh, but you lost face. You can't "win" class. Either you have it, or you don't, and well...you showed us which team you play for.

Of course what could one possibly expect from an institution that allows it's band members to march in representation of their school with this painted on their instruments:

Nice. While the football team played very well on Saturday, Stanford's impressiveness definitely ends there.

A Random List of Happenings

2009-11-16T14:01:00.001-08:00

There is so much happening in Maggie Land these days, that about the time I know what I want to blog here, something changes and I have to search for new words. So in lieu of coherency, I have opted for a random list of happenings.

1) In September, my parents moved in with us. As the readers of the old blog know, my dad lost his job in February of 2008, after being relocated to the mid-west...and 20-something years of service. Neither my mom, nor he have been able to find jobs since and are living with us.

2) In October, after a four-month escrow, my middle son's house (which my parents were going to move into with him) fell out of escrow on the day before we were set to sign loan documents (we were co-signing) due to the house being reclassified as a condo, because the city redevelopment agency decided that having the word "condo" on a title sounded more upscale than "single family residence" or whatever the correct term is, despite the fact that it was clearly NOT a condo, since land was being purchased (and no amount of run on sentence could make it make sense, so just go with it).

3) Our oldest son is unemployed also, and has been since late last year. He and his wife and two little boys are living with his mom (I'm the step-mom, remember) and three of her kids (of whom I am NOT the step-mom) in a small three-bedroom house. But oldest son just got three new tattoos. He turned 23 yesterday.

4) Our youngest son's step-dad is virtually unemployed. He gets piece work here and there, but no steady income. His mom has never worked outside the home.

5) Two weeks ago, our middle son got his hours cut to part time, and learned his job will very likely not last the year. All that "Oh no, the house didn't close!" turned quickly to "Thank GOD the house didn't close!" Amazing the difference a few weeks makes.
6) Since my parents are living with us, and our oldest son is living with the boys' mom, there is no place for middle son and his wife and two daughters to go...so we are paying half his rent to keep him afloat.

7) Our oldest son's wife has cancer. She has had it for some time, but when they first started her radiation treatment, they found out she was pregnant. As her cancer is in her female organs, she opted to continue the pregnancy, because she will be sterile after her cancer treatments are complete, and she felt it was her only chance to have a baby. After her C-section August, 2008, the doctors wanted her to have 3 months to heal before resuming her radiation, at which time...guess what...she was pregnant. She decided her son needed a sibling and continued that pregnancy to term as well. Here we are in November, 2009, and now she is not responding to the radiation. The doctors are switching her to chemo.

8) My dog is sick. She has Cushings disease which it apparently very expensive to treat...on top of the expense of having her tested in the first place. Either way, it doesn't look promising long-term.

9) There are some major battle lines being drawn at my workplace, and a war is pending. My last post referred to the can being open, and the worms being everywhere. After a week or so of drama, we are currently operating in the "ignoring the worms" mode...but a storm is brewing. It is not over. Not by a long shot.

10) Hubby's workplace is awash in legal issues. Major damage potential.
11) Then there was THIS on Saturday...and YES I saw it.

I have tried to carefully present these random thoughts so as to report only the facts. I have purposefully refrained from editorializing with my opinions. Feel free to comment as you will, but I feel that it would be prudent for me to keep my opinions on certain matters to myself. You just never know who is watching.

But believe me, I DO have opinions. Oh yes, I do.

And I have troubles (whoa-oh). I have worries (whoa-oh). I got wounds to bind.

I'll bet you wish I had just stayed silent now, don't you?

Can Open...

2009-10-20T11:31:00.000-07:00

...worms everywhere.

Sigh.

What A Jagged Little Pill

2009-10-14T08:34:00.001-07:00

The first half of October is heinously busy for me, and I start to lose my mind just a little. Okay...a lot. Potato potahto.

I have a dog who is on medication for an under-active thyroid. She takes this little purple pill twice a day. So a few days ago I got her morning pill out as I was getting ready to leave the house. I bit later, I thought to myself how good the other dogs were being. Normally, when I give K her pill, they beg for treats too (and get them) but they hadn't this morning. Good dogs.

But wait...that can't be right. They aren't good dogs...not ever...when it comes to treats. So...hmmm.

Did I even give K her pill? No. I couldn't have. She was still lying in the same spot she had been all morning (I mentioned the under-active thyroid, right?), but she would have moved for a pill filled treat.

So what did I do with it? I know I got it out. Where did I put it?

I retraced my steps, which led me back through the house, to the kitchen, to the glass I had gotten out of the cupboard and filled with water so that I could...so that I could...oh crap.

So yes, I took an animal grade thyroid pill.

And I didn't lose a single pound, thank you very much. I didn't even throw up breakfast. No wonder the dog has been on the damn pills for four years and still weighs over 100 pounds.

Now how do I explain to the vet that I know the pills aren't working?

Do you see the shit I am dealing with here? Really?

