tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78489630128485159422024-03-13T12:40:32.703-07:00Vicat Rambles OnVicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-72139682075521523632019-04-10T06:24:00.000-07:002019-04-10T06:24:54.250-07:00Mistakes were made<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>That should be on my headstone if I ever kick off - </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>Mistakes were made</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>but it has rarely been illustrated so clearly as this morning. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>It began last night, actually, because I didn't get up to go to the bathroom one last time before sleep. I couldn't, there was a cat on my lap sleeping</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>and when Rags is comfy I don't want to move him.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>But, when I woke up this morning, as a result I had to <i>go.</i> Now anyone who knows me knows I have to take meds or my leg doesn't work very well, and it's a battle to see if my need to pee can wait until my meds work, and that's every damn morning. It's just part of my life I accept. Since I didn't want to do way more laundry than intended, I forced myself to go before my leg was really working well, and then to take Geo out because he, too, was doing the <i>go </i>wriggles.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>Apparently I did not click the door shut behind me in my struggle to get to the chair before my leg totally gave out. So I was waiting for meds, whining to Katie about it, and she was telling me a sordid tale of underwear and dryer living, so I was not paying attention when the door opened and this guy came out to join us.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>Brat immediately headed for the site of Pee Wars (wherein he and Geo take turns marking the spot to wipe out each other' scent, an amusing - until now - little game they play) but he, too, was not paying attention. Nor was Geo. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>I looked up just in time to see Geo pee <i>on Brat's tail </i>and Brat swatting Geo's bits in retaliation.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>Hissy fit and barkyness ensues, Mom intervenes despite not having a functional leg yet, and hurt feelings all around.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>Mistakes were made.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b><br /></b></span>Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-30052998383256383942019-02-01T23:07:00.000-08:002019-02-01T23:08:28.721-08:00Ground DAWG dayI've just lost too many, lately.<br />
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My friend's husband sent me some of her cremains, and I want to keep her with me but damn!</div>
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Go to amazon and search: cremains/women/jewelry.<br />
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I double cat dare you.</div>
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109 pages.</div>
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So anyway today is Imbolc, groundhog day, Candlemas, I survived all 900 days of January, whatever. </div>
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But "February is a monster."<br />
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Ground DAWG Day!</div>
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Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-23772973199576916282018-10-16T19:11:00.000-07:002018-10-16T19:11:27.142-07:00Funeral Giggles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here's more horrible news. Another dear long-time friend has died. This one was by no means natural. Entirely unnatural, to be honest. She was on her motorcycle and was hit by someone in an SUV. I'm told as she lay bleeding in the gutter before help could arrive she heard the SUV driver sobbing and she said, "Stop crying, it will be alright."<br />
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Hurt enough yet?<br />
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I'm just getting started.<br />
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It wasn't even her first time being hit by a cager. She was still recovering from the last time 5 years ago. And from battling cancer and winning.<br />
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I first met my friend on a motorcycle riders' forum. She called riding, "wind dancing," and I was enchanted. In fact I don't think I recall her ever saying, "riding," only, " 'dancing' " for short.<br />
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She was funny, intelligent, witty, well-read, compassionate, loving, always always always thinking of others first. She was such a surprise. She was retired Navy, used to repair submarines! Those of us who were lucky to know her never doubted, she was an angel. And she loved animals. I couldn't even begin to name all of her rescue kitties, but I knew some. The current pair, AB & BB are lost without her. So is her husband of 33 years, whom she always referred to as, "my sweetheart."<br />
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No surprise to anyone who knows me, but she also wrote. Vignettes of travel, of course, her 'dancing diary, but also stories of her childhood, particularly her mom. I kept meaning to make her a butterscotch pie like her mom made, but life got away from me. From her.<br />
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My favorite thing to do was make her laugh. It hasn't been easy the past 8 days to laugh, but I have always had what she called, "funeral giggles." I see the bizarre, funny, obscure in almost everything, and my stars but we laughed!<br />
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Huh. That's a first for me. I was going to end this with something to laugh at for my sweet wind-dancing friend, but I have nothing. Nada. Empty on the humor tank. Wait. BratCat just pooped so badly his own eyes are watering and THAT is funny!<br />
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I love you, Carol.<br />
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<br />Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-22835740484207956532018-08-06T13:59:00.000-07:002018-08-06T13:59:00.269-07:00I DIDN'T KNOW!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don't normally talk about my cats because this isn't a cat blog, and there are so many talented cat bloggers out there it would be a pale imitation at best.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm breaking that self-imposed edict to warn all animal carers about this - cherry stems.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's not a choking thing, it's cyanide toxicity, and as much as I'm a supercatmom, I nearly killed my baby by accident.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had found some of these huge fresh gorgeous cherries at my favorite local market, since the a/c was out almost a week I hadn't been sleeping well, so I was exhausted. I didn't make sure all my stems made it into the garbage. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My Rags had been playing and batting around a single stem, chewing on it...but I thought nothing of it. Cat.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I went to lunch, returned about an hour later, and noticed immediately something was wrong. He wouldn't purr. No matter what. I saw him weakening by the minute, so I did what any mom does - I scooped him up and hauled ass to the vet, thinking, <i>Screw the bill, I'll figure it out!</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763;">Immediate diagnosis of acute onset anemia was misleading, but based on low temp and pcv, it was all we had to go on. They whisked my baby to the back before I could even tell him how much I loved him. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;"><i>That part hurt.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">But they needed to begin transfusion, and fluids, run labs, all the things a freaking out mom impedes, and I didn't want to slow them down if it meant he would be better sooner. I returned home without him, rambled incoherently to my friends, some of whom chipped in on his vet bill, and waited.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">The next afternoon he was stabilized enough to come home, because our Dr Stabby Guy felt he would do better with me, less stressful, but cautioned me that we still didn't have a cause, and certain labs wouldn't be back for a few days.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;"> So we came home, with all instructions, and settled him in. I even went and bought calf liver for him to try to prop up his rbc, which he and my other cat and dog also enjoyed, but he was still dwindling, and heart knew it. Result after result came in, and nothing. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763;">"Just from looking at all these other numbers, I'd think this was the healthiest damn cat I'd ever seen," our vet told me on the zillionth call.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">Then the last one, the one that explained what was happening, and what we had to do. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">SCOOP and back to the vet, on Saturday afternoon. My Rags had cyanotic toxicity from the damn cherry stem. