My Story

Confusing the Neighbors

2012-01-03T18:50:00.001-06:00

There I went, confusing the neighbors. But it was gone in a matter of hours.

UPDATE 1/8: Made Art of Trolling Homepage

Anti-SOPA letter [UPDATED]

2011-12-30T09:40:00.005-06:00

Dear Rep. Jenkins/Sen. Moran/Sen. Roberts,

My greatest fear with SOPA is that this removes due process for many legitimate websites. A person wouldn’t be convicted in court before a trial. I fear that many innocent people and sites will be made out like criminals and turned into victims by a system that’s apparent goal is to protect them.

I run a website. I have registered all my own copyrights and I don’t link to sites that offer pirated material. However, I do have spaces where users can comment and interact with me. My fear is that one bad apple may link to an untrusted site with pirated content on my pages. I’m only one person, and I’m afraid of what will happen to me and my site if I don’t delete almost instantly. I don’t have the time to police everything immediately. No one does. I don’t want to shut off interaction with my users; that would be a death blow to my website.

The majority of my users would never do this. So, why are you debating legislation that would affect everyone when the majority are not doing this?

This is guilty-until-proven-innocent legislation would punish everyone for the criminal actions of a few rogues offering pirated content. The internet troll who put up the offending link will never be punished under this system, but I would be.

Where is a small person like me going to find my due process if my site is removed from all search engines first? Who do I contact? What am I supposed to do? It’s just me. I don’t have a team of lawyers, and couldn’t afford them anyway.

What do I do if I am hacked and someone puts up offending material? I wouldn’t know what to do to regain the good reputation of my site!

Some of my own material has been pirated, and people have tried to sell it on Ebay and Amazon without my permission or offering me any compensation. I’ve chased down the offending sites and links and had them removed with ease.

Why deny due process when it was so enshrined in the Constitution? This bill, as it is now, is a travesty! It’s disgusting! Why punish all the innocent people as well as the guilty ones?

Please vote against SOPA and PROTECT IP, or work to amend them so that they do not deny due process to legitimate website owners, please. I will remember how you voted come election time.

Thank you for reading this letter. I am also posting this publicly on my blog in order to spread the word.

Sincerely,

Deborah Dalton
www.allthingsimpossible.com

From this moment on, this is me blogging:
My first thought is that the word senator is from the Latin word senex meaning 'old man'. Aren't you happy you learned something today?

If you are an American citizen, please contact your representatives and senators today. If you are not an American citizen, and are just as incensed about this as we are, you can petition the State Department. More details are at www.americancensorship.org. Although, honestly, I'm not sure I would petition a foreign government, but hey, this will affect the ENTIRE internet, so maybe it's worth it.

UPDATE 1/13/12 Author of the SOPA bill is technically guilty of his own online copyright violation, see this Forbes article.So, under SOPA, he could have his own website taken down without due process.

UPDATE 1/18/12 Here's what a host of law professors have to say about it. They're not happy either.

Hey, a post

2011-12-29T10:04:00.000-06:00

Annnnnnnnnnnnnd, I really got nothing.

I am currently taking a 2 week break from S&B. I am still writing, however. I am working on the script for my grandfather's TRUE STORY about smuggling a dachshund home, against orders, across the Pacific Theater during WW2 to get the animal to his fallen friend's family.

That sounds like a movie, right?

And now I know why we had a pet dachshund growing up. See: Cocoa.

Speaking of dogs, here's what Tallor's dog looks like: http://allthingsimpossible.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-dog.html. You can't really see his torn ear in this photo (and it still had stitches in it at this time), but you can see my attempt at sewing him a dog bed.

Imagining My Own Cell

2011-10-01T07:27:00.004-05:00

There’s a dark side to imagination that most people are cognizant of, but it’s never the first thing to spring to mind when someone says, “let your imagination fly”.

I paralyzed myself, especially in my writing and my career change. I trapped myself in other people’s opinions of me, at first because I had a pretty low opinion of myself and after that it just became habit.

Wait, that’s incorrect. I paralyzed myself in imagining what everyone was thinking of me. Just my own imagination. I never asked anyone what they thought.

For example,

My mother: because I didn’t grow up to be a Catholic girl.

My friends: I want them to like me, so I often pretended to be what I imagine they would like me to be.

My own characters: I imagine what they would think of me and how they would judge everything I do.

The office drama queen, judgmental religious haters (side note: I’ve never feared what the Westboro Baptist Chur– Cult might think of me since they hate everybody. Those assholes actually protested my friend Kelin’s funeral. He wasn’t gay, but he was popular, and it’s all just a popularity contest to them. FYI: most of us here operate on the assumption that Fred is just a self-hating closet homosexual, true story. We also wonder why the national news never covers our local counter-protests, some of which are hilarious! Like the dude in short shorts dancing between them, etc...)

Okay, I got off track, but I think you have figured out where I was going. I even caught myself wondering what athletes would think of me when I was out running/jogging yesterday. Yes, I’ll admit, I let myself get out of shape because I’ve been super stressed these last two years and I can only go two miles before I need a break. Still, I'm out there! I'm doing the right thing, but then I create these voices that berate me for not being better than I am.

How stupid is that? Over the last month or so, I’ve been taking a mental note every time I catch myself doing this. I stop and then realize how asinine it is, and let it go. It’s not like I even know what actual people think of me! I’m just making it up!

I went camping a few weekends ago – rained the whole time. And it was magical! I gave myself permission to just be me in front of all of these people who I didn’t know. I felt safe there. And I had the best weekend I’ve had in years!

I saw a woman with absolutely no fashion sense, and I’m a jeans and tshirt girl. I judged her mentally. I mean, the woman wore bangles on a hip scarf, brown swirly skirt with stripes and a tye-dye shirt. But then I overheard her speaking about how she didn’t care how others viewed her, and she was happy! I suddenly respected this woman. She was free.

I also realized that weekend, among the constant rain, bugs and occasional thunder that I was already doing the right thing and the same time I was doing the wrong one. I put my books out to the world, and some of the feedback I’ve gotten has been seriously harsh. It stings, every time, and I’m not imagining those venomous words. (Gee, it’s like people online write distinctively crueler words online than they’d say to your face, you know? //sarcasm.)

They don’t stop me from giving my books to the world. Most of what I’ve received has been far more positive than wicked. I’m doing the right thing.

I’ve already set myself free. I just don’t think that mean little part of my brain has realized that yet.

Katy Trail

2011-07-21T13:26:00.003-05:00

Last month, MV and I did the Katy Trail, a rails-to-trails path across Missouri. We loaded up our bicycles, shoved them in the back of an Amtrak train, disembarked in St. Louis, aimed our bikes at Kansas and went for it.

starting out

And the Missouri River looked like this the whole way. Actually, at this time, the river hadn't yet crested.

After we passed, parts of the trail were actually closed. Thankfully, most of the trail looked like this.

In the mornings, there was always the mystical scent of the forest that no matter what they may claim, laundry detergents just can't replicate.

Oooh.

Ahh.

Of course, just like anywhere in the Midwest, storms just hide behind trees and bluffs and suddenly jump out from behind you and throw everything they've got at you. And no matter how many water pistols and water balloons you bring, you will be outmatched by the storm. Also, the lightning will not turn its bass down for nothing.

There we were, innocently peddling along under the shady trees and clouds when ...rumble...

Me: "Was that thunder?"

MV: "May have been a truck. I don't know."

Storm: "RUMBLE!!"

MV: "Yeah, that was thunder."

We checked our map - we were about a mile away from the Tebbetts trailhead, and its little information depot boasting its solid wooden roof. It was the fastest mile we probably made the whole trip.

arriving in Tebbetts

But Fortune was with us that day, not only did we get to park out bicycles inside the Turner Katy Trail Shelter, the town was throwing its annual picnic! We waited out a furious 30 minutes chowing down on hot dogs and hamburgers.

The rain was so tremendous that we couldn't see the cars across the street for a good 10 minutes. Everyone was happy to chat with us, and commented on how lucky we were. In fact, if I hadn't of had a flat tire that morning, we would have been past Tebbetts and peddled straight into the teeth of the storm.

So we carried on. This is near Cooper's Landing. At least 4 cars passed us on the road to the left of the trail.

We were lucky with storms again. I had to book a room with the Hotel Frederick in Boonville (awesome place to stay) because there was no tent camping nearby. I'm glad I did, because at least two severe storms rolled through in the early morning hours. How do I know they were severe? One, the thunder waking me up was a clue. I've slept through a tornado in a tent before so you can safely infer that thunder usually doesn't wake me. Two, well... this:

MV is less than thrilled about our cycling adventure at the moment

We climbed over 23 trees in the short stretch between Boonville and Pilot Grove before we ran into the DNR clearing crew. Happily, they informed us that it was clear all the way to Sedalia.

I also noticed a thorn in my front tire at mile marker 199. The tire lasted all the way until marker 216 when the thorn finally fell out. I also learned that you can't patch an inner tube with fix-a-flat already inside of it. It oozes out of the puncture hole so the glue on your patch won't stick. Even when you duct tape it onto the inner tube.

The Death of a Tire

Despite a couple of setbacks, the trip was awesome and we spent more time laughing than cussing out a couple of flat tires. We also discovered a couple of very tasty brews and wines at the many local wineries. Everyone we met was nice and courteous, including locals and other cyclists. I couldn't have asked for a better summer vacation, and one so close to home!

I'd recommend checking out the official website http://www.bikekatytrail.com/ for history, mileage and other very useful information.

Hopefully, the Kansas Flint Hills Trail will be up to this standard soon. We're working on it!

Changing Another Tire

2011-07-13T08:24:00.000-05:00

The last changing a tire story resulted in a point for the men in the war of the sexes. This one, it's a point for us women.