The Road Not Taken

2009-09-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

Do you ever think about this? The road not taken? Do you ever wonder how different your life would be today if you had made this choice instead of that choice?

Now let me emphasize right up front that I am not unhappy with the choices I have made. I adore my husband, and am incredibly happy we chose each other. I am very content, so this isn't about any dissatisfaction on my part, or any longing for a different life. This is simply...curiosity.

So indulge me why I help kill the cat.

Last week on Facebook, an old college friend of mine had wished his wife a "happy birthday." I had met her once or twice back in the day, and commented on his post as follows, "I don't know if she remembers me, but pass on my birthday wishes." A day or two later, I received a message from him saying that she remembered me well...she thought I was the girl he was going to run off with.

Really? Really? I mean I don't exactly want to be remembered as the tart who she thought was going to steal her boyfriend, but even more troubling was that I never had a clue. I was actually way more into his roommate at the time, and I never noticed him...at least not like that.

But this whole weird Facebook exchange got me thinking. What if? What if I had known this back then? Would I have stolen him away? Would we have ended up together? What would my life be like today? Would I have two daughters and live in Texas, or would we have ended up in New Jersey...Alaska...Montana...with four boys and two cats? The options are endless.

The strangest part, I think, is that having been oblivious to this possibility, I had never entertained this notion before, so it caught me quite by surprise. Not only was this a road I never took, but a road I never even considered.

When I think back on the boys I actually dated...the roads I did consider, I don't really wonder too much. There is little curiosity about them, because it isn't hard to imagine what my life might have become if I'd gone that direction. I guess because I started down that path once, and then consciously chose another. The old adage "been there done that" comes to mind.

But this one is a pure mystery. Since I never even saw the road, I have no idea what it could have been. It is...interesting, and kind of fun to wonder about in a weird hmmmm kind of way.

Still, I'll never be sorry I chose the road I am on. It is a beautiful road, and I love it.

Maybe His Name Isn't Bruce After All

2009-09-25T16:49:00.000-07:00

Since I don't have time to post much this week, I thought I'd share another random conversation from last weekend.

The scene: Late Saturday night (possibly early Sunday morning), sitting around the kitchen table playing cards and drinking beer. I doubt you'll have needed that last part of the explanation, as this conversation should make it painfully obvious that something stronger than water was being consumed.

He: "Did I tell you they remodeled the ______ theater, and they are going to start having concerts there.?"

She: "No."

He: "Yeah, and some pretty good people. Bo Bice is going to be there."

She: (with excitement) "Bo Bice? I love Bo Bice! I'd go see him."

He: "I knew you would. Oh and Bruce Springsteen."

She: (dumbfounded and disbelieving) "Bruce Springsteen? Here? Seriously?" I am thinking it is unlikely Bruce and Bo would be playing the same venue, but then what the hell do I know.

He: "Yep."

She: "That is awesome! We have to go!"

Time passes. Don't ask me how much...I mentioned the beer, right? A Bruce Springsteen song pops up on the iPod.

He: "Oh. Hold on. Did I say Bruce Springsteen? It's not him."

She: "What's not him?" (I have the attention span of a fruit fly)

He: "It's not Bruce Springsteen who is coming to the theater. It's...Bruce...Bruce...help me."

She and They collectively start shouting out random Bruces, some of whom are dead, and few of whom sing...at least not that I know of: "Hornsby?" "Lee?" "Wayne?" "Willis?" "Boxleitner?" "Jenner?"

He: "No! No! It's Bruce...Bruce...SPRINGSTEEN!"

Now this last word was said with such joyous revelation, like he had just discovered something brand new. Of course, we all burst out laughing. I know without the actual audio, you are missing the best part, but trust me, it was hysterical.

He: (quickly realizing his mistake) "Oh wait! No! Maybe his name isn't Bruce after all..."

We are now howling with laughter. Eventually, we catch our breath and give up the mystery. More time passes.

He: (randomly...we had moved on to other subjects) "Oh, wait! It was Rick Springfield!"

I am literally crying writing this...it still makes me laugh so.

I don't think I will ever again hear a Bruce Springsteen (or Rick Springfield) song without thinking "Bruce...Bruce...SPRINGSTEEN!"

Pet Peeve Number 1

2009-09-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

Okay, so technically this one is not at the top of the list, but it is at the top of the list right now, and in honor of this being a new blog, I figured I'd start the counting at one.

So I am a huge football fan. Everyone I know knows this about me. I also graduated from a very prominent football school...one who has finished in the NCAA top 4 the last seven years (this is not bragging...just background). I make no secret of the fact that I love my alma mater. I wear football jerseys on Saturdays, have the standard issue "alumni" license plate frame, and I have my degrees proudly framed in my school colors along side an artist's rendering of one of the University's more prominent landmarks. What I do not do is run through the hallways every Monday proclaiming victory, and mocking those whose teams were not so fortunate. In fact, I rarely bring it up myself. If someone comes to me to discuss a win, I am happy to oblige, but I never go bragging to them. I never smack talk before or after a game...except maybe on the blog. But that's a different thing entirely. Folks have the option of not reading.