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">I'm not a vet, and can't explain all the terms and numbers, I can't express the sheer terror, the guilt, the horrible hours waiting to see if my baby would respond to a treatment of methylene blue (although when a friend looked up a price range for treatment I nearly fainted), and all I could think was, "<i>I didn't know, why didn't I know? Does anyone else know?"</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">And that's why I'm writing this. Because I don't want anyone else to see any of their babies go through this. Cherries are not on most of the lists we all see of things that can be harmful to our furbabies. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">My big strong 8yrs old mancat of 14lbs of love and muscle turned into a tiny 11.5 lb kitten struggling to survive because I didn't know. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">It's been a weekend from hell, with almost no sleep, but this afternoon, finally, he is resting, with a smile, not just passing out from exhaustion, but I think we've turned the corner now, and tests tomorrow (that I still have no idea how I'll pay for) will show, but a mom knows. It will be a long road back but now, there is this, my baby.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">I might sleep tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-22592601527400238392018-07-06T07:41:00.000-07:002018-07-06T07:43:55.752-07:00Kale no!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltlg2LwN-nL24_Jx9nIdcCmh5opY8PA2oIH7a3iGaQWmtgPiHZDoL1IMovS9W8tdXQUSDDtoXBkV-RWVlwKbEVHeldYKy7L0i8Vp_kh-ONXfVucfLuGnOi4E0iiJZFMkxbNr5B-XRo1kd/s1600/20180706_092257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="1600" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltlg2LwN-nL24_Jx9nIdcCmh5opY8PA2oIH7a3iGaQWmtgPiHZDoL1IMovS9W8tdXQUSDDtoXBkV-RWVlwKbEVHeldYKy7L0i8Vp_kh-ONXfVucfLuGnOi4E0iiJZFMkxbNr5B-XRo1kd/s320/20180706_092257.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><b>I'm trying to get in my daily vegetables and now that I have to eat so much beef for health reasons, without just being constantly chewing (I know me, if I have to be eating so much I'll quit altogether, I've done it before and it only leads to further problems) so I turned to blended drinks. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><b>Bai 5 is pretty good, Naked Juice Green is the best so far, but I thought I'd try another one since it was $1 less, and I'm always trying to save a buck.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><b><br />
I won't say the name but it rhymes with Holthouse Harms and let me tell you something - I used to work in a restaurant that used kale as its completely inedible greenery around the hot food bar. By the end of the night the heat would have scorched what was already inedible into a dry burnt dirt mess. So naturally, hipsters and yuccies decided it is <i>the</i> perfect food, although I knew it to be foul before they were born. <br />
But being cheap and needing the nutrients, after checking the ingredient list and noting the kale but seeing the other juices I tried it. </b></span></div>
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If you were to combine the flat Arizona dust, the rich black soil of Alabama, and some lawn clippings from an overly fertilized Connecticut lawn, then pour tropical fruit juice over it and let it all meld together in the afternoon sun, the result would be this foul brew-do. And I'm no stranger to lawn clippings, I take kratom powder, ffs. I don't mind wheatgrass. This...</b></span></div>
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I can't get the taste out of my mouth but not for lack of trying.</b></span></div>
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Folks, those of us with sensitive or even barely functional palates are not meant to eat kale, and I don't care what nutrients it has or what fruity goodness you try to use to disguise the stench and automatic reaction to the taste of kale. That reaction is <i>yark</i>. I had just tasted the rich elixer of what may be the best gravy I've ever made, now this pollution of toxic waste has undone me. I try not to say something is purely awful, but I don't care what recipe you use to mask it, kale <i>NO</i>.</b></span></div>
<br />Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-54675336827832220682018-06-05T10:02:00.000-07:002018-06-05T10:02:03.941-07:00Primary South - Staying The Course<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b>I voted today, in Alabama's primary elections.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b>"Big whoop," you say.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b>Damned right it is.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b>99 Years ago yesterday, the 19th Amendment passed, allowing women the right to vote, because of women like these:</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4TFvmTVMbBRni6xB8vkO_zIWaX5f-oI_ZAoiEuvsBqInh3SCwSlc4dDs_3zjDz-q7BwoJcI4vHQ7XI2wgm_AxzT4d2hXxEsDKjLuYj6rMxQbGeKt3UGLWtuFpWa5-w_5CjQaua-fazRCm/s1600/FB_IMG_1528216060823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="360" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4TFvmTVMbBRni6xB8vkO_zIWaX5f-oI_ZAoiEuvsBqInh3SCwSlc4dDs_3zjDz-q7BwoJcI4vHQ7XI2wgm_AxzT4d2hXxEsDKjLuYj6rMxQbGeKt3UGLWtuFpWa5-w_5CjQaua-fazRCm/s320/FB_IMG_1528216060823.jpg" width="320" /></b></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">And 2 years ago I earned back the right to vote after years of struggling to overcome errors from my past.</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>So, yeah, it's a big whoop. It's a giant honking whoop to be allowed a say in the way the world we live in is governed. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Think it's just the primaries? </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>🎵<i>Wrong</i>🎵</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Primaries determine which candidates are running for key positions of state government, and that determines the direction your state representation in Congress, and Governor's office go. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>But I'm a Democrat in the South. So voting is...different.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>I pulled up to the National Guard Armory and the first thing I saw was 2 signs:</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>NO SMOKING WITHIN 50 FT OF DOOR</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>NO CAMPAIGNING WITHIN 3 FT OF DOOR</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>What?? Have you people not noticed that some of the elected officials are a gozillion times more dangerous to a large group of people than a whiff of secondhand smoke in the open air? But, whatever, I wasn't going to smoke there anyway, so I hobble on in through the giant sliding doors left open with a few fans going as allegedly adequate air conditioning. South Alabama in June, people. A few fans is not adequate for anyone who actually has a little bit of circulation, but as I was the only one there under the age of 80, and many of them were wearing sweaters and shivering, okay, again, whatever. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Then I went up to the table to sign in. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>"Name and Party?"</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>I hand over my ID. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>"Democrat." </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>You would have thought I said "Fuck" in church.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>A pin dropping would have been a sonic boom in that silence. I think the fans even quit.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Grandma Moses handed me the sign-in sheet where I see I'm the 3rd person to sign in as Democrat, maybe for the whole county, hell, maybe the state. But I proudly picked my candidates, including one who has the nickname, "New Blue," and went to insert my ballot in the reader, with 70 pairs of ancient eyes disapproving of me the entire time. Grandpa ZekeJimBob grudgingly handed me a sticker, and as I hobbled my way out, head held high, I met the guy from last year's elections when we tossed Roy Moore to the curb - the one in standard overalls, hog shit caked on boots older than I am, but the minute he opens his mouth... he's one of my tribe. He walked straight up to me, we high-fived, and he loudly commanded,</b></span><b style="color: #0b5394;">"Stay the course!"</b></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>I will, sir. I will.</b></span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-68787922786731606682018-04-13T23:03:00.000-07:002018-04-13T23:03:00.839-07:00She was the best of us all<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><i>I love her. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>That's easy to say. And I can't even believe how hard it is to express what I know/think/feel about her. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>I don't do eulogies. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Usually.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Not for my many relatives, friends, acquaintances, father, brother, a few husbands (pause for Cary's gigglesnortwhee)</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>but this one... yeah.