I jogged down the stairs to warm up my car outside my apartment one freezing morning. It was so cold I had an icicle hanging off my nose in about a minute. Now, I know that some cars don't have to be warmed up in the winter, but mine gets a little sluggish if I don't. (Also, I've been driving the same car since I was 16, and I'm STILL driving it to this day.)

A few empty stalls away, one of the downstairs tenants was fumbling with a flat tire. I'd seen him around, but hadn't really said anything to him before. He had his long hair pulled back in a very neat ponytail and his forehead was banging against his car's paneling as if he was about to cry.

He'd gotten his jack underneath the car and had raised it so that the tire spun every time he tried to loosen a lugnut. He was also thumping his little stick tire iron against the lugnut, unable to generate enough torque to actually move the damn bolts. And the tire spun again.

I popped my trunk and pulled out my cross-piece tire iron; it has much better leverage. "It'll go quicker with this," I offered. "And, uh, you really want to loosen the nuts first, and then lift the tire off the ground."

And I wound up teaching him how to change a tire. We fitted his donut wheel on, and I tossed my tire iron back in my trunk.

He pushed his ponytail back behind his shoulder. "Thanks for not making fun of me. I know, I'm a guy, but I'm a philosophy major."

As if being a philosophy major was an argument against not knowing how to change a tire. That logic is fallacious.

I smiled and replied, "No problem."

"Yeah, I usually try to get these tires before they go completely flat. Now I gotta drive to the shop, again."

I paused, halfway through closing my trunk, and tried to think. I licked my lips, already cracking in the sub-freezing air. "When was the last time you checked your tire pressure?"

"What's that?"

And I didn't have the courage to explain it. The poor philosopher was already so embarassed because a woman had to change his tire for him that I just couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him that you don't have to drive around on your tires until they go flat of their own accord.

That is one of the minor regrets I have in my life. If I could do it again, I'd be honest with him. But all I can do now is hope that he's learned, and do better next time.

Oh, and whatever repair shop he ROUTINELY went to, the mechanic must've been either a) amazed that every flat tire this guy had didn't need to be patched or b) an asshole.

Changing a Tire

2011-05-21T15:16:00.005-05:00

I worked one summer out in the deserts of northeastern Nevada as a shovel bum. For those of you not immersed in the underworld of archaeology that means someone who spends her time surveying and excavating potential or real archaeological sites.

I once was asked by one of husband's cousins what I did, and I replied, "Well, I'm kinda bumming around with archaeology right now."

He brightened up. "Oh, my daughter loves dinosaurs!"

"Umm, that's palaeontology. Archaeology is human only."

For awhile, I volunteered in Kansas and then drifted away from archaeology. I regret that. (Mostly because I couldn't afford graduate school.)

Anyway, this post is about the battle of the sexes. Gender and its role is various societies is of course fascinating to anthropologists/archaeologists, sociologists, psychologists and psychotics.

How does the battle of the sexes figure into Sunshine Valley, Nevada? (Among one of the many places we surveyed.)

Let me try to paint how remote this was. If you think rural Kansas is out of the way, it's civilization compared to rural Nevada. There's usually a gas station within a 100 mile radius.

When we were bouncing along in the van down the dirt (not gravel) road, I looked out toward the distant mountains. I couldn't see the range's base because of a vast, hazy mirage. It wasn't a mirage of anything, it was just liquid, wavy tans and browns. Suddenly, a massive brown mustang leading a pack of wild horses burst out of the illusion and ran distantly alongside the van before melting back into the mirage.

Other people saw them too. I hope that answers that question bubbling in your mind: well, weren't they part of the mirage?

One of my friends I made on this trip was a local bank president in nearby Elko, and she talked about how she and her husband used to trap rattlesnakes for dinner.

You'd think the women out here would be pretty tough? Well, not all of them. This was our first clue: at lunchtime, a pencil thin girl unfolded a bandanna and sat on it so she wouldn't have to sit her butt against the sandy ground. We - both male and female - did our best not to laugh. At least where she could hear us.

Another day, we were rattling down another dirt road between the sage brush and tangled junipers. Today, a couple of the girls were stating that women were of course superior to men. Oddly enough, the men in the van were ignoring them. So were I and the bank president.

I guess I should clarify my personal opinion - there are too many idiots on both sides and in between the gender fence to be able to decide. I personally believe that it doesn't matter what sex, nationality, skin color, creed, blah blah blah, you are - you can still be an idiot.

Or you could be brilliant. At least, I hope you're brilliant.

And these girls kept prattling on about their inherent superiority, and how they don't need men to survive.

Well, in the van, a totally unsurprising thing happened. We got a flat tire. I think a rattlesnake tried to bite the van. Why not? It'd be more dramatic.

So, as I'm climbing out the van, I glanced back at the chatterboxes. Their faces suddenly paled. One quavered, "I've never changed a tire before."

Me: "What, in your whole life?"

She shook her head and licked her lips. "No."

"Then what do you do when you get a flat?"

Reply: "I just call my husband."

I wanted to head-desk the desert. So it was up to me, the boys and the bank president to change the tire. Which we did with practiced ease.

Grudgingly, I think this is a point for the males in the battle of the sexes.

I also thought of a great idea that summer: the archaeology diet. You can eat only what you can carry, deep in the middle of the Nevadan desert. You'll be tan and skinny in under a month! Downside: work, heat, dirt/sand, rattlesnakes, scorpions.

Here's a picture I took that summer with a disposable camera. My digital one had melted.

Trivia

2011-05-19T20:49:00.000-05:00

I bet you didn't know this.

"Please" in Latin is amabo te, which literally translates "I will love you."

Today's trivia has been brought to you by WRITER'S BLOCK. When the stream of consciousness gets going, even I don't know what's going to go through my head.

You vs. Ye

2011-05-17T09:43:00.002-05:00

Because I know I will get an email about this, telling me that I'm wrong, when I'm NOT.

In older English, we used to differentiate between "you singular" and "you plural" kind of like the vosotros form in Spanish. And Latin too, which makes sense, because Spanish is Latin simplified with Arabic thrown in. (Yes, that's a gross oversimplification, I know.)

Anyway, the lesson here is: YOU used to mean just "you singular" while YE meant "you (more than one person)". People used both, depending on who they were talking to.

In contemporary English, we've long done away with "ye" (at least in America - they still use it in parts of Ireland, in my experience. They might in other parts of the British Isles, but I haven't personally confirmed those).

So, nowadays, we don't say ye, which is just one syallable. Instead, we say "you all, you guys, ya'll, everyone..."

Now, if we could just adopt the Latin "su" to American English, please. That way I can stop having to type him or her, her or his, etc... Oh wait, we've been substituting the third person plural (them/their) for the singular since Shakespeare's time! So, please, can we just use "su"?

Just Another Doodle in the Crowd

2011-04-27T14:48:00.000-05:00

I just don’t get modern art. Thankfully, this put me in the majority of people today at the show house. I debated taking the business cards of some of the artists so that I could ask them myself, but then I decided to blog about it instead. Uh huh. Such a cliché now, I know.

From head tilting, to eye bulging, to backing up and squaring my fingers around the pictures, I managed to boil down my confusion to two main questions predicated upon one assumption.

Assumption: Art is a form of communication.

Look at Neolithic cave paintings from across the world. (Can you tell I majored in anthropology/archaeology?) They not only informed history to new generations but also showed how to hunt, dance, worship their gods, etc…

With modern art:

1. Who are you trying to communicate with?

Because I’m in the majority of people standing at these pictures and saying, huh? Sadly, I think it has become normal to tell oneself that I’m just not smart/cool enough to get it, but it’s in, so I’ll go with the flow.

2. What are you trying to say? (and does your target audience understand you effectively?)

Maybe my education was too stone age and classical. (Hey, I got up to the point in the middle ages where they invented drawing in the 3^rd dimension!) I understand Dadaism – because “it’s against the system” which has become so popular now that it’s part of the system. But, what I don’t get is tin foil and tissue paper mashed together inside a frame. What are you trying to say? I don’t speak barf-colored tissue paper!

Until this is explained to me, don’t ask me for $175 to buy it.

First Book 4 Rant

2011-04-25T10:14:00.003-05:00

I started working on Book 4, Stone & Bone, today. I’m not going all out on it yet. I’ve still got some other stories to craft before I’m ready to hit the accelerator on this one.

When I started outlining these stories way back in high school, vampires were not popular (except among us gaming nerds). Even back then, I’d always rather play zombies (or more accurately, someone killing zombies in new and creative ways; although now, I will admit that the exploding egg bombs were a bit of a stretch).

In the present, I kind of regret including a vampire character because they’re just so goddamn popular now. And it sucks because I get the impression that most of us like Tom, and I’m not sure he’d be the same if something fundamental had changed.

In this book, we’ll meet more vampires too – but happily, they are mean, nasty, manipulative and in no way anything like what has become mainstream. They don’t see the point in getting to know their food, except maybe to play with it. I’m even putting the sign “No Sparkling Allowed!” on their clubhouse door.

Alright, that’s a lie. Because doing that might indicate where their clubhouse door is. Oh no, I think I’ve said too much!

Okay, rant done. Back to the grind!

PS – Does this make me a fantasy genre hipster now? Noooo!

What Happens in the Car Wash...

2011-03-19T19:37:00.003-05:00

...goes on someone's blog.

I try to keep my car clean. It's not easy in the transition between winter and spring, when it's 80 degrees F on one day and 30 on the next with snow on the ground. All this results in me dropping an entire paycheck's worth of quarters at the car wash.

And here's what I saw.

