Can't Pick 'Em
17 June 2010
Do you notice how you are sometimes stuck with relatives that are nothing at all like you? Wonder how the hell you and they came from the same clan? I wonder that. I wonder why some things aren't obvious to people like courtesy and respect.
Last night, around dinner time, I got an urgent call that my Grams was being rushed into surgery because her surgical site was so infected, it looked like she regrew the breasts they had removed. The infection was serious. My 'relative' assured me that grams was in surgery and that she would call as soon as grams was out to let me know how it went. We've done this dance before, a few weeks ago during the surgery itself when she didn't call to tell me that grams survived then. So, when 4am this morning rolled around and I still hadn't heard,.. It was nothing new.
So, it's frustrating. I want to be kept in the loop, and want to know how grams is doing. And, this relative couldn't be bothered to call me and let me know how she was? She was happy to call and say how grams was in bad shape. Happy to call to tell me that grams had cancer in the first place. Seems she was mainly happy to call and share the chaos and sadness. But not interested in seeing it through to letting folks across the country know that grams was alright.Interesting thing...some people seem to thrive on other's misery and pain. While grams was in surgery to have her double mastectomy, this relative, a close relative, went to an amusement park for the day rather than go to the hospital and support the family.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Experience Project 09
Passion and Bread
15 June 2010
One of my many absolute passions in life is making bread. Yes, I do mean home-made bread from scratch. Watch out milfs,... going to talk about ACTUAL home-making here. This is not for the feint-of-heart milfs with the bullshit facade that shatters when you look closely. This is real wife stuff, for real women.
There is something incredibly sensual and womanly about making bread. Of course, men can do it too. Just watch Michael Chiarello on Food Network (or whichever network he went to), that man is sexy and when he cooks, you wish you were in the kitchen with him. That's the thing about ACTUALLY making food. It's a labor of love. And you feed your family. It's intimate: eating food, feeding your family food you made. You're saying, "here, my family, I love you, I made you this food to nourish your body, and filled it with love to nourish your soul, be fed and be well, nourished with my love." That is precisely why it sucks to throw fast food at them while you're running out the door (which I have to do from time to time so I'm not judging).
But, the ultimate in food prep is making home-made bread. The ingredients are often so simple; water, flour and yeast. I can't tell you how many of my women friends say that they don't know how to cook. Even if you aren't married, or dating, don't you like to eat??? Beyond that, whenever I bring in home-made bread, I end up with fans following me around for a bit, begging me to know what magic voodoo I created in my kitchen. Bread-making is an art, and everyone should give it a hand. It's sexy and feels good to kneed the dough. And, there's not a damned thing wrong with getting a bit dirty.
Here's a recipe that is super easy and a great first timer. My recommendation is that you include your spouse, partner, lover, significant other. No, they aren't going to help you make the bread. But, if you will just put on some light and airy clothes, grab an apron and work this recipe, you just might find something sexy going on. Oh, and don't forget the wine... I recommend Riesling, always, it's a great first wine for those who "don't like wine." When you eat the bread, and sip the wine, you'll see what everyone means by "pairing" wine to the food. Like a great Scotch and a Cohiba,.. the pairing is delicious and sensual and makes life worth living.
1 cup of water (hot,..as in around 120 degrees Farenheit, don't have a thermometer? S'ok, it should be hot enough that you don't want to keep your finger in it, but not so hot that you're burned by the steam).
1/4 cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic minced (use that masher thingy, saves time and fingertips)
pinch of salt
1 package active dry yeast
Stir all those ingredients in a large mixing bowl with a wooden spoon (yes, it matters, if you don't have a wooden spoon, use your hands). If you use glass or metal, please warm it first by putting it under the hot tap for a minute or two. Then dry and resume. The yeast will start activating and get a bit foamy. Keep stirring for about 3-5 minutes. You should smell the yeast, it should smell like bread-ish.
Add one cup of flour and stir until well combined. Should be quite thick, and, by now, the smell of bread being made will have permeated the kitchen. Have a sip of wine!
Pour a cup of flour onto the countertop. Add two cups of the flour to the bowl and try to work in as much as you can. The dough will look horribly, and you'll be certain you got it wrong. You didn't, just turn the dough and clumps out onto the flour on the countertop (yep, it had better be cleaned already!!!).
Now, using both hands, gather up all the clumps of dough and pile them on top of the mass of dough. Smash it all down until you have a flat, large mound. Fold the mound in half. Slide your fingers under the mound and make sure nothing has stuck to the counter. Use flour as you rub any wet spots to release. Smash the dough down some more, until its flat again, and fold in half again. Keep checking under the dough. Now, for the kneeding.
This is where the true sexy begins. On a chemical level, you need to work in enough flour to make all the droplets of water and oil combine, and you need to work in enough air to feed the yeast while they work their magic. See, the yeast are eating the sugars in the mixture, and expelling gas in the process, but they need oxygen too. All of that makes your bread light and puffy and so yummy. Never kneeded dough before? It's ok, I was scared at first too. But, just think 'sexy' and you'll do fine. You don't want to be harsh or rough,..not the right time. You want to be smooth and soft, sensual but firm. So, using the heels of your hands, push your mass of dough like you're going to smash it across the counter. Then with your fingertips, gather it all back into a sort of ball. Then smash with the heels of your hands again. As you do this, you'll need to rotate the dough as well. Just let it spin a little in the ball shape before you smash forward.
Now I've heard some funny things about kneeding the dough. "Make love to the dough." That one cracks me up. No, don't do that. You'll lose track of the time. It is possible to over work the dough. Don't panic, just keep an eye on your clock when you start. You want to kneed the dough about 3-5 minutes keeping a nice steady rhythm. When you've reached that, just let the dough rest where it is.