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>I'm a recipient. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Of her excessive kindness, love, concern, commiseration, sacrifice, care.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Those things are not equal.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Nor were her physical lungs equal to her heart. She needed a lung transplant but wasn't even on the damn list yet, in spite of being a non-drinker/non-smoker but because of her weight. Big FUCK YOU to the ones who decide, on high, who is or is not qualified to receive life. This is body shaming fucking illustrated.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>My late brother gave every bit he had that qualified to others.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Nothing of me qualifies, but I would give it now or after.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Cary was in my age range. And we used to laugh, as she talked me through an abusive marriage, a heart surgery, 2 brain surgeries, and fleeing with a dog & 2 cats cross country.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>She was an active proponent of animal's rights; one of the first Panther Pals. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Our last, 4 hour conversation, a few weeks ago, she laughed, that, "we'll be old wicked women terrorizing young orderlies in some tropical senior bitches' facility' laugh.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Some part of me knew it was our last. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>But she was and will always be, part of my heart.</b></span><br />
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Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-49349802409312725832018-04-04T19:08:00.000-07:002018-04-04T19:08:12.888-07:00These kids today...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xj3L68-cYZ8nCNudTpYO1Z6BPHgglDa-GM2LW1pkFTm4iFiBgZPpWDqJk6nESLwg8OyVzhDD6ixii4ocsMDvpAcuMEzxVUrkziZSwcmUQr1WO3zsqClmoskvwP82ljNdP0l9qLCvIoVp/s1600/20180404_204603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="504" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xj3L68-cYZ8nCNudTpYO1Z6BPHgglDa-GM2LW1pkFTm4iFiBgZPpWDqJk6nESLwg8OyVzhDD6ixii4ocsMDvpAcuMEzxVUrkziZSwcmUQr1WO3zsqClmoskvwP82ljNdP0l9qLCvIoVp/s320/20180404_204603.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I've got more than 1 side to the "kids" today.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I have flu. But I'm also doing daily bloodwork to monitor my Coumadin levels for an entirely different issue, so I dragged my cooties-ridden butt out to get my daily bloodwork, then a lung scan.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I pulled in to the parking lot where I get my bloodwork done, and right next to me a guy pulled in apparently straight from Crazy Ed's World Of Really Big & Stupid Tires. It was so jacked there was a double drop step just for him to get in and out of it, and he was maybe 5'7'', 20 yrs old at most. It was Daddy Bought It.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Now, that's fine, I don't care, to each their own and all, but I kinda chuckled outloud, not even loud, really, and shook m</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">y head a little. But he flipped the frack out.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">"WHAT THE FUCK YOU LAUGHING AT, OLD BITCH??" And came running around like he was going to jump me or something. </span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">So, I leaned against my car, very casually, twirled my cane like the badass majorette I used to be but can easily be used in ninja warfare 🙂 and replied, "You. Look, if you don't run over me because you can't see over the dash without sitting on phonebooks in your I Have A Small Penis ride, I don't care what you drive, other than sucking up gas like mad, but best case scenario, you end up impressing a bunch of people who are easily impressed by oversized thing then get really unhappy when you bop out, Shawty."</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I don't think he understood any of the insults, but somehow knew he was being ridiculed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">He said, "Just shut the fuck up, old bitch!" Then he bopped on into the next building.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">So I went and coughed on his door handle.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">All the children standing up, speaking out, marching, and demanding we "adults" get it right or they will be doing some serious voting out the ones who enable mass shooting by access to automatic weapons make me so damn proud.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Tide pod eaters and condom snorters and SWATTERS. I don't even have to say another word, you got me on this one.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">But everybody was young once, and we did some truly stupid shit, too, and most of us came through when the clench was on, so let's cut the pod kids a break, listen to what the activists have to say, and remember this man, today, on the 50th anniversary of his assasination</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3V1iDrZwYL0JGsJfaFL6ZQC0Jl9z_KVQH_lrwZfjmOezvzvuxkgUgZGwx6E734bu-KU-kKJ0rCYyauC3KOpIJZ-mL4uAfjCokCt5bfHfD8LBcL7PrxbvWAZg4Aht1z79kzkDxs3FciG0/s1600/14212683_1696623380658759_871081573368776984_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3V1iDrZwYL0JGsJfaFL6ZQC0Jl9z_KVQH_lrwZfjmOezvzvuxkgUgZGwx6E734bu-KU-kKJ0rCYyauC3KOpIJZ-mL4uAfjCokCt5bfHfD8LBcL7PrxbvWAZg4Aht1z79kzkDxs3FciG0/s1600/14212683_1696623380658759_871081573368776984_n.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-29693158576908864022018-03-06T21:38:00.001-08:002018-03-06T21:55:51.920-08:00Trae Crowder, Buno Mars, and YouTube exist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcfZSYLKgqRM9Sv-yGRbLjywig-zeB7Lm_VkhKSrGqnCc_gqwa8WTU4Wmhf0UcDIrT5JbzBofPBoB32I9eeDbUB4Jc9hRuE22lh1Yz1GN-tQs2Eru5jMBQxpzY-oy9BKpLrBTY7YmzN6D/s1600/yt_1200-vfl4C3T0K.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcfZSYLKgqRM9Sv-yGRbLjywig-zeB7Lm_VkhKSrGqnCc_gqwa8WTU4Wmhf0UcDIrT5JbzBofPBoB32I9eeDbUB4Jc9hRuE22lh1Yz1GN-tQs2Eru5jMBQxpzY-oy9BKpLrBTY7YmzN6D/s320/yt_1200-vfl4C3T0K.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have had a <i>shitload </i>of mail asking why I haven't blogged lately. And the title says it all. </div>
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I was in nowherenearadecentnetsville so long I had so much stuff to catch up on, other than politics, that I couldn't even take time to blog, but I didn't feel so bad because this guy </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif46pkRWQ3HwLhA0i0fP1lLgzMQcb9HMOEK4f7WuMZZHuJGNEMZyZ3TSUmE5jVVbOl57fyLhdsAf7x9iWjCn9PziqPGXox5rqIIJq_jzJ5FhhJuagaXZjz027FC3rGUmzUNiX4IpZUSry0/s1600/TraeCrowderFeatured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1199" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif46pkRWQ3HwLhA0i0fP1lLgzMQcb9HMOEK4f7WuMZZHuJGNEMZyZ3TSUmE5jVVbOl57fyLhdsAf7x9iWjCn9PziqPGXox5rqIIJq_jzJ5FhhJuagaXZjz027FC3rGUmzUNiX4IpZUSry0/s320/TraeCrowderFeatured.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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was saying everything I needed to say, and doing it nationwide to a much larger audience. Although, I've never actually said, "Meemaw," in my life.</div>
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Anyway, Trae had it covered, politically.</div>
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I've been through some stuff - finally able to flee Nebraska & hopefully get a continent away from the almost-ex, my doggy had lymphoma but nobody wants to hear about that & this isn't what this blog is about, I have avn and & nobody wants to hear about that because that isn't what this blog is about, suffice it to say I made it past my 3 year mark on my heart surgery so YAY ME </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIOMCGbIiLpFRdgo4w3FFzr3hZ37xexoyv2n804MQFJ1FRyFkPrenn4CNPglh7EGv-6Ee_H2Bx0kVLC6ojjd78DbN1s34uwVQRd5OWslbGZ96vsn504FnXpWJIdYMTEHnlRjsoeoqVkjJl/s1600/20180201_022650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="1075" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIOMCGbIiLpFRdgo4w3FFzr3hZ37xexoyv2n804MQFJ1FRyFkPrenn4CNPglh7EGv-6Ee_H2Bx0kVLC6ojjd78DbN1s34uwVQRd5OWslbGZ96vsn504FnXpWJIdYMTEHnlRjsoeoqVkjJl/s320/20180201_022650.jpg" width="320" /></a>.</div>
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And Bruno Mars exists. I honestly had not gotten more than the odd snippet of his music before escaping Nebraska and getting back to the Land Of Net.</div>
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I had internet in Steele City, NE but I had to pay over $200/month to get spotty at best net. We had a pipeline that eventually <i>will</i> blow up (I know, because I knew some people who worked on it, and they were morons), but that was pretty much it. Township of 53 people, when I escaped.</div>
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Anyway, I did not have Bruno streaming there, or even know there was such a person, really, other than in credits of ,"Honeymoon In Vegas," which I, unlike the rest of the planet, bought because it starred Jimmy Caan. </div>