Two stalls were open, but I noticed there was something sitting on top of the drain in one of them. So, I pulled into the other and then peeked over. It was a box of Remington bullets. On the drain in an empty stall. Okay, weird.

Yet not as weird as the over-sized load in the bed of the pickup truck today. First, I thought it strange that a pickup truck would have a load in the car wash. I "dropped" a couple of quarters, and then had to drop a couple of more because the first ones didn't roll far enough.

The owner of the truck was just finishing spraying down his hot tub. It was too big to fit flat in the bed, so it was propped up over one of the sides of the truck.

I've always drooled over owning a hot tub, but I always assumed that cleaning it wouldn't involve manhandling it into your truck and driving to the car wash. Also, I figured that the electronic controls are waterproofed to some degree, but to a high pressure sprayer on the exterior paneling?

What kind of party did that man have where it became necessary to load up his hot tub and take it to the car wash? On second thought, I'm sure that knowledge would disturb me.

Sesquicentennial

2011-01-28T12:25:00.001-06:00

Happy sesquicentennial Kansas! Well, happy birthday a day early! That’s 150 years of being a state. That means the post office has issued a new Kansas stamp, and I have sent my #1 minion to pick up a book for me.

That is all. Thank you.

I debated prattling on about this plains state’s pre-history (defined as human occupation without a system of writing) and history (defined by the introduction of the written word), but I figured that most people perusing my blog aren’t interested in an archaeology lesson. Man, I miss doing field work!

When I used the word sesquicentennial in conversation, I got funny looks. What? Does no one speak Latin anymore?

Ah, a breath of fresh wind

2010-12-30T12:09:00.008-06:00

Kansas. Today's high 69 degrees. Tomorrow night's low 9. (For my Celsius knowledgeable friends that's a high of 20.55 and a low of negative 12.77.) It'll drop down below freezing in a couple of hours today.

Wind is screaming out of the south right now, and pushing those low hanging clouds north. My friend and I were walking around downtown we looked up at the capitol building. Both of us stopped, stared at the copper plated dome, and then turned to each other. "Did you just see that?"

"Yeah! Did you?!"

The clouds, racing behind the building had made it look like they were hanging still in the sky and the building was swaying dramatically in the 32 mph winds with 44 mph gusts (they are running at 30, I just checked nws.noaa.gov*).

I've never seen anything like that before. I had to double check that my feet were on the ground. I had a touch of dizziness.

Sometime this afternoon/evening, those winds will be moving at the same speed, but from the north. Good news is that there are no tornadoes in the forecast. Doesn't mean it won't happen though.

And now for something completely different. For Christmas, my dad gifted me with a kick-ass SOG knife. The securely wrapped up knife/saw combo came with a one inch folding blade in order to be able to open the actual knife's packaging. So, I got a knife to be able to cut the packaging tape leading to another knife. I've never seen that before either.

*I would link to this site for you to be able to verify, but the site constantly updates given ever changing weather conditions.

UPDATE: Record high today of 71 degrees.

Saxon vs. A Pile of Snow

2010-12-14T10:10:00.006-06:00

Our bag that we use to tote firewood from outside unexpectedly gave in to gravity last night and fell over. This startled Saxon, the lovable hellhound, who had been mostly curled up by the fire. I say mostly because he has never seemed to master the ball. He curls up, but his feet always stick out like prongs.

The bag of firewood tipped over. His reaction, growl at it. This action reminded me of another story from when he was naught by an alien looking pup, the time he lost a fight to a pile of snow.

Here is the dog.

Here is a pile of snow.

(Not the pile of snow, because alas, I was without a camera.)

We had taken the dogs out to the Lawrence Bark Park, which is worth the drive. It's about 13 acres of fields, streams, forest and clearings for dogs to get into much trouble. We usually only take the dogs there in winter because there are rattlesnakes. I know this because a) my brother-in-law saw one and b) Saxon found the frozen corpse of one and thought it was the greatest toy ever.

On this winter day, the snow had all melted from the grass except for one large pile squatting near the edge of the field. I assume some kids had tried to build up a fort or something because there are no roads to plow in this clearing. Anyway, Saxon, who a little less than a year at this point, had seen snow before so I didn't think he would suddenly freeze with his hackles up.

I looked around for deer or a bobcat. Nope, nothing. And yet, there was the dog with a growl resounding in his throat. Meanwhile, the other dog was trotting ahead, nose to the ground, without a care in the world.

Saxon barked. Hackles up, he started to circle the pile of snow. It finally occurred to me that he'd never seen snow piled up before, especially when all the other snow had melted. The animal let another canine snarl tear from his throat, a sound to send terror into the spines of any small, furry animal. And, let's be honest, any ape-shaped animal too.

However, the snow staunchly held its ground in the face of the approaching, menacing dog.

Again, Saxon barked and circled closer. The snow still had not made a move. Ears back, hackles up, growling like a beast, he neared the snow. Finally, he'd circled within a few feet, and snow hadn't reacted at all.

The dog lunged.

I don't know if he was trying to bite the snow or if he was just trying to aggressively sniff the pile, but either way, as soon as his nose touched the icy coldness, the poor creature was off for the treeline like a rifle shot. He tripped over his tail twice.

Snow 1, Dog 0

Happily, the event did not traumatize the animal and today he is up to the task of subduing all manner of wild snows that dare enter our back yard.

Without

2010-11-16T14:32:00.001-06:00

I was wicked and went to a drive-thru window at a McDonald's. I know, I know, but honestly, can't I have a cheeseburger every couple of months?

This time, I ordered a cheeseburger sans onions. What did I get? A cheeseburger with extra onions.

I told this quick anecdote to some of my friends, and they didn't get it. Seriously, am I the only one who still uses sans in conversation?

I found their counter-arguments sans merit.

This still doesn't top my friend's story. Her sister went through a drive-through and purchased a cheeseburger, ketchup only. Well, they gave her a hamburger smeared with ketchup. No cheese though.

Bachelorette Cake Pan

2010-11-10T13:50:00.005-06:00

Note: This is a story about a Bachelorette Party, so it comes down to an adult joke/misunderstanding. I don't really like doing adult-themed subjects online since the net is so very public, so this may be the only one you'll ever read from me. It's just an honest, funny story. Anyway, don't read this if you're too young to go to a bachelorette party.

I would like to point out that I am one of the youngest of all my cousins. Not the youngest, but not too far off.

My cousin Leigh was the first of us to get married, so she got the kick-ass, buy-everything-in-the-store-who-cares-about-the-price-because-it's-on-dad's-credit-card party.

My other cousin Marcy and I dangled cut-out streamers across Marcy's living room. I taped them up with my eyes closed. Many fuzzy (possibly furry) decorations streamed across the space, but I didn't actually look at them. I especially didn't stare at the plastic crown with its wobbly "family jewels" on it. You know which jewels, and if you don't, I told you up at the top not to read this.

If I had a magic mirror and could use it to send a message across time, I know for a fact that I would not have believed myself if I told myself that this wouldn't phase me in a few years. I might have been a little freaked out by the talking mirror though.

Marcy's huge labrador Dexter also helped to decorate by grabbing the fuzzy decorations and scattering them about the room. He was perfect ambiance since his nickname is the S&M dog. He's entirely black (think black leather), has a spiked collar, and will walk up to you, arse first, demanding to be spanked. With fuzzy handcuffs between his fangs, he was perfect!

The room became a palace of phallic imagery, laced in more pink than I've ever witnessed before in one location. I'm sure at least 30% of it was on my face. All that was left to do was make the cake.

Baking! That would get me away from the decorations! With a thunderclap trailing my heels, I flew into the kitchen. I flipped on the oven and start mining for a cake pan underneath the sink. I'd just set the two round cake pans on the counter when Marcy exclaimed, "Not those! We gotta use the special one!"

Oh. Okay. I ducked back down and continued my under-sink spelunking expedition. A minor cave-in of cookie sheets crashed down, burying a deposit of casserole dishes. Any hope of discovering other cake pan strata instantly vanished.

Marcy started to pick through the grocery bags on the counter. "No, it's around here somewhere. We've gotta find this pan. I've got the different colored frostings, the whipped cream and the chocolate sprinkles all ready to go! Where could it be?" She flipped open her phone - this was in the days of yore and flip phones - and dialed her sister Kelly.

Across town:
Kelly didn't even notice her phone ringing as she rummaged through the over-filled trunk of her vehicle. Uncle Scott sifted through the other side of the paraphernalia. Kelly briefly wiped the sweat from her eyes as she tried to find her current college freshman report card.

Kelly, who can not only do an amazing karaoke of "It's Raining Men", was very smart. "It still can't believe my art teacher gave me a B on my design project!" She shoved aside a backpack full of either books or bricks, either way it carried the same weight.

Scott gently picked up the penis cake pan between two fingers and released it from the depths of the trunk into the sunlight. "You only got a B?"

Super Thieves' Oil Recipe

2010-10-14T14:57:00.005-05:00

I tweaked the recipe a little bit, thus why I added "super" to the title. I decided to add tea tree oil and lavender to this easy to make recipe. The tea tree oil is "nature's bleach" with anti-fungal, anti-viral and anti-bacterial properties. Lavender is used for its antimicrobial and antirheumatic properties.

A quick history of thieves' oil : The spice trade was essentially shut down during the Black Death that kicked Europe's collective butt in the 1300s and 1400s. So, some spice traders turned to crime for cash, and it paid very well. They invented thieves' oil to protect themselves while they robbed corpses and dying people. Supposedly, without ever contracting the plague. (Yes, I realize that this could be more eloquent, but you can safely assume that since I'm making thieves' oil, I'm not quite up to my writer's game.)

Super Thieves' Oil

1 cup jojoba oil (or olive oil, grape seed oil, etc...)