Anyway, here I am, trying to be respectful, not rubbing my teams victories in the faces of my friends and co-workers. So why...WHY do they find it necessary to hail every loss my team suffers with obnoxious glee?

I am not exaggerating. In fact, obnoxious glee might not be strong enough to describe the singular joy they all get from rubbing my nose in the teams messes.

Case in point: a few years ago, my team suffered a loss to their biggest rival that knocked them out of the National Championship game. When I got to work the following Monday, my office was littered with confetti in the rival's team colors. And no one from my workplace even went to that rival school.

This past weekend my team suffered a very public and unexpected loss. Yesterday I had to endure a few comments about it, but I thought I was out of the woods. Today, I get to work to find the sports section from the Wall Street Journal on my desk with the following passage highlighted AND circled in red ink:

"Like the Patriots, ___ is a team that everyone likes to see lose.

It's a BMOC thing, right? The _______ just exude privileged swagger-watching them lose is like seeing a fraternity president's BMW get a flat tire in the student union parking lot."

Then, to top it off, the perpetrator came into my office and asked if I had read it. I smiled graciously as she then proceeded to read it aloud to me, followed by gales of laughter and the comment, "I thought you'd enjoy that."

No...you thought you'd enjoy that. And did you? Did you?

Yes, I get it. We win...a lot. All this derisiveness is part jealously and part boredom. I know. I know. But why do you have to be so mean? Seriously. My team losing is bad enough. But that is only the beginning. I can usually count on the first text message coming in within seconds of the game expiring, then the rest of my family, friends and co-workers just line up for their turn. And I have no choice but to smile and laugh along with them, else be labeled as a poor loser.

I guess I need to develop some of that "privileged swagger" the WSJ spoke of and start laying my smack down with the rest of them. I mean if I'm going to pay the price whether I am gracious or not, I might as well, right?

Fine then. Whatever, Freaks. It's on.

Football Watching Gone Awry

2009-09-21T10:36:00.000-07:00

Apologizing in advance to all pregnant cheerleaders or trailer park inhabitants (which several members of my family are, and I love them dearly), but I thought this conversation was funny. Or maybe you just had to have been there. Either way.

As heard at my house this weekend...

He: "Look at that cheerleader for _____ (unnamed University that I
refuse to acknowledge). I think she's pregnant!"

She: (looking up, but missing the shot of said cheerleader) "I'm sure she
wasn't. She was probably just full figured."

He: "No! No I am sure she was pregnant."

She: "They wouldn't have a pregnant cheerleader!"

He: "Sure they would. It is _____ after all. And it's not like they
can kick her off the squad for being pregnant. Hello lawsuit!"

She: "I would think she wouldn't want to be on the squad. It
makes the school look...I don't know...trashy. Like some bad trailer park
joke."

He: "But if she was from the trailer park, she wouldn't realize it looks trashy."

She: "Hmmm. Good point."

He: "It's a 'ho thing."

And so beget my new favorite phrase...It's a 'ho thing. It has wide applicability and explains so much with so little. It's a 'ho thing. Oh, yeah! It's a 'ho thing.

Relocation Relocation Relocation

2009-09-20T12:29:00.000-07:00

Let's just hope the third time is a charm.

I considered giving the blog up entirely, but I decided not to let a group of small people take this from me in addition to the other things they took. It is a distinct possibility that they may find this blog too. I don't really care. I plan on saying little to nothing about them.

You know the last time I relocated, I was weighed down with tremendous guilt over mistakes I had made. I was so very wrong the last time, but I learned so much from that experience. This time was different. I have very little guilt over the chain of events. I am not saying I am blameless...far from it. But the choices I made were done only after careful consideration was given to the consequences. Of course, there were consequences I never anticipated, but so it goes. I have regret over the situation, and if I had to do it all over again, I would probably choose another path. But I am not really what you'd call sorry. I refuse to beat myself up this time. In the grand scheme of being "wrong" in this mess, well I'm not even close to being on the top of the list. Anyway...the whole thing has been enlightening...sad, but enlightening.

But now this is a fresh start. The blog is named after one of my favorite song lyrics (thank you Mr. Springsteen), and is a motto I try to embrace when I'm feeling beat up...like now. My new posting name is "The Morning Sun." It isn't that I think I am the sun, it's just a funny little link to my old posting name. Come on...you know you know the song, even if you don't want to admit it. I am sure you will be able to figure out my new references to my peeps. Let's face it, I'm just not that clever, so it will be fairly obvious, I'd imagine.

So for those of you who bothered to follow me here...welcome to the new pad. I truly value your continued readership and support. Many of you have become downright special to me, and I appreciate you more than words could possibly say.