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So I've been catching up, and adore this young man</div>
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and his music. </div>
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But I've been playing it too much, and I know this because today when my doggy's treats came by UPS, and I gave him some, Geo slid across the floor and sang, "I'm a dangerous pup with some crunchy in my treat dish, KEEP UP,"</div>
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and one of my cats was in the background going, "Oh, so player."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLr9BaO_pycInwVveenR_L_FCe68nETAyUtLMvvs0EeYaQP9d_tdtPf7RuVRMFeqWC7b78oBX5g4DnK1hZt-phD1OTp8YMAADEb55c8K0L-iuEq9o35UgIu5MCBUmTNErgCwc0CgnjeliC/s1600/20180303_170644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLr9BaO_pycInwVveenR_L_FCe68nETAyUtLMvvs0EeYaQP9d_tdtPf7RuVRMFeqWC7b78oBX5g4DnK1hZt-phD1OTp8YMAADEb55c8K0L-iuEq9o35UgIu5MCBUmTNErgCwc0CgnjeliC/s320/20180303_170644.jpg" width="161" /></a></div>
Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-62778120365281950442017-11-11T11:22:00.000-08:002017-11-11T11:22:22.865-08:00This one is for the nephew<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFkMmaj5fgC6IA36-qIha78PhDpchE0EWLUzG9OuASuA7-ccB256dGPYzsy9crYWzLnXbPqpZdcwCiKuNIJ6lSodIK-N2_Fk9AYN-lpMJds8H0PO0OHgPoQc3msJ8XvKtIV2pfExniX6T/s1600/FB_IMG_1490564369753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="957" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFkMmaj5fgC6IA36-qIha78PhDpchE0EWLUzG9OuASuA7-ccB256dGPYzsy9crYWzLnXbPqpZdcwCiKuNIJ6lSodIK-N2_Fk9AYN-lpMJds8H0PO0OHgPoQc3msJ8XvKtIV2pfExniX6T/s320/FB_IMG_1490564369753.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>
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Psssst! I'll tell you a secret! </div>
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<br />
You're allowed to have bad days/nights, hell weeks, months, years! But you can find joy even in bleakness, light in dark. It's the moments of joy in the worst times that get you through. I think that is why I have funeral giggles, because humor, laughter, shows me moments of light to contrast how bad things can get. <br />
I say humor is my defense mechanism, but it is an offense mechanism as well. <br />
I'm in a lot of pain today, but I keep thinking about my nephew, Jason Johnson, now a brilliant journalist and married to a wonderful girl - it's his birthday today, born 11/11/88 so it's easy to remember. I was living in Ozark with my 2nd husband at the time, and I told my sister, <span style="background-color: #d8dfea;">Juli Parrish</span>, the night before to watch The Cosby Show because Sandra was supposed to have her twins on that episode and I knew that 1 woman, even acting, in labor triggers another. <br />
It's true, look it up, I'll wait. </div>
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<br />
It took you long enough, sheesh. <br />
Anyway, we got the call mid-morning - they waited until it was last minute to call and we set a land speed record from our townhouse in Ozark AL to what was then Edge Memorial Hospital in Troy AL, rushed to 2nd floor maternity just as my late brother Loren came out of those famed double doors to announce, "IT'S A BOY AND HE IS PISSED!"</div>
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And that is how I get through the dark.</div>
Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-1508547090065206732017-11-03T23:54:00.000-07:002017-11-03T23:54:16.484-07:00Blog Blast for PEACE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC_skUEjJDKFcKZO4X3ApYmzXgSTH7fpsNv6rOfzALutVdCq5QzjFyYcoP4jLdYV0-Gq8PGHuEm9_NsgPUU19QnRIXUKPJzD2ugU58CShzfDR6ra2BApjrEMz7e38fSvy4vDowll6FRIZc/s1600/1469ca74403444e03ce11a11919af5be--crows-feet-badges.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="736" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC_skUEjJDKFcKZO4X3ApYmzXgSTH7fpsNv6rOfzALutVdCq5QzjFyYcoP4jLdYV0-Gq8PGHuEm9_NsgPUU19QnRIXUKPJzD2ugU58CShzfDR6ra2BApjrEMz7e38fSvy4vDowll6FRIZc/s320/1469ca74403444e03ce11a11919af5be--crows-feet-badges.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><i>"All we are saying is give peace a chance"</i></b></span></div>
<br />Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-73529139021128879862017-10-19T20:41:00.000-07:002017-10-19T20:41:27.332-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhho9irpBBeYUfh05CVAcqeR6fdqIUFIea_-5sN0OP4AIHgQYwaz3HyVinJw2enaywbe46zx-_ur8NCby2mOcP7xfHpL4pW3_hK0uCv5oJGZQepX2URjPVxwPZbpeAYZcuqXs8jEdQc6-xB/s1600/Screenshot_20171019-223728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="829" data-original-width="1367" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhho9irpBBeYUfh05CVAcqeR6fdqIUFIea_-5sN0OP4AIHgQYwaz3HyVinJw2enaywbe46zx-_ur8NCby2mOcP7xfHpL4pW3_hK0uCv5oJGZQepX2URjPVxwPZbpeAYZcuqXs8jEdQc6-xB/s320/Screenshot_20171019-223728.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I've tried to stay out of this shit, and wish 45 would! But.<br />
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Okay, look, here's the thing:<br />
I know the "flag conduct" rules thingamajigger (my second husband was in the Army, as was my dad; I know this shit) says, "should stand facing the flag," during the National Anthem, which only became the National Anthem the same year William Shatner was born, to put that shit into perspective for some of y'all, ALL HAIL THE SHAT!<br />
But, I haven't stood for flag nor anthem since '98 when I first had titanium rods implanted into my upper left femur for reasons which shall remain stupid (bowling accident, no, I don't want to talk about it - truth!) and not one person has EVER questioned me about it. EVER. Because of the hue of my skin (Mediterranean/Caucasion), and I know this for a fact. <br />
So if I don't rise but kneel in spite of pain, not to disrespect flag nor anthem, then you know this is ME, kneeling but fighting against injustice. And THAT is real talk. </div>
Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-44212814344178223482017-09-23T05:16:00.000-07:002017-09-23T05:16:17.306-07:00I'm There's this thing. A good friend adopted a kitten. Before said kitten was very old, she had to take him to her dr stabby, turned out kitteh had a congenital heart malfunction and rather than deal with it. She had him euthanized.<br />
I kinda want to say, "You fucking bitch!" because if I had been put to sleep for having the exact same disorder... but I didn't say anything. And now this person's replacement cat has a problem... Maybe the problem is actually that an adoption, human/feline/canine isn't actually meant to be perfect or to make you appear to be perfect, that poor damn child my adoptive parents tried.. yeah, okay, I may be projecting. I don't care.<br />
Don't give away or give up on your family, adopted, furry, human, decided, or any which way Just don't or you'll end up at 7 a m on a Saturday trying to decide when it's appropriate to pimp slap someone for presuming it's okay to kill a cat for having the exact same thing.<br />
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Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-90291801744323462952017-09-08T14:36:00.001-07:002017-09-08T14:36:28.355-07:00Rock on<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I want to get this on record before the first drop of rain hits the continental US from Hurricane Irma:<br />
<br />
Somebody will have all their possesions blown away or demolished, and will be on tv saying, "We didn't think it would be this bad, it just kinda snuck up on us."<br />
No it didn't.<br />
On the list of things that cannot sneak up on you, somewhere in the top 10 is hurricanes.<br />
My ex used to try that, when he would totally blow off my birthday, Christmas, our anniversary..."It snuck up on me babydoll, I'll get it right next year."<br />
No, it didn't. They are fixed dates on the calendar you scum- right, back to hurricanes.<br />
They can not sneak up on you. Even if you are a hermit in a cave with no contact at all with the outside world, at some point you are going to notice it is getting a bit weathery out, and at some point you will decide to either secure your favorite boulder and your pet rock, or ease on down the road to where it isn't as weathery.<br />
If you don't, you'll be on CNN saying, "I thought my cave on the beach was safe from storm surge."<br />
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<br />Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-87687548195731879722017-08-18T19:34:00.000-07:002017-08-18T19:34:02.050-07:00I WON!!<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The reason I hav</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">en't blogged in almost a year was for a bet. Which means $1000 goes to the charity of my ch</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">oice, so some of you will beneft. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I don't even mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">But someone bet me I couldn't shut up for a year, unless someone specifically asked why I wasnt blogging anymore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Tada!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The person who bet me owes $1k to Booby research.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So now that I'm unleashed...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">MWAHAHAH </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">FEAR ME!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because I'm about to lay some truth on your asses you never even considered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I.AM. UNLEASHE</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">D.</span><br />
Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-86137828043579821412016-09-09T05:35:00.000-07:002016-09-09T05:35:47.196-07:00Congratulations, It's a Divorce!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No, not mine. Yet. A couple I've known on fb since before they <i>were</i> a couple, met, married, and now barely a few years later have announced they are divorcing and she is moving back to where she was before they married. </span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Hint: foreign country to the North</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, yeah, they went through a metric ton of paperwork, and bullshit to be together. And now it's ending, and I'm actually sad for them, regardless of how much I <i>loathe </i>the concept of marriage. I do not believe a piece of paper from any agency be it religious or government makes anyone's union more or less valid, and all it does it fuck things up if it doesn't work. But enough about the way things <i style="font-weight: bold;">should </i>be.</span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thing is, nobody knew they were having trouble. I mean nobody. They told no one of thousands of friends and relatives. I applaud the hell out of that. It is really difficult to ignore the temptation to blurt out your mess to hopefully sympathetic and supportive friends. I should know. Immediately when I began having problems I shut the hell up publicly about anything to do with it. I see all these people getting fired, or having fb used as a damn witness in court, and realized I don't need that kind of hassle in addition to everything else in my life.</span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I do not mention my realtionship, lack or presence of, nor do I mention <i>anything</i> which could get me or anyone else arrested. Any illegalities are all from expired statutes of limitation or I've served the time, paid the fine, sentence discharged, thank you very much.</span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They said nothing. That is smart, and it is classy, because they also did not put the burden of a failing marriage on friends. Hell, when they announced it yesterday, they didn't even put the burden on each other! They each claimed/accepted blame for their own parts in it all </span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Classy.</span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not like most people.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The other side of the coin is those couples who let it <i>all</i> out, and I mean things no one else should ever know. I'm sitting there with popcorn watching my newsfeed, clicking refresh every few minutes because of my shitty connection, screaming, "<b><i>WHAT HAPPENED THEN??? WHAT DID THE NEIGHBOR'S HUSBAND SAY WHEN HE FOUND ALL 3 OF YOU IN BED??? DAMN MY NET!!"</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then, there's the other couple. Married 35 years, planning an anniversary outing, and they warm the single tiny almost dead cockle of my shriveled black heart. Their love and respect for each other shines. I love these people, and what they have found with and in each other. I do not doubt a single iota for them it is truly, "<i>Til death do us part," </i>and it's, <i>"As Simple As That."</i></span><br />
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But for me, it's just another excuse to eat cake. Yes, divorce cakes are huge now. Although I did <i style="font-weight: bold;">not </i>get cake for my birthday, this past Monday. Nobody thought I might want a birthday cake, much less the <i>right </i>cake. So shortly before midnight, I broke down and stuck a candle in a pumpkin spice minimuffin, and made my wish.<br />
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I <i style="font-weight: bold;">need </i>this one to come true.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">***On the next post: a unique gift I received and hopefully a few words with its creator!**</span>Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-57894309646041975612016-08-24T23:23:00.000-07:002016-08-24T23:29:38.363-07:00Not What I Intended<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As usual, I had something completely different in mind to post, and that went Hasta as things went haywire, yet again.<br />
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You see, there has been another suicide here.<br />
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As I was told, yesterday, a nice old guy was told by his two remaining relatives that his worsening health was more than they could handle and he would need to go into a nursing home.<br />
"Nope," he responded, then went out to his car, picked up his .38, and shot himself in the chest.<br />
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First, <i>what the actual fuck is with these people and killing themselves in their cars??? </i>I no longer see a car and think it looks nice or probably gets good mileage, I wonder how many have died in it?<br />
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But it brought up Bernie, who did the same thing at New Year's, and that right on the heels of the one that still has me reeling - Nichole. My friend.<br />
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For those unaware, after over 30 years of battling, valiantly but ultimately in vain against mental illness, the Saturday morning before Christmas my friend hanged herself. I still cannot comprehend the how and why and what about... Or Bernie who had confided that it felt like the world had forgotten him. Now this one. I simply can't... I don't know how to keep functioning as if everything is normal here right now, but everyone else here seems to be. And I know they aren't the laconic uncaring bumpkins most would see. As much as I bitch about this place, and I know I do, I also realize a large part of my misery here is all on me, totally my fault. It is gorgeous at times, peaceful, laid back, cost of living is relatively dirt cheap. Some of the people are the best you could ask, and I hate it hate it hate it hate it with a black burning passion that is unswerving, and it is all me.<br />
I have to be near water, an ocean, any ocean, no matter what color, how cold, sultry, smelly, pure, I must be near Ocean. And I did not realize how great a part of me that was until I became mired here through the most daunting set of circumstances combined with my own weaknesses and some epic poor choices.<br />
But I got my boys here. Geo. BratCat. Rags. My 3 hearts.<br />
And I met Nichole here. And I lost her here. And everything hurts all over again.<br />
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I want the chance to tell someone, anyone, everyone who is considering suicide 1 simple thing. Just this:<br />
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<i>Everyone has had some good in their life, something, if only as a measure of how horrible you feel right now. But that 1 moment that you laughed or ran or flew, were in awe of life or love or felt sheer joy at a child's laugh... something, that 1 moment when you realized how precious it was and wouldn't have missed it for the world... think about that moment, then consider - what if there are more moments like that left for you to discover? What if there are a million?? Don't miss them for the world.</i><br />
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Now I will do as billions before me have done, and make something for the family, the 2 survivors. It's the end of the month so money for ingredients is a huge factor, but I'll figure something out, as always. I never know what to take for a "regular" death, whatever that is. I must have missed the Emily Post of Appropriate Mourning Foods For Family of a Suicide.<br />
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<br />Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-48866423781907062082016-08-15T19:49:00.001-07:002016-08-15T19:49:20.029-07:00The answer is...Yes!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Let's talk about sex, baby... really. Let's talk about sex, sports, the price of watermelons, the decline of traditions in the world of stamp collecting, anything but religion.<br />
I just lost another friend on fb, because I refused to "discuss" (read: allow someone to pontificate at me) my religious (don't have any) or spiritual (Strong) beliefs. Isn't that I don't care about spirituality of any sort, but to me, religion is <i style="font-weight: bold;">far </i>more personal than mere copulation habits.<br />
Think about it.<br />
You can have sex with anyone. It may suck but it can be achieved. Sex is merely something that happens to a temporary shell you inhabit at worst, but your spirit? Man, that is forever. You can't have religion or spirituality with just anyone. Try it. Walk up to a stranger in a bar, buy 'em a drink, then try to religion with them and see if an assault charge doesn't become part of the package.<br />