2 tsp eucalyptus essential oil

2 tsp rosemary essential oil

2.5 tsp cinnamon essential oil

1 tsp clove essential oil

1 tsp lemon essential oil

1/2 tsp tea tree oil

1 lavender essential oil

Combine. Mix together well. Store in a DARK colored GLASS container.

Do not take internally. Also, cinnamon and clove can be skin irritants, so know if your skin is irritable.

Uses: Rub on chest twice daily. Rub on feet. Use as a massage oil. Putting several drops in a pot of boiling water and letting it diffuse into the air is probably your best bet (but not more than twice a day). Sniff bottle occasionally if you'd like.

Apparently, it also makes a decent household cleaner when diluted, but I've never tried it like that. Its properties make it a good disinfectant, however, I bet it leaves a waxy residue behind because jojoba is liquid plant wax.

Covering my ass: I am not a medical practitioner, and I'm not giving out medical advice. I cannot diagnose or treat your medical condition (or non-condition as the case may be), nor would I even try. That would be equivalent to giving a mouse a bicycle - it wouldn't work out, and the bike would probably crash. If you choose to use thieves' oil, it's not my fault, so don't blame me. I never said this stuff was safe, I just said I was using it. Consult a physician if you're actually ill and don't take advice from a blog posted by someone you don't know on the internet. I should also point out that I cited no sources. This should be just considered historical education (but revisionist history because I added two ingredients).

How I Met My Husband and Other Zany Adventures Part 2

2010-10-14T14:55:00.000-05:00

I recommend reading Part 1 first.

Cell phone in the Sands

Once again, I would like to remind everyone that this is what actually happened. This has not been embellished for comedic effect.

It happened on the night of the blue moon too. Honestly. So, let me begin, "Once in a blue moon..."

My friend Dave was visiting from Ireland. (This takes place after the previous story, obviously.) My roommate, Amy, and I even turned the awkward alcove in our apartment into a castle. Okay, a castle made of old refrigerator boxes we'd raided and then painted to look like a castle. This way, we had a guest bedroom. And our very own castle, who doesn't want to brag about that?

Alas, we forced him to leave the security of his cardboard fortress to venture forth on the classic American Road Trip. Keep in mind, he's from Ireland. I took a "road trip" over there with some of my friends, and after two hours, the driver had to stop and rest. "Two hours is too much." I looked around in confusion. "Are you kidding me? I'm just getting warmed up."

So, from Lawrence, we set out to see the Rockies, Mesa Verde, Grand Canyon, Moab, and of course, our first real destination, the Great Sand Dunes in Colorado. That's 662 miles from Lawrence or 1066 km. Google maps claims it takes 11 hours 15 minutes, but we made it in 10.

We also drove through a very lovely storm on the high plains with the lightning stabbing at the ground. Of course, while this storm is going on, the other half of the sky is completely blue. I'll never forget Dave look back and forth between blue sky-vicious storm-blue sky-vicious storm.

Amy and I thought it was perfectly normal. Because it is. Just not normal for the rest of the planet. We left all the lightning behind when he climbed into the Rockies, and soon arrived at the Great Sand Dunes National Monument.

It's getting closer to sunset, but we start on the dunes anyway. Come on, literal mountains of sand. It's like the sandbox from when you were a kid multiplied by infinity. How can one resist playing in it?

To gain perspective if you've never been there, here is a photograph.

Hmmm.... why do I feel like this is missing something?

That's better!

So, there we were walking across ~~Tatoonie~~ the Great Sand Dunes Desert.

The further we got into the dunes, the lower the sun drifted and out came the blue moon. We were having a blast climbing up and jumping down the mountains of sand. However, around the nearby peaks, I kept an eye on the gathering clouds and the dancing lightning.

Soon, they started to drift toward the dunes. Literal mountains of sand + lightning + humans = Bad Idea. There's no cover. Although, if you take the humans out of the equation, lightning + sand = fulgurite, which is a mineral I find really cool. Yes, I still collect rocks. I am not ashamed of this.

However, with an oncoming storm, we needed a way to quit the sandy peaks with speed, and none of us had concealed a sled on our persons. So, we decided to roll. It'll be like we're kids again!

I about made myself sick. Rolling down those hills was great at first. Then, on distances that one should considered taking a sled, the fun of rolling quickly, well, unrolls and turns into that roller coaster ride that you can't get off until it's over.

At the little shelf between the base of one dune running into the slope of another dune, I slid to a stop. I sat and stared while I waited for the stars to stop circling around in the sky. I seriously thought I was going to lose my dinner.

Then, for some reason unknown, I rolled down the next slope. Obviously, in this, Amy, Dave and I split up. Too many arms and legs to bounce into. I waited for them to catch up to me, and I saw Amy kicking at the sand.

She'd forgotten to stick her personal items in pockets where they wouldn't jump for freedom, and had lost: keyring, flashlight, pocket knife and cell phone (or mobile phone, as Dave kept insisting).

But, without the flashlight, we weren't going to be able to trace our steps. The lightning flashes sure weren't luminous enough, except when they became very bright and you become a fixture in fulgarite. The wind pushed my hair into my face and kicked up the sands around my feet. I knew that our tracks would be gone tomorrow.

Calling the cell phone was useless too. No reception. (Hopefully, they've fixed that by now, but probably not.)
That night was spent shaking sand out of our clothing at an Alamosa hotel. It got everywhere. I was human sandpaper! Unfortunately, what it was sanding was my skin.

The next day, we reported Amy's losses at the ranger's station, and the guy laughed at us. Frankly, I didn't blame him. We trekked back out into the dunes. Of course, no tracks.

I saw something bright bouncing back the early sun at us. I scrambled through the sands, and it was a candy wrapper! I couldn't believe it! Why would anyone leave something that like out here? It would never get picked up and these things don't degrade!

This pattern continued seven more times. I couldn't fathom how inconsiderate these people were being. Finally, well ahead of Amy and Dave, I sat down for a water break.

Amy climbed up and collapsed next to me. Wordlessly, I handed over my canteen. She pointed. "I think I see something shiny."

Probably another candy wrapper, but what the hell?

I treaded on my hands and knees to make it up the incline. The sand scattered beneath them, threatening to send me sliding. This would have been a great hill for rolling.

And, there they were. The shiny flashlight, phone, keys and knife. All in one spot. I couldn't believe it.

We reported them found at the ranger's station. This time, the guy responded with, "Uhhhh..." and didn't form an actual word for over a minute. Worth it!

I was still finding sand in those jeans for months. No matter how many times I washed them.

By the way, you can drive from the Grand Canyon (somewhere on the north side) to Lawrence, KS in 21.5 hours (including stops).

Driving in that same car, this time to Arkansas, I read the "yeah, right" look all over M's face. At least, after the initial wide-eyed stunned look had faded.

"You're the luckiest person that I've ever met!" he exclaimed. "I don't believe you!"

At that point, I figured I really didn't have a shot with this guy. Funny how I was wrong.

How I Met My Husband and Other Zany Adventures Part 1

2010-10-07T14:51:00.000-05:00

I never daydreamed about my perfect wedding. I thought marriage was an antiquated tradition and its main purpose throughout history was to keep women as property. Other than a tax break and other various legal issues leftover from laws that haven't caught up with the times, I sincerely believed that the whole marriage concept didn't have contemporary relevance.

Obviously, I must've been so-oo much fun to date. Maybe that's why nobody asked me out. I was honestly okay with that. I had my own life to sort, and didn't want to have to bother to sort out someone else's life too.

My husband thought along those same lines too. So, how the hell do we wind up dating for two months, decide to get married, and are still enthusiastic about being married for more than two years after the fact?

Um...

Well, it started when we met on a road trip to Arkansas, and my reluctance to be honest. He later said that he thought I was the greatest storyteller he'd ever met, and that I was also one of the most gifted liars he'd ever met.

I believe in being honest with potential friends. I have learned, however, that people hesitate to believe me when I start to tell stories about myself. So, I didn't want to own up just yet.

It's my brother-in-law's fault that I didn't get the chance.

He wasn't my brother-in-law at the time. He was still my sister's boyfriend, and I was meeting his best friend for the first time. Then, we were all going to meet my cousins two states away for a New Year's Eve party.

So, I meet my brother-in-law's bff, the man I eventually marry. That was my second thought about him, that life-altering attraction. My first thought was, 'he looks confused'. Later, I learned that was because he was still waiting for his friend's sister to arrive. He thought I was just a roommate or something because my sis and I look absolutely nothing alike.

My sister and her boyfriend piled into my backseat. I'm still not sure why I got saddled with driving from NE Kansas to NW Arkansas when they already drove over to my apartment in their own car and left it parked there. Oh well. So, they were in the back seat, I was driving, and this attractive guy was in the passenger seat.

Now what? The highway opened for us. I focused on driving because 1) it's considered rude to stare, 2) there's no natural high like buzzing along on the open road and 3) I don't want to die by distracted driving. So, I gave my attention to driving. And, what would I say anyway? "Hey, glad you like my car, yeah, just ignore the textbooks and drive-thru recepits. I didn't know I was going to drive."

In the backseat, my sister's boyfriend leaned forward. "Hey, Deb, M's got to hear about what happened on your way over to Ireland."

"Um, okay. Which time?" But, it didn't matter; I knew exactly what story he wanted me to spill.

(Dear readers, none of these stories are embellished. What is told is what happened.)

On my way to Cork

I studied abroad at University College Cork, Ireland. I don't know why I picked Ireland. Sure, I've got some Irish heritage, but not enough to transplate myself a quarter of the way around the globe. I just knew that's where I wanted to go. So, I did.

But, I had to get there first. Simple plan: Kansas City to Chicago to London to Cork. Okay, simple enough for a college budget.

First delay: sitting on the tarmac in Kansas City because Chicago is having bad weather. I cracked my knuckles. I had a tight connection to make in Chicago, but that was okay. That flight would probably be delayed too because the bad weather was happening over there.

No such luck. As soon as I get off the plane, I grabbed the nearest employee I could find. She assured me that since my original flight still takes off in 5 minutes that American Airlines had moved me on to one that takes off in 30, and here was my new boarding pass. Great. That would still give me time to catch my London to Cork connection.

So, I could relax. I purchased a cinnamon roll, an extra bottle of water and sat down to review my paperwork about my new university, housing arrangements, etc...

And then I heard my name announced over all of Chicago O'Hare, and the PA demanded that I report to my original flight to London. "This is your final boarding call."

I burped up a piece of cinnamon roll, stuffed everything in my backpack and was running before my feet hit the floor. In this run, I learned how freaking huge this airport actually was. Again, I hear my name announced. I kept running, and kept running...

Finally, out of breath, I slapped my hand up on the counter. The door to the jetway was already closed, but everyone was still there. "I'm here," I wheezed and presented my original boarding pass.

The attendant took my paperwork, glanced at it, and then just raised both her eyebrows. "Oh, you were moved to the next flight, didn't anyone tell you?"

"Then why the hell did you just call my name over the intercom!? TWICE!" ...is what I wanted to shout. Instead, I wound up just staring and probably catching flies in my open jaw.

I slept most of the way over to London. I just had to shut the world out for awhile. Once I arrived, I realized that Chicago O'Hare has got nothing on London Heathrow in the realms of huge and confusing.

Other wide eyed American students also stared up at the maps, trying to figure how to navigate the airport. For fifteen minutes, we became comrades in arms - just to get through the airport. And, just like that, we evaporated to go our separate ways.

I was still in time for my connection to Cork. I shuffled through my paperwork one last time, and discovered that I was missing my contact information for when I arrived. No phone, no address to my apartment, no contact name. Literally no clue.

When I made my mad dash in Chicago, it must have not made it back into my backpack. It was probably still sitting in the food court, covered in cinnamon bun fragments. A cold shiver ran up my spine at the same time my face lit on fire. I gulped. What was I going to do?

To make matters worse, when I presented my boarding pass for my final connection, it turned out that American Airlines had canceled my reservation to this flight completely. However, since I had my original boarding pass and obviously still needed to go, they'd let me on because they had extra seats. Go Aer Lingus. Of course, I wouldn't have the seat on the ticket and my luggage had been condemned to limbo.

I plopped my unhappy butt now in my new seat. What a great way to start this adventure. Seriously. What was I going to do when I got there?

Another woman, about my age, took the seat next to me. I ignored her thorougly. I just glared ahead at the back of the seat in front of me. After takeoff, she tried to get the last few stubborn drops out of the bottom of an empy bottle of water.

I sighed and pulled out my unopened bottle that I'd bought inside of O'Hare and offered it. No reason why both of us have to be in sour moods. She accepted it with a nervous smile and said, "Yeah, I'm just coming over here to study abroad."

"Me too." And, as it turns out, she was going to exactly the same apartment complex. Boo-ya.

So, back to the road trip. We were still cruising along somewhere on Highway 71 in Missouri with this really cute guy seated in the passenger seat. He shook his head and laughed, and it was the "I don't believe you, but you sure can tell a whopper laugh".

I grinned. Whew. I was glad that was over.

My sister's boyfriend, emerging from the back seat, demanded "Tell the one about the cell phone in the sand!"

Ahhhh! I don't wanna, I don't wanna! I almost shoved my hands over my ears. If M laughed at me for my "going to Cork" story, he really really wouldn't believe this one! Even if it was 100% true.

To be Continued...

Log Riding Rattlesnake

2010-09-23T14:35:00.002-05:00

Year: 1962
Location: Somewhere in Northern Utah

Half of the following story is fiction and half describes actual events. If you can't guess which, the answer is at the end. The names have been changed to protect my sanity (because I'm not sure I want you to know that I might possibly be related to one of these guys...).

Downstream
Mary grinned as she watched her toes in the mountain water. She wiggled them and the icy water sent a chill coursing up through her legs, up her spine, causing her heart to thump, and her head to tingle. Of course, maybe the heart pounding was really caused by Joseph sitting two feet away from her.

The wind made his long dark hair ripple in waves, while the sun shifted the color of his natural highlights. That hair framed his face so perfectly! He looked so peaceful as he trailed a long stick through the small river.

Joseph smirked, but kept watching the water. A log bumped to a stop in the small pool formed by some boulders. He frowned. It was bobbing oddly, and was that some rope? He extended the stick and rolled it over.

The stick fell from his suddenly stiff digits. "Mary, don't look over here!"

So, naturally, Mary hopped to her feet and trotted over. Also, this gave her an excuse to squeeze up next to him. Surely nothing could be--

She slapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my god, what the hell is that?"

The charred corpse of a dead rattlesnake that had been tied to the log bobbed helplessly in the clear waters. A few fish swam over and took a few inquisitive nibbles.

Mary shivered. "Who could be so cruel? I know everybody hates rattlesnakes, but... who could do such a thing?" She bumped her shoulder against Joseph's chest and didn't even notice.

The lifeless eye sockets stared up at them. The log continued to swirl around in the pool and the fish got on with their meal.

Upstream, a few days prior

Rick bit his lip and trembled. He wouldn't cry. Not in front of David and Harvey. He could cry later, but seeing as how they were all roommates, he'd have to go up into the mountains by himself. He let his fingers brush against Trousers' scales. They felt as icy as the water. "Goodbye, buddy."

He stuck the match. The log, doused in gasoline and supported on either side by two attached branches, lit up against the cloudy afternoon sky. With his boot, he nudged the little Viking funeral raft into the stream. David and Harvey stepped up to the edge of the water, and they all watched the fire.

He'd been one of 18 baby rattlesnakes they'd brought back to their apartment in a pillowcase. The pick had been good that season. Of course, they could only find 17 of them when they went to put them back. For three days...

They'd finally discovered him in a pair of trousers when Harvey went to put them on. So, the snake was named. And also, 20 year old college boys couldn't resist that particular joke.

He'd never threatened a person, and lived a relaxed life of hunting down feeder rats in the apartment. What more could an animal ask for? And now, it was time to let him go.

Rick, David and Harvey drifted a little closer together as they watched their pet sail on into the afterlife.

Still in sight, they watched as one of the small supports to the funeral log burned through, and the entire contraption flipped upside down into the river. The smoke and steam were visible for just a heartbeat, and then, he was gone.

Which was real? Upstream.

Moral: Don't judge a burned, dead rattlesnake tied to a log in a river. He may have just had a Viking funeral.

Yes, that really happened.

Author's note: I really have no idea if there is a snake afterlife, but if there is a snake heaven, I bet it also doubles as furry critter hell.

Seasick Sailor

2010-09-22T08:12:00.002-05:00

A couple of my friends and I somehow scraped together the funds to visit Ireland and catch up with some of my old friends there. We also bought train and bus tickets to go sightseeing. Obviously.

Our excursion just on the ferry to and from the Aran Islands is a definite highlight:

These islands are so remote that
1) The signs are all written in Irish (vs English or a mixture of languages as on most of the island).
2) I saw a man holding a car tire. An old car tire. Like from the late 19th century! He had to board the ferry, travel to the main island, have someone there repair the tire, and then ride the ferry back.
3) There are no railings or warning signs or anything when you explore a 3,000 year old fort built/eroded into the cliff's edge. If you fall off of the massive cliffs into the crashing ocean below, it's your own fault.
4) And no one will ever find you.

But, that's not the story. That's the background.

We three Kansas girls were determined to be out on the back part of the ferry which is open to the air and sea. We were still hanging on to the railings despite that the ocean is freezing and spitting on us. We were going to experience the ocean, damn it!

When we finally came sight of the shore, a storm popped up from nowhere. Or is it called a squall? Can I call it a squall? Or is a squall a specific type of oceanic weather disturbance? I don't get to use that word in my common lexicon! And maybe this squall wasn't from nowhere. I didn't know how to read the ocean weather. But, being from Tornado Alley, I can definitively tell you that it was not rotating.

It was, however, causing the ocean to create a valley of rolling swells. I'm not even going to try to guess how high the wind was pushing the waves, but the ferry suddenly started to remind me of a roller coaster. Slow rise up the slope, and then a quick drop. Repeat. Many times.

The few other people daring the ocean's chill out back with us quickly ducked inside. We curled our fingers around the railings and gather a good grip for this ride. Up and down. Rise and fall. The ocean's spray hissed as it drenched us all the harder.

Up and down. Rise and fall. And it felt like side to side too.

Then, the rain also attacked. We still stayed outside. After all, we're already soaked and chilled, and we were going to enjoy the ocean. Even if the ocean didn't want to play nicely. That's fine. We're not going anywhere. We could wait.

Although, as we crashed down another way, we got glimpses of a closer view than I ever would have wanted...

The next time we stared down a swell, as it continued to rise up underneath the ferry below us, my cursed and blessed imagination tried to show me what it would be like underneath the waves. The calm as compared to the chaos above...

Still, that was just landlubber prairie talk. I trusted the crew running this boat. I mean, it was their job after all. I'm sure for them, this storm was nothing. I had no idea what ferries can and cannot handle. Wouldn't they have avoided this squall if it was too much? Or did it really just appear like a bad magician's hat trick?

Shortly after thinking that, my faith was rewarded as we passed free of the storm. The rain vanished, the swells smoothed out, and the ferry glided along gently toward the shore. We finally got to experience the crisp, salty air and enjoy the ocean's majesty.