And when you drop a bombshell like having your relgious belief be closer to what many presume is witchcraft, it's All Hail The Bondsman! Am I a good witch or a bad witch? Blow me. I'm both! Because everyone is both good and bad, weak and strong, so if you have to classify everyone's <i>private</i> beliefs (and really, that says far more about you than them) then I don't need you around. I don't mind a hearty calm or even impassioned discussion, but when judgement and mandatory classification comes into it, I'll take a pass.<br />
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So I don't talk about religion. I try not to talk politics, but have to use every opportunity to remind people:<br />
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It does not matter if you don't like Hills, suck it up buttercup, and vote Anti-TrumpChump and his Synchronized Ego Dancers!Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-82284086015862775252016-07-01T08:56:00.002-07:002016-07-01T08:56:46.728-07:00You're on my list, and my heart valve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>HAPPY CANADA DAY!!!</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Dear Canada, Happy Birthday!! </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Ok, I've no idea what Canada Day is, its history, traditions, or protocols. Unlike most 'Muricans I *am* actually aware that there *are* other countries other than the ubiquitous "Them." </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>I'm simply holiday impaired. My holidays are notoriously on the scale of MondaySuckethⁿ so I've fairly well blocked most thing about all holidays. I'm fine with that.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>I know the 4th of July is this week, and that it is American Independence Day, well done Will Smith. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Seriously, for the longest time I thought it celebrated the day when America moved out of England & into its own place, stopped getting an allowance, found its first job, and grabbed really crappy furniture and a booming sound system for parties. Ok, that may not be too far off the mark there. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Regardless, my ignorance of your... bar mitzvah? No? Well, your WHATEVER SPECIAL THING DAY, shouldn't say I don't care. I do. I'm holiday impaired. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Congratulations on your vasectomy??? Sigh....</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i></i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Great booze though!!</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now, the about me stuff.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Many know I had open heart surgery (valve & double bypass) for my birthday (WHOOHOOO PARTY!! Although the birthday colonoscopy of '98 was also a blast. Literally. If you or someone you know has had one, you know what I mean) in 2014. Everything about the surgery and my recovery went swimmingly after the initial hell and if not for a friend the day after surgery I would have just let go but after that spiffy, I thought. Routine checkups showed my superhealing ability at its finest, then 2 weeks ago, I got a call from my cardiothoracic surgeon. The mechanic who installed the valve. He suddenly needed to see me 15 months ahead of schedule, and was going to drive an hour and a half to get to me, rather than having me come in.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Terror. Something is wrong with my valve. I can't go through yet another surgery right now, coming off of brain surgery and chemo and 2 rounds of cyberknife!!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I tried calling him, calling and emailing the manufacturer of my valve, got nowhere except:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"<i>Our legal department requires we advise you to consult your doctor."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Truly not comforting at all. Wait the week in panic/terror/dread then the morning of the appointment - emergency surgery and he can't make it. Up to his elbows in someone's chest. Been there, gotcha, not quick procedures - mine was 17.5 hrs. So, reschedule for... this morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But. Brat started coughing gasping choking, so no way in hell I was leaving him. I called and to my amazement got to him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"My baby needs me. Not going to make it and don't care, tell me whatever now so I can go do steamies and help him breathe, or send me a letter."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He clearly understood that you don't mess with a mama and sick furkid. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"There have been some recalls of heart valves-"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I know. The point? What am I facing?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Nothing, we think. I wanted to reassure you that the modifications we made to your valve-"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"WHOA. <i>What </i>modifications and why am I just now hearing this???"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Turns out they had told me but I was heavily sedated and have no memory of it. They realized the off-the-line valve had some problems, so he <i>"tinkered with it before putting it in,"</i> and thinks there will be no problem with the adapted model I have. If there was going to be it would have been in the first 36 hours, he believes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"So you scared me to death and stressed me unbelievably for 2 weeks in order to <i>reassure </i>me??? Nice job. I feel warm and tingly."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>CLICK</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span>Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-58851715785798368922016-06-09T15:13:00.001-07:002016-06-09T15:13:50.094-07:00My chemo results<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCVf-s76w-Gq9etDfUDzbEqeaMC__C_DDEZNe9BKj-zggTO9kqbOptZoSK883uz1Xolh29NFldYvG1t74WytzJKqnf5l7iu1BoqDb1kzyHdloR1i3jkAhABzrBZeXjEZ-ISIhUyebyq17E/s1600/download+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCVf-s76w-Gq9etDfUDzbEqeaMC__C_DDEZNe9BKj-zggTO9kqbOptZoSK883uz1Xolh29NFldYvG1t74WytzJKqnf5l7iu1BoqDb1kzyHdloR1i3jkAhABzrBZeXjEZ-ISIhUyebyq17E/s320/download+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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What is the first question you should ask of anyone when you begin a new relationship? You would think it is about income, pets, allergies, prior relationships, family... wait, back up one. Yes, prior relationships. No, oddly it isn't, "Are you married?" It isn't about a flute in bandcamp, whether it's cheating if it's <i>your </i>dog, that one special night at a sleepover, prison love, or any other <i>ewwww </i>moments. Ask, "Am <i>I</i> married???"<br />
I am acquainted with a couple who have been a disaster together from the start, and never should have even been in the same zip code. They finally stopped fighting long enough to agree about 1 thing - they should divorce immediately. Little problem arose, though, in listing assets to be shared or reinstated solely to the one who brought it into the marriage. They discovered he was still married, that his ex wife lied and said she had filed. Excuse me, the person he said he couldn't trust so was divorcing her lied about the divorce and you're suprised?? Better check to see if you, through him, are liable for any of her shenanigans over the years, because it looks like she has quite the record for bad checks, drugs, driving while suspended... ha ha what a loser, right, you would never be so reckless as to leave your fate to someone like that! Just for fun, let's pull up your divorce to show him what a real divo...waitaminit. You aren't divorced either!! You left it up to your loser ex?? Oh, he <i>told </i>you he filed...<br />
So yes, this married, about to divorce couple are married to others. I have no idea the legal ramifications if this, I don't pretend to know. I would think the 2nd marriage would be null and the 1st should be ended legally, completely, immediately. And neither should ever marry again.<br />
Are you married? Am I? Yeah, those are now on the list.<br />
But back to my chemo results. They are pretty sure they got it all between 2 surgeries, 2 rounds of cyberknife zappage, and 1 round of chemo. It's impossible to use any imaging except standard xrays on me because of all the metals in my body but they are fairly certain, and will carefully monitor me in the future for any symptoms or signs of regrowth.<br />
"<i>You have an adenoma of the pituitary gland, and we can't be sure exactly how extensive it is."</i> Those are words I hope nobody ever has to hear, ever again. And to the 7 of my chemo session whom we lost along the way, I am so damned sorry. I won't forget you. And, selfishly, I'm so damned glad it wasn't me.Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-88354822129524762962016-05-05T06:27:00.000-07:002016-05-05T06:29:35.026-07:00Cinco de Cuervo?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcA9Kr-TQFRe-i1G5jSTsDjDGDhQGVd0UbcrZPVgzXKRXUJa2DVHpoWeqHueiPOogogFamNYa6HLrP9VMMgPV488nS3T0Ao9LzAii8yf7jrXdjcQsyjsT1Icalm3oOygX6am3TGg-1Qig/s1600/20160505_080751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcA9Kr-TQFRe-i1G5jSTsDjDGDhQGVd0UbcrZPVgzXKRXUJa2DVHpoWeqHueiPOogogFamNYa6HLrP9VMMgPV488nS3T0Ao9LzAii8yf7jrXdjcQsyjsT1Icalm3oOygX6am3TGg-1Qig/s320/20160505_080751.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">If you do not know what this holiday is about, don't try to claim you are celebrating it. If you just know it as an excuse to get toasted and do obscene things, like dance in public when you have no rhythm, then call it what it is:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Cinco de Cuervo</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszaXMGNF3-TXtH7I3YaSE1qkIKJwesrWpbqRQgpX2Wj8H15Q2p8A7Uok1zagvdFSQ65T-WTZHwvgWGez_m5g_5c78bhxHBycxjbyEnjYmPJejrBTzodJkMOHxFCdzOvFb0f-75s0Kmbs7/s1600/20160505_080317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszaXMGNF3-TXtH7I3YaSE1qkIKJwesrWpbqRQgpX2Wj8H15Q2p8A7Uok1zagvdFSQ65T-WTZHwvgWGez_m5g_5c78bhxHBycxjbyEnjYmPJejrBTzodJkMOHxFCdzOvFb0f-75s0Kmbs7/s320/20160505_080317.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">However, if you don't know but care, here is why this is a day to celebrate:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The date is observed to commemorate the Mexican Army's unlikely victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862, under the leadership of General Ignacio Zaragoza.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Although not a major strategic win in the overall war against the French, Zaragoza's success at Puebla represented a great symbolic victory for the Mexican government and bolstered the resistance movement.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26.4px;">The Puebla victory came to symbolize unity and pride for what seemed like a Mexican David defeating a French Goliath.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26.4px;"> It helped establish a much-needed sense of national unity and patriotism.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26.4px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 31.6163px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The victory represented a significant morale boost to the Mexican army and the Mexican people at large.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 31.6163px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>SIGH</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 31.6163px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Okay, let me put it this way... this victory was to Mexico, what the entire Revolutionary War was for America. Still nothing? Okay, think putting your last $10 on a 100/1 longshot in the last race of the season to be able to keep your house from going into foreclosure and <i>the longshot wins!</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 31.6163px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Still not really registering? Oh, well. I tried.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 31.6163px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh! Got it! Julia Roberts was married to Lyle Lovett!!</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #252525; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 34.2244px;">Closer? </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #252525; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 34.2244px;">Right.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #252525; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 34.2244px;">Drink a lot of tequila and dance in public.</span></span><br />
<br />Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-31175702043093519992016-04-12T14:22:00.010-07:002016-04-12T14:31:16.198-07:00Bet they thought we wouldn't see it coming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I was listening to the radio this morning, because I haven't learned my lesson, and only half listened to the morning patter until 2 words registered as part of the same sentence - Solstice and million. I dropped what I was holding and ran... yeah, I was holding Brat and helping him through another coughing fit. I didn't drop him but I <i>did</i> begin to pay attention. What I heard was not part of some clever sketch. Iceland is apparently holding a Secret Solstice Festival cum concert and the price is $1,000,000 USD. Per ticket which allows 6 people.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkJBBI3_jhy5Yb4JIh-MWyqBY8tfli_F0XKVfFXffhtwl3h7MNYQdarRF4R3EcRgnOdpu7frPPCzNp1jDUdb6QokdUdgB6Qet-duPEzPA2igfCVMPaMzofNlE_lE3BuYCw6NWisMlYan7/s1600/ss-presser-helo2-1210x423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkJBBI3_jhy5Yb4JIh-MWyqBY8tfli_F0XKVfFXffhtwl3h7MNYQdarRF4R3EcRgnOdpu7frPPCzNp1jDUdb6QokdUdgB6Qet-duPEzPA2igfCVMPaMzofNlE_lE3BuYCw6NWisMlYan7/s320/ss-presser-helo2-1210x423.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I had to do some research on this. It's true. According to one site:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px rgb(225, 225, 225); box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: 'Open Sans', HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.95px; font-stretch: inherit; line-height: 25.415px; margin-bottom: 0.85em; margin-top: 0.85em; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px rgb(225 , 225 , 225); box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Here’s some of what this one-of-a-kind luxe festival ticket includes:</span></div>
<ul style="background-color: white; border: 0px rgb(225, 225, 225); box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: 'Open Sans', HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.95px; font-stretch: inherit; line-height: 25.415px; list-style-position: outside; margin: 0px 0px 20px 7px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
<li style="border: 0px rgb(225, 225, 225); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; padding: 3px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px rgb(225 , 225 , 225); box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Private chartered business jet (Gulfstream G300 or similar) return to Iceland from any destination on Earth for six people</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px rgb(225, 225, 225); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; padding: 3px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px rgb(225 , 225 , 225); box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">24/7 access to two luxury cars, personal drivers, and private security for the entire week in Iceland</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px rgb(225, 225, 225); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; padding: 3px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px rgb(225 , 225 , 225); box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Luxury 6-room villa for 7 nights in the center of Reykjavík over the Secret Solstice 2016 festival week</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px rgb(225, 225, 225); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; padding: 3px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px rgb(225 , 225 , 225); box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Exclusive admittance to Secret Solstice 2016 for six people, including chaperoned access to off-limits areas of the festival site where possible</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px rgb(225, 225, 225); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 1em; padding: 3px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px rgb(225 , 225 , 225); box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Access to the sold out <span style="border: 0px rgb(225 , 225 , 225); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Secret Solstice presents Inside The Volcano</span> event, the world’s first concert inside a volcano over the Secret Solstice 2016 weekend, including helicopter transfers from Reykjavík</span></li>
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A mil, you say? Dang, left it in my other pants. In a previous incarnation </div>
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A mil for what boils down to a concert I don't care about and a hotel room with sheets that will smell funny to me, to have a close up view of something that is in my essence anyway? Pass. For a mil Johnny Depp, Sam Elliot, Angelina Jolie, Baryshnikov & Tim Conway (my quirk, ignore it) better be waiting naked with a vat of absinthe.</div>
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But I have a theory.</div>
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Here's what I think happened:</div>
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A bunch of Canadians were sitting around a frozen something, trying to think of a way to get back at Americans for being, erm, very American, let's say. 1 of the Canucks (Canuks? Is that even allowed? I'm never sure when it's racist to refer to one's nationality by saying their, uhm, nationality) says, "I got an idea, eh? We have all this ice and cold here, we're pretty far north, and most Americans are scarily ethnocentric, yet seem to have a lot of things we want. We need to take over their place, and here's how....festival. Solstice is coming up, we say we're somewhere else, like, I dunno, Iceland. Who's gunna know after we take their money and fly them here, open the door of the plane and there is snow everywhere, eh? We raise a mooseload of cash, use that to fund our own candidates for their Presidency, because anybody is better than what they have up this time... It could work, eh??"</div>