My hand had been gripping the rail so tightly that it took me a couple of seconds to unclench my white fingers. That's when one of the sailors popped his head out back, and obviously, surprised we were still there, asked, "Were ye out here the whole time?"

(Cultural note: Many people still use 'ye' for second person plural and think nothing of it, 'cause it's still proper grammar. I haven't met anyone using 'thee' and 'thou' yet though.)

We nodded.

He paused. "Are ye sure?"

Nod again.

"And ye didn't get seasick?"

Shook our heads.

Then, he grinned. It was more glassy than cheerful. "Well, I did."
I finally started to wonder...

Been awhile

2010-09-13T11:54:00.000-05:00

I haven't blogged in awhile. I can't use the excuse that "nothing interesting happened to me". The sign of a good storyteller is able to take an everyday story that could happen to anybody and make it something people will read with excitement.

Like my ride to work. I do my best to ride my bicycle every day, with an exception for rain in the forecast. Even with a helmet, two inch an hour rain stings. And hail, I've been caught in hail on my bike before. Yet, I still pedal the darned thing to work. Interestingly enough, it takes me 15 minutes in my car with rush hour traffic, but only 20 minutes on my bike.

It's cool in the mornings around here in early spring/late summer. Nothing a light jacket snuggling against my skin doesn't solve. It's so amazingly comfortable and needed! I can feel the kiss of the dawn's chill in passing. Of course, halfway through my ride, that same cotton film against my arm becomes twenty miles of stuffed wool while I'm trying to steer through the Gobi Desert. Obviously, it gets too warm.

So, while I'm riding along on the sidewalk... I should probably stop and explain: that is legal in the city, there are no bike paths and riding on the street is suicide by inattentive driver.

So, while I'm riding along on the sidewalk - the very lumpy, tree root infested sidewalk - I'm sweating like the Mississippi and fighting my jacket. I'm balancing with no hands, backpack wildly swing off of one shoulder while trying to get this thrice cursed, sweak soaked thing off of my other arm! I swear, this thing holds tighter than a clingy ex-boyfriend!

I free one arm. Halfway to bliss! Now, still pedaling with no hands, I transfer the backpack to my other shoulder and attempt to free my other arm from this slippery trap. Meanwhile, the sleeve that's been freed is trailing behind my seat and curls itself around the rear wheel and the chain.

Lurch! RIIIIIIIIP!

And, I walk my bicycle the rest of the way to work. Before I leave for home, I peel out pieces of that beloved jacket that always did such a good job of keeping me warm on my ride to work...

Tomorrow: repeat.

Tornadic or Straight Line Winds?

2010-06-16T08:59:00.006-05:00

It's a common question out here on the plains after a storm. Sometimes there's rotation, but not a funnel cloud at which you can point your finger. There's always damage. My question is, was it straight line winds or tornadic winds that caused my Carpathian Walnut to attack my neighbor's house?

It started around 11:30 pm. I actually woke up to the thunderstorm. Usually, I am woken up by my yellow lab, who no matter what M and I do, is terrified of thunder. Without fail, he will wake one of us by the old wet-panting-dog-nose-in-the-ear trick. But, storms don't wake me. I slept through a tornado in a tent out in Garden City once.

So, having that fact established, to find myself waking up to a storm, it had to be an impressively powerful storm. I rolled over, and tried to determine if the pounding was stinging rain or hail.

M appeared in the bedroom door. "There's a tornado warning."

"What? In town?"

"Yep."

So, I figured that was at least worth tuning in to the local news. When I got to the family room, the weather map on the TV glowed red and purple as the weatherman fussed about the severity of the storm.

When you need crucial information, Murphy's Law will apply and the electricity will fail. The more you need that info, the more spectacular the power outage. In this case, the transformer a block away exploded and set the power pole on fire in the midst of an inch per hour rainfall.

Great. Now, we were aware of several "areas of strong rotation" and we didn't know where those were. For those of you who don't live in tornado alley, that's the politically correct way to saying, "Yep. Radar shows it's definitely spinning, but we have no idea if there's a funnel on the ground or not. 'Cause it's dark and it's raining."

I flipped on our little NOAA weather radio. All it says, of course, is that there is a severe storm and a tornado warning, oh, and floods too. It doesn't say for example, that the areas of rotation are in Highland Park, Washburn area, downtown, or Tecumseh. So, I don't know if it's safe to go back to bed or not.

Ah, well. I looked down at two dogs with impossibly sad brown eyes and tails wagging nervously. "Suppose we should play it safe."

If you don't have a basement, like we don't, there are still a couple of options.

1. Our neighbor across the street has a proper tornado shelter in his backyard and we have permission to use it. This is useful before the storm grows too dangerous to cross the street. Especially with two big dogs to drag along; one of whom is already terrified, and they're both howling at the warning sirens.

2. Hide in your bathtub and pull a mattress over your heads.

We half did that. Our bathroom has no windows (good thing in storms), but it's also a 4x4 foot box (excluding the built-in-the-wall bathtub). There's no way a queen mattress is going to fit in there. The mattress is literally larger than the room.

So, I'm sitting in the bathtub with a labrador retriever who hates baths. M and the other lab sat outside the tub. I really don't get labs. Show them a creek or a mud puddle and they'll splash all day long. Show them a hose or a bathtub and they'll bark and buck like they're going to melt on contact.

The little weather radio squawked away like a parrot. Yes, a parrot because it just repeats the same information over and over without any detail. In a couple of minutes, the tornado warning expired.

I poked my head out of the front door and looked around. "Huh. Didn't hear that happen."

The winds had wrenched one of the two trunks of our Carpathian Walnut tree. A three foot bright scar clashed with the darkness around it. The trunk and tree top were resting at an awkward angle against our next door neighbors' house.

Damn.

Next morning:

Our neighbors were cool with the damage, and it wasn't leaking or anything. They hadn't heard it either.

However, apparent minimal damage aside, they still had half of a tree on their house.

What a fine time for us to find out that our chainsaw is busted.

I grabbed the little handsaw from the wall and set to work at the break in the tree. Part of the trunk was still attached to the rest of the tree. At least nature had split the work with me too. The trunk was already broken in half.

M put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the work before us. "Deb, that's not going to work."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, how did people do it for millennia before chainsaws?."

"Axes."

Ooh. He did have a point. The first tool known to humankind was a stone ax. And, I really don't get to use my flintknapping technique too often these days anyway. Fact: obsidian is sharper than steel surgical tools and leaves less of a scar. Also fact: it dulls very quickly, and breaks easily when it's dulled.

Then again, I did already have a metal saw in my hand. Metal did replace stone as a medium for tools for a reason.

I set to work. I sawed and sawed, and kept sawing. Even I thought it was mind-numbing.

Meanwhile, M trimmed away on the smaller branches with the giant clippers. He cleared out most of the top of the tree while I kept sawing away at the trunk.

Over a hour and one ice-packed wrist later, he admitted that I was right.

Thankfully, the broken tree had only managed to knock off some of their guttering and the angle of the window a/c unit. Plus, we have firewood for next winter.

We came out of this storm very fortunately again. Many others in this town weren't so lucky with their houses. However, everyone is fortunate that it was only property damage this time.

The Graceful Spider

2010-06-02T13:28:00.004-05:00

I saw a brown recluse spider crawling across my dashboard while I drove down the two lane road. Of course, this had to be on a narrow road with a high speed limit. Life is far too dramatic for me to be able to pull over and shoo the spider out.

I tilted and spun the wheel to navigate the road; and climbed hills and rapidly dropped down from them. The spider casually ambulated along in the sunlight.

That spider casually ambulated right down inside the air vent.

As I gripped the wheel, my imagination started to grip me. What if popped back out on myself or a passenger when I wasn’t expecting? What if it found its way through the maze and came out a different vent?

What if the spider had babies?

So, I turned the defroster on full blast. My thought was that the air would force the spider out; or at the very least, prevent it from going further toward the engine.

How right I was.

In fact, I was so right, that the rushing air cannoned the spider out of the vent into the air, exactly over center of the steering wheel and right into my lap.

Ten point perfect trajectory and landing.

Of course, now I had a poisonous spider in my lap with only a thin layer of denim between my skin and its fangs.

Memories of my childhood decided to emerge. The blindingly white lab coat of the doctor bubbled up. I was much smaller then, when the doctor told me that I was probably going to lose my thumb because of a spider bite.

At most, I lost my thumbnail. And that’s because when I noticed that it was starting to come loose, I grabbed a pair of pliers and finished the job. (Yes, that is a true story too.)

Today, I understand why people do that as a torture technique. I wouldn’t recommend it, even at a party. The nail never did grow back the same as the others either, and it’s still different to this day.

I was told that I was going to lose that thumb to a spider bite. So, what could that same species of spider do to my leg then?

I felt much smaller than the spider in my lap.

At this point, I decided to take my chances and pull over.

Gently, I wiped the spider out of my lap with an old fast food receipt. I shook the paper, and it glided down to the pavement. After all, it’s not its fault that it’s a poisonous creature. Besides, not being gentle at this juncture may have been bite inducing.

So, with a job well done, myself and the spider both unharmed, I closed the door and drove off.

I think I may have run over it.

Dalton Reed now = D. Dalton

2010-04-15T10:06:00.004-05:00

My name isn’t Dalton Reed, it’s Deborah Dalton.

I hid behind that fake name for a couple of bad reasons. One, the main character’s name is so close to my own. Two, it’s the internet and I didn’t want to spill my identity all over it. Okay, maybe those are actually justifiable, but I didn’t come up with them until after I’d already chosen a pen name.

The real reason was that I was afraid. Of what? Everything? Nothing? My own shadow? Criticism could bounce off a fake name. No one would know it was me. No one could recognize me (and who recognizes authors anyway?).