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I have no idea if they really say things like that. The last time I was in Canada was 1976, for the Bicentennial. Yep, my oh so patriotic family went to Canada to celebrate America's 200th. It seemed to make some sort of sense at the time. Moving on. </div>
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So he says that, or not, and between the drinking, making that great pizza topping, dodging moose, and putting mayo on everything, they hatch a cunning plan.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUAde4qkghnIslSs87HIyd7Y5HYw2spgE2Egu0NMIB1vtXmqQ14zlGGUNs0EvQMFCszTT9v0BhOvikB60UswGxv6vi0Ly-1MK-7NDjVqclwFifC0kNmEFD1_rRQQh7iMWFU2jrkKuslIO/s1600/20160412_142544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUAde4qkghnIslSs87HIyd7Y5HYw2spgE2Egu0NMIB1vtXmqQ14zlGGUNs0EvQMFCszTT9v0BhOvikB60UswGxv6vi0Ly-1MK-7NDjVqclwFifC0kNmEFD1_rRQQh7iMWFU2jrkKuslIO/s320/20160412_142544.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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President Trebek and Vice President Short </div>
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2016</div>
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It's Time, America, eh?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sKrswGXjWx52Kh1lG4uQ4bcB_PndAsLAkMED2OsiMoGAw6yPWm24yC5ssRzxVW0WDIGamxc-zNJ5sHBrdSoyaO_bILDSxuqpBn24zzUp53ybDQvGUlY5LJUnTRhRBwls5HF3kleuJz5I/s1600/ingenious.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sKrswGXjWx52Kh1lG4uQ4bcB_PndAsLAkMED2OsiMoGAw6yPWm24yC5ssRzxVW0WDIGamxc-zNJ5sHBrdSoyaO_bILDSxuqpBn24zzUp53ybDQvGUlY5LJUnTRhRBwls5HF3kleuJz5I/s320/ingenious.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-52281156174384941912016-04-11T15:43:00.001-07:002016-04-11T15:51:17.630-07:00Chicken, chemo, and tunes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is another one of those things that happened in my life and even I find it hard to believe. I almost feel like I should start it with the old, "Once upon a time..."<br />
But no.<br />
This is more me.<br />
<br />
No shit, this really happened....<br />
I was at my chemo session today (😥) and they play whatever music the majority of those in the center like, usually classic rock when my group is there. KTGL is advertising a concert by the group Chicago, and have a completely annoying, makes my shoulders creep up to try to cover my ears, spine tries to melt so I can slither away and not hear it, I want to choke someone commercial. It is one of the air personalities saying, not even chanting, <i>slowly</i> saying:<br />
"Chicken. In. The. Car. And. The. Car. Won't. Go. That's. How. You. Spell. Chicago."<br />
I. Want. To. Kill. Him.<br />
I have been hearing it for a few weeks now, being slowly pushed to the brink of a homicidal spree, but apparently I was the only 1 who had heard it before today.<br />
<b><i>Those people lost their damn minds!</i></b><br />
"That is the dumbest way to advertise a rock concert!!!"<br />
"What moron can spell 'chicken' but needs a rhyme to spell fucking 'Chicago???'"<br />
"I like Chicago and now I can't go to that concert because of that stupid commercial!!"<br />
I listened to the rants, then calmly asked, "Has no one else ever been bothered that there is poultry in a vehicle in a childrens' skip rope chant?"<br />
<b>"OH MY GOD SHE'S RIGHT THERE'S A FREAKIN' CHICKEN IN A CAR THAT IS BROKEN DOWN IN ILLINOIS!"</b><br />
"That just never made sense to me, and now this guy..."<br />
And off we all went randomly bitching about a kids' chant, when an amazing thing happened.<br />
A song came on. "Dog and Butterfly," by Heart. One by one we all calmed, the two who were too busy puking to join the conversation slowly stopped their individual heaving. The conversation dwindled, and by the end of the song nearly everyone in there, patients and techs alike, was smiling. It is a remarkable gift that music can give, and that song... yeah, you know, that one. How long has it been since you heard it? You should pop over to YouTube, or your ipod, or radio app, whatever, but listen to it again. See if you don't feel better.<br />
I do, even if it is just for a little while, and may not even kill that voiceover guy. Not today, anyway.Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-11933428704998477562016-03-17T14:46:00.000-07:002016-03-17T14:46:21.636-07:00Shhhhhh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I received the following plea in my mailbox:<br />
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<i>Vicat, I read something of yours about a man who just would not stfu and I have the same problem with my husband Burt. He talks all the time, to himself, or grunts, or makes random weird noises, or sings badly and the wrong lyrics. Anything to avoid silence and it's driving me insane! What did you do??</i><br />
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First of all, <i style="font-weight: bold;">Never </i>do what I do. I do not recommend most things I would even consider as anything near what anyone else should even try. I get the most comments stating if I didn't have photos and witnesses/documentation to some of the things that happen to me, nobody would believe it. As I once exclaimed in yet another Only Me situation, "<i>Bullshit! That doesn't really happen to anybody!</i>" But it did, to me, of course.<br />
That being said, this is an easy fix.<br />
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<b><i>Dear Burt,</i></b><br />
<b><i>I am aware that you have a great fear that if you shut your mouth, your brain will begin functioning and that can be a very scary thing, particularly for the rest of us. But I assure you, someone such as yourself should have no fear at all on that account. You're safe. So shut the fuck up and allow your dear family a little peace and quiet before your loving wife ends up on "Snapped," and your kids end up in the care of that weird relative you always forget to invite to family functions but who shows up anyway. Yeah, you don't want them being raised by him. Srsly, SHUT THE FUCK UP. You'll be okay.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
I preform all kinds of public service. I'm a giver.Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7848963012848515942.post-86600807708855633702016-03-05T13:04:00.001-08:002016-03-05T13:04:42.990-08:00Evil never dies<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"<i>Just when I thought I was out..."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Candy Crush 3. This damn game owns me, and I hate the thing. It makes me feel stupid, even though according to all the IQ tests I've ever taken I'm an off-the-charts genius, am well read, highly educated, and am generally smarter than the average bear. I also have my dumbass side, and my goofball aspect, and I suspect these 2 are in charge whenever I play. But I have to play, because it's an addiction in the truest sense - I don't even like it anymore but I <i>have </i>to play, because of 1 person.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He is an idiot.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have known him for many years, and he is a kind, generous, considerate, very nice person but he is not smart. And he zooms through these things like a cheetah on crack, leaving a trail of high scores. I realize that people think in different ways, that those who are more creative than logical don't do as well in this sort of thing, but oddly, I'm exactly 50/50 on the right/left brain scale. So I should be able to beat his score on at least <i>one </i>level, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The idiot is a Jelly savant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And I'm not the kind of person who can just let this go, and be happy for him. I have to beat one of those high scores. I'm petty. And I'm fine with that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But if they come out with Candy Crush 4, it should be named Soul Crusher.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Orbit Sweet Mint gum squeaks the first minute or so you chew it. Just thought you should be forewarned, in case you pop a piece in your mouth right before entering a situation where quiet is the decorum. Sure wish someone had mentioned it to me last week before I had that appointment...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And today my nephew, the last of his generation, is getting married. I actually like the girl. She is smart, funny, and I get the impression she will take zero shit from anyone. Reminds me of someone I know, she said modestly. But I can't go to the wedding, or anywhere else for that matter, since I'm not up to travel. And missing this... yeah, this one hurts. I am anti-marriage, personally. I find it an odd ritual that basically says, "I love you so much if you ever try to leave me it will take a government sanction and possibly law enforcement involvement before I'll let you go."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> But to Jason and Sydney - <b><i>All the best of life, always.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>Vicathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03679883669585336628noreply@blogger.com0