As mentioned above, one the reasons I stuck with my sobriquet was that I choose a name so close to my own for the hero. That’s technically bad form. Originally, she bore the appellation Dylan. However, I was still strolling through the ‘D’ section of a baby name’s website (which earned me some awkward questions from friends) and came across Derora. Angels sang, the heavens parted and I’m pretty sure that pond in my parents’ back yard split to allow some squirrels passage to escape from the neighbor’s dog. “That’s it!”

Mental brakes screeched. I couldn’t use a name so close to my own. So, I ignored it. And I kept ignoring it. I kept ignoring it so much that it was all I could think about. I emailed some friends asking which was better, Dylan or Derora? I bet you can guess how they replied.

The other main reason for adopting a pen name is that I didn’t want people to know it was me. I didn’t want to be me. Not just in writing, either. I gave up on soccer, fencing, Tae Kwon Do and running. I let myself get addicted to sugar. I’m at a dead end job far below my college degree. Why? It was the easiest path. I like the people here; but I’ve always voluntarily passed up for a higher grade position. The thought of it makes my brain feel green. You know it’s an ominous indication when you’re thinking in colors.

That’s what I’ve been doing. Following the easiest path. Water follows the easiest path, and water always winds up on a downhill slope.

I’ve learned from my characters. They’re not stupid like me. Der is honest to herself. She knows what she wants to do, and doesn’t let the odds deter her. She knows there are catastrophes in the life she’s chosen, but she doesn’t hesitate anyway.

I was eight years old when I realized that all I wanted to do was write. I haven’t found any other career that I’ve really liked. Or maybe it’s because I’m too interested in everything, and wanted to try a myriad of careers. Nothing stuck.

I wrote the story that eventually morphed into Crown of the Realm when I was eight. In its most basic form, it was the same story, although with a completely different cast of characters and obstacles. The sword has always remained the same though.

I grew up telling myself that I couldn’t make a living as an author. Few people can. Well, now, I’m tired of working at a job I loathe and I’m too exhausted to hate myself anymore. I’m riding my bicycle to work, going to the gym over lunch and eating grapes instead of cookies at home.

I actually have my dog, Saxon, to thank for that. He ate all my cookies. He shouldn’t have been able to get them. Reality rarely deters this animal. Somehow, he managed to sneak them out from behind the countertop appliances, unwrap them and then immediately dispose of the evidence to his crime.

Whenever I imagine this, Grieg's In the Hall of the Mountain King plays in my head.

That night, he showed me that I could make it through one full day without any sugary trash. So, the next day, I told myself one day. Today, I’m telling myself one day. It gets easier every day, so maybe downhill isn’t always bad after all.

I can learn from the dog too. Not in the binge eating way, of course, but in the fact that he knows what he is. He’s a dog and he loves to run. To him, it’s not a chore. Running is an expression of freedom; or maybe he thinks he really can knock that bird down from the sky. Running didn’t used to be a chore for me either. I can rediscover that. Sometimes, I think that writing is a chore too, when really, it’s my expression of freedom.

These days, I want to be me. That means being a writer and using my real name.

Please note that there will be a long transition between switching names because I can’t afford to print new editions of the novels with my real name at the moment. I’d also like to correct any grammatical errors, accidental misspellings, etc that myself and Mr. Szott have missed. Feel free to point these out to me. I can’t afford line editors, so I need all the help available. I really have to thank you – for reading this post, and just reading my works in general. That means the world to me.

Honestly,
Deborah Dalton

Feral Dachshund

2009-11-25T13:30:00.006-06:00

True story.

Sadly, because I have to do that whole work for a living thing, this is one that I did not get to see in person. However, it makes me laugh every time I think about, so that indicates that it's a story worth telling.

My family deer hunts. Since we live in Kansas, this means white-tailed deer. My dad, a damned good shot, bagged himself a decent sized doe. Sweet. Only problem was that it was already dusk. He'd got it down in a creek where he couldn't get the Jeep in (at least, not if he wanted to get the Jeep back out). And, he didn't want to take the time to build a travois, because you know, that takes all of TEN MINUTES. At least, if you don't intend to use it more than once.

So, he hung it up in a tree, off the ground, and he'd come back the next morning when it was light.

This is a common mistake made by many hunters. If you see a hunter standing at a tree scratching his head this is because he left the deer out overnight and the ghosts of the forest claimed their own.

Or, it could be coyotes.

Or a feral dachshund, that most dangerous of beasts. Sure, most of them that you see look cute, furry and totally inefficient for killing anything larger than a mouse.

Oh, and he had his rottweiler buddies, who are not toying with the dachshund as food.

The next morning, upon my father's return, he witnesses that the lower half the deer was completely gone. And the perpetrators were still there, caught red-muzzled. The dachshund
leapt for one last bite. And then, the pack was gone, loping gently on long, muscular legs as if swimming over the amber waves of wheat. Yes, this is an accurate description, because you can't see the dachshund running - you just see the grass moving over its head. It doesn't spoil beauty.

LESSON:
How to spot a feral dachshund on the prairie. Well, it's kind of like finding those pesky rattlesnakes. You have to listen. But, instead of a rattle, you're listening for brush . Also, if you see the grass moving as if something short is meandering through it: WATCH OUT! It may not be a squirrel! The feral dachshund have taken many a wanderer by surprise ankle attack.

You have been warned. Cave Canem.

This is about as funny as the time that the buddies of my dad's buddy up in Wyoming - who had never deer hunted before - literally SHOT the carcass eight times after it was already dead. Simply because they didn't have a knife to let the blood drain out. And yes, apparently, they were sober.

The French and Indian War (not really)

2009-09-27T10:08:00.005-05:00

I'm sorry to my friends that I stood up yesterday. I got an emergency call asking me to drive the French to the powwow.

Let's back up. I spend a little time volunteering for the 35th Infantry Division Association. Usually my volunteering consists of the Association calling me and explaining why they need my help (fyi: I have relatives in the Assocation itself). And, since apparently I'm reliable, they've already told everyone that I'm going to do whatever before they call me. Argh! And that's a whole other catch-22 because 1) I like helping people and 2) I'm so sick of the slackers getting away with everything because no one ever asks them.

So... the Assocation is having its huge reunion with a lot of really awesome WWII vets. Sadly, there are fewer of them every year. This year we had some of our French division of the Association actually come over for the reunion. These are the people who were children when the Americans liberated their villages and their children.

And, of course, if they're going to come over to Kansas. They want to see the a powwow. And, it just so happens that the Potawatomi Nation was having their 12th Annual Veterans Recognition Powwow. A match made in Heaven.

But, the Assocation didn't have a driver. I would say that I graciously entered the stage at this point to save the day, but it was more like a surprise push. I didn't even get a script, but since my French sucks, I wouldn't have been able to read it anyway.

We went, they took their pictures with people in their traditional outfits. They bought some native jewelry and hats. They even got officially recognized - which I had to push them out in the arena because they didn't know what the announcer was saying.

And, I simply didn't have the vocabulary to explain that their Indian tacos were actually a sample of Mexican cuisine.

This reminds me of the time in high school that I had to drive some German foreign exchange students to their house. I do not speak German, and they barely knew English. But, they knew right and left, which was of great help for driving directions. I certainly didn't know which house they were supposed to be at. We did have a little confusion when they said "left" and I acknowledged by saying "right." That led to even more confusion.

You know, I have no idea where the French get their stereotype. All of the French people that I have ever met in my life have been very kind, generous, willing to stumble along with me in my poor French and so on. I had one entire conversation on a train in Colorado that consisted of myself and a French lady flipping through the French/English dictionary. Seriously, they've been totally awesome.

Taboo Not Really

2009-08-12T07:31:00.004-05:00

In several cultures worldwide, especially in some places of Africa, it is said that black dogs carry the soul of the devil.

I'm starting to believe it.

Saxon chews on EVERYTHING, including me! He also cries when you put him in his crate. He finally made Dakota lay down doggy law by climbing on Dakota's bed one too many times. And for those of you that do not know Dakota, he is the sweetest, most patient dog on this planet. He actually barked, and yes, this is such a rare occurrence that it does require noting.

And, the puppy isn't house trained, of course.

Ah, the joys of rearing a puppy. I hear it is a hundred times worse with children.

Partner in Crime

2009-08-04T18:05:00.005-05:00

Dakota has a new baby brother (adopted, obviously). I must say that this is not the greatest picture. He squirms a little too much to get a good photo. We're going to name him Saxon.

Prince of Dogs

2009-07-21T20:03:00.002-05:00

It's a sad fact that my dog lives a better life than most humans on this planet.

More WTF pictures

2009-07-09T10:31:00.006-05:00

I don't remember where I came across this, but I noticed that Kansans apparently don't use the same calendar as everyone else. Topeka, KS. And yes, I took all these photographs myself.

Well, he wasn't trying to shoot the lock off. Nope, that's at face height. And, now, that person has permanent hearing damage. Santa Fe, NM a toilet at a lake across the parking lot from a monastery.

Apparently, Kansas City is its own nation. Washington, DC

WTF pictures

2009-07-08T17:27:00.005-05:00

Apparently, there are many interesting things to see if you actually look at your surroundings. I also found out that my new camera phone can take a fairly decent picture. I'm still worried about the 18 and over religious sign though... I found it while walking in a mall. I don't think that's the point they were trying to make, but a parental advisory means that it's not meant for the under 18 crowd for the two things that this society "regulates". But... sex and violence are nothing new in religion.

you KNOW it's a bad day

2009-06-23T07:23:00.002-05:00

You know it's not going to be a good day when at 5 am, it's already 80 degrees (of which at the time, I was blissfully unaware). You know it's not going to be a good day when you get a phone call at 5:30 am because your best friend's car overheated and now he needs a ride.

Turned out it was just a bad thermostat.

Ouch

2009-06-19T08:34:00.000-05:00

They say it pays to advertise, but it also costs a lot too.

Original Joke

2009-06-12T23:49:00.001-05:00

Q. What do you call a vampire in a cemetery?

This is an AE Goddard and Dalton Reed original, even though I totally would not be surprised if someone else made it up too.

A. a Dumpster Diver.

Sci Fi

2009-06-12T14:07:00.002-05:00

I love science fiction. But, have you ever noticed that in TV shows and movies that the ship is shot to hell, the warp/hyper drive is offline (as it is usually the first thing to go), shields are at minimum (if they have shields), etc etc... However, the artificial gravity NEVER falters or fails. I think a system like that would be fragile, complicated and one of the first things to go offline, but apparently, that's what I get for paying attention in physics.

I'm starting to think that they don't film these things in space at all...

Bunny Part 2

2009-06-08T19:19:00.004-05:00

There were six baby bunnies in all. Dakota was raiding the nest the next morning when we let him out, and taking them one at a time to the back of his dog house outside. So, when I got off work, I gathered all the bunnies (including finding the one from the night before on the other side of the fence). There's a local vet here that takes them in and releases them when they're old enough to care for themselves. I seriously didn't like taking them away from the mother, but the burrow was smack dab in the middle of my labrador retriever's territory. And every time he saw the mother, he ran her off.

Dakota caught a baby bunny

2009-06-02T21:52:00.009-05:00

Here is the dog (note the crate in the background):

We let him out for the last time tonight, and when I called him to come back in I noticed he stopped and sniffed the ground intently. Fine. He's a dog. Then, I noticed that he picked something up, dropped it and picked it up again. He proceeded to dilligently trot into the house and straight into his room (aka the dog crate). It is his personal space, we just leave the crate door open at all times.

Well, I wanted to know what it was that he brought into the house and was now almost sitting on top of in the very back of his room.

It moved. "A mouse!" The dog continued to hover over the tiny creature. I looked again, and nope, it was a baby rabbit. It didn't even have its eyes open. He hadn't hurt it in any way, either. Apparently, labrador retrievers can be very gentle with their jaws. I'm guessing that he didn't want to eat it because he was very careful not to injure it, and I haven't known a dog to save a meal for later. Although, I have known them to hide their treats and bones around. So, in the end, I'm guessing I'm saying that I have no clue if he was saving the little thing for a midnight snack or if he was going to try to raise it.

Needless to say, he was excited when M lured him out of his crate with a dog treat, and then promptly upset with me when I wouldn't let him right back in. I took the baby rabbit outside and very gently pushed it through the bottom of the fence into my neighbor's in a spot where I know the rabbits squirm underneath. I didn't put it back in our yard because I know he'll remember tomorrow morning. I hope the poor thing makes it.

In other news, I loathe that wood paneling. My plan is to tear it all out, insulate the walls properly and put up drywall. Of course, where's the time to do that???

BMI

2009-05-31T08:40:00.004-05:00

Body-Mass Index - as it is popularly used - is nothing but a psuedo-science.

1. It has no accounting in order to distinguish muscle from fat. According to this forumla, having muscle is equal to having extra fat.

2. Its origins are in the nineteenth century. Fine. But, it hasn't adjusted for the change in nutrition OR in what we view as obese. Remember, until really about the 1960s and the model "Twiggy" - a little fat was a sign of beauty.

3. In 1998, the National Institutes of Health switched from using a BMI of 27.8 to 25 for determining if a person is overweight. That moved at least 30 million Americans to being overweight by this standard. Don't get me wrong, I do believe we have a weight problem in this country, but we also have a problem in how we measure it.

4. My best friend is center average according to the BMI scale (measured by a 3rd party). He is ~5 foot 10 inches, 125 lbs and has a 28 inch waist. Most people who meet him try to give him a sandwich because he's too skinny, but according to this chart, he's absolute perfection. And no, of course people don't give him food, although they quite often mention that he should eat more.

And I'm so sick of everyone touting it as the final truth on weight! There are way more factors involved than dividing weight by height (and then multiplying by 705).

I'm also not a fan of trying to stick everyone in a "one-size-fits-all" standard. I'm sorry, people and real life are far more complicated. That's why I was an anthropology major. And no, you can't simplify this sh**.

Namesake

2009-05-13T16:16:00.002-05:00

My good friend was surfing online today looking at baby names. She's due in less than a month and they threw out the name they'd decided and were trying to come up with something else. I'm just letting her ramble while trying to get some of my work done. A sentence she said hits a button and my brain automatically hits replay.

"Irish and Klingon are very similar, at least the way I try to pronounce them."

I just thought you'd enjoy that too.

what type of tree would be you be?

2009-05-05T12:52:00.002-05:00

I was required to attend a touchy-feely seminar for work. If this tells you the attitude I had toward it:

promotion of this question: If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?
me: An aspen.
Why?
me: Because it has 'ass' in it.

And that, my friends, is a Dalton Reed original.

bucket o' blood

2009-05-01T09:09:00.002-05:00

at the doctor's office this morning... new place for me, never been there before. So, I'm waiting in the little exam room and I hear this through the door:

(casual male voice): If the bucket of blood gets full, just dump it out.

My first thought: Er... how big of a bucket?
My second thought: Do these windows open at all?

No context. No followup. No further comments. Just a bucket of blood.

dementia

2009-03-04T07:27:00.004-06:00

Okay, we were watching a show about parallel universes last night - like if they exist, how they exist, etc... and I was getting really sick of the dumb-ed down examples, but I actually was originally going into college to study aerospace engineering. And yet, I graduated in anthropology (studying ANCIENT cultures). Math isn't always my friend.

Anyway, I do believe that there are other dimensions (I won't necessarily say 'parallel'). But, I think we're like Darwin defining evolution. We got the basic world-shattering premise right, but we've got the mechanisms totally wrong. The giraffe example: Darwin wrote that because the giraffe needed to eat the tall leaves that the generations of giraffes grew longer necks. Now, we know that mutations in the genetic code allow for survival of the most well adapted - i.e., the giraffe's with longer necks got to eat more food than those without, so the taller giraffes got to have the babies. I think we're like that with other demensions. We know they're there (in all probablity), but we lack the tools for observation and exploration to really define how they work.

reminders

2009-02-26T14:27:00.002-06:00

Today I am reminded of the story of how I thought my best friend broke my former couch. This thing was ugly as sin (orange and brown 1960s) and more durable than a battleship. We were watching TV when I heard this incredible CRACK!

It sounded like some serious wood had snapped. I waved my hand. "Don't worry about it. I got it for free anyway."

She looked over at me. "What are you talking about? I just farted."

"Oh."

And I quote...

2009-02-24T12:39:00.001-06:00

This is from an internal email:

"NOTE: A considerable number of employees (over 2,000) who signed up for the nontobacco user discount have not yet enrolled in the tobacco cessation program, and the deadline is this Friday, February 28. If one waits until the last minute, there will likely be an enrollment delay. Please read the following message."

So, if we don't smoke we still have to sign up for quitting classes?

stein

2009-02-23T20:08:00.003-06:00

So, I was cleaning out the spare bedroom/junk room to make into an office for my stories, and came across an old metal Wichita, KS beerstein. I have never lived in Wichita. I brought it out to M, asking if he would ever have a use for this. He said no, and asked me what I had used it for. I shrugged and told them the truth, "Nothing. I think parried a sword with it once."

He stared. I pointed out that he shouldn't be surprised. He said, "No, I'm not. I'm just trying to imagine what circumstances led to that."

I offered, but he didn't want to know.

Bark Park

2009-02-19T19:14:00.002-06:00

On Valentine's Day, we took Dakota to a big bark park. That day would have been my Cocoa's 18th birthday. We met another red dachsund named Cocoa, who was young and very friendly. In the end, it made me feel better, but I still miss my Cocoa. Hell, I was seven years old when that dog was born.

I still miss you, dog!

Cocoa

2008-12-22T12:03:00.003-06:00

My other dog finally passed on to the next world.

Short haired red dachshund
Born: Feb 14, 1991. Died: Saturday, Dec 20, 2008.

· The way we used to play at the top of the stairs
· He always loved sticking his nose out the window of a moving car
· Loved riding in the canoe at Lake Shawnee, even afraid he’d jump out
· How he thought he killed a opossum with a bark (when it was just playing possum)
· How he loved Mike’s bean bag chairs, and when we took him off of one, how he walked across the room to the other immediately
· The time he fell off the dock at the lake when he came to investigate what had happened to me when I fell off, and I had to jump in after him because he couldn’t swim
· How he used to wake me up for grade and high school by jumping on the bed and actually burrowing under my neck and stealing the pillow
· Damn stubborn dog, always had to do things his way
· How he used to wag his tail so hard his entire body would shake he was so excited to see people or play
· He used to chase prairie dogs – never able to catch one; but every time one stuck its head up, he’d give chase

You will always be loved.

No holiday dinner

2008-12-10T13:34:00.003-06:00

Work's holiday dinner last year sucked. So, I'm not going this year. The only redeeming thing about last year's was overhearing this conversation between some woman that I don't know (or after this moment, pretended not to know) and a man hired from northern Africa.

Woman: Do you have agriculture in your country?
Man: Uhhh. Yes.

(FYI agriculture = FARMING)

My dog

2008-12-09T13:12:00.002-06:00

I don't like staying home ill anymore. My dog uses those puppy brown eyes and I feel so guilty for not going outside in the snow and playing fetch.

He's a rescue dog from the pound.