Now, hopefully by now, you have two nice floured handprints on your bum... it's critical to good bread-making!!! ;)
Wash the bowl you used to mix initially. Wash it thoroughly, and then dry. Using a bit of oil, olive oil works best, put a bit inside the bowl (about a tablespoon worth, go ahead and eyeball it) and rub it all over the bowl with a piece of paper towel, or your fingers (feel sexy now???).
Ok, go grab your dough ball. Make sure you've rolled it into a nice tight roll. Some folks do fancy things here, for a first timer,...don't sweat it. You can watch Alton Brown work his magic later on. For now, just put the dough ball in the bowl and spin it to coat the whole ball evenly. Drape a clean kitchen towel over the bowl and leave on the counter.
The dough needs to double in size. Yes, I actually mean DOUBLE. So, gauging by the size when you put it in there, it needs to grow TWICE as big. That'll take about an hour. Guess what else takes about an hour? See?? Making bread IS sexy.
After the hour (or so) lift the towel away. If there are dry spots, rub them with more oil. Then punch the dough down (no, your not being abusive, you're just letting out excess air). Let it rest there while you do the following:
Turn the oven to 425 degrees Farenheit. Remember if you're using a stone that it needs to go in cold and preheat with the over. Otherwise, grab your cookie sheet, or pie sheet or pizza sheet and rub oil all over it.
Now, grab the bowl of dough and turn the dough onto the sheet.With your oiled fingertips, press the dough down flat and fill up the pan. It's ok if it looks weird or shaped funny. Just try to stretch it flatter. Should eventually look like the beginning of a deep dish pizza (and yes, you can use this dough recipe for pizza dough). Great! Now, into the screaming hot oven it goes. Set the timer for 10 minutes, but remember, that's not how long it will take, the timer is just to make sure you don't forget about it. At over four hundred degrees, food goes from perfect, to screwed in less than a minute, so hover near your stove cause you'll need to check it often!!!
When you can tap the top and it feels and sounds hollow inside, you're good to go. Here's what I do next, but you should try things and see what you like:
I butter the whole top of it and sprinkle parmesan cheese all over then toss it back into the oven for about 4 more minutes. MMMMMMMM
Let it sit for about 8-10 minutes before you try to cut. I use a pizza cutter to cut mine, but a knife works too. Cut into strips and grab your marinara sauce, or not... Perhaps you have some balsamic vinegar and premium olive oil? Whatever, even just plain. Enjoy that with the wine, and see if perhaps you'll fall in love with bread-making too!!!
15 June 2010
One of my many absolute passions in life is making bread. Yes, I do mean home-made bread from scratch. Watch out milfs,... going to talk about ACTUAL home-making here. This is not for the feint-of-heart milfs with the bullshit facade that shatters when you look closely. This is real wife stuff, for real women.
There is something incredibly sensual and womanly about making bread. Of course, men can do it too. Just watch Michael Chiarello on Food Network (or whichever network he went to), that man is sexy and when he cooks, you wish you were in the kitchen with him. That's the thing about ACTUALLY making food. It's a labor of love. And you feed your family. It's intimate: eating food, feeding your family food you made. You're saying, "here, my family, I love you, I made you this food to nourish your body, and filled it with love to nourish your soul, be fed and be well, nourished with my love." That is precisely why it sucks to throw fast food at them while you're running out the door (which I have to do from time to time so I'm not judging).
But, the ultimate in food prep is making home-made bread. The ingredients are often so simple; water, flour and yeast. I can't tell you how many of my women friends say that they don't know how to cook. Even if you aren't married, or dating, don't you like to eat??? Beyond that, whenever I bring in home-made bread, I end up with fans following me around for a bit, begging me to know what magic voodoo I created in my kitchen. Bread-making is an art, and everyone should give it a hand. It's sexy and feels good to kneed the dough. And, there's not a damned thing wrong with getting a bit dirty.
Here's a recipe that is super easy and a great first timer. My recommendation is that you include your spouse, partner, lover, significant other. No, they aren't going to help you make the bread. But, if you will just put on some light and airy clothes, grab an apron and work this recipe, you just might find something sexy going on. Oh, and don't forget the wine... I recommend Riesling, always, it's a great first wine for those who "don't like wine." When you eat the bread, and sip the wine, you'll see what everyone means by "pairing" wine to the food. Like a great Scotch and a Cohiba,.. the pairing is delicious and sensual and makes life worth living.
1 cup of water (hot,..as in around 120 degrees Farenheit, don't have a thermometer? S'ok, it should be hot enough that you don't want to keep your finger in it, but not so hot that you're burned by the steam).
1/4 cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic minced (use that masher thingy, saves time and fingertips)
pinch of salt
1 package active dry yeast
Stir all those ingredients in a large mixing bowl with a wooden spoon (yes, it matters, if you don't have a wooden spoon, use your hands). If you use glass or metal, please warm it first by putting it under the hot tap for a minute or two. Then dry and resume. The yeast will start activating and get a bit foamy. Keep stirring for about 3-5 minutes. You should smell the yeast, it should smell like bread-ish.
Add one cup of flour and stir until well combined. Should be quite thick, and, by now, the smell of bread being made will have permeated the kitchen. Have a sip of wine!
Pour a cup of flour onto the countertop. Add two cups of the flour to the bowl and try to work in as much as you can. The dough will look horribly, and you'll be certain you got it wrong. You didn't, just turn the dough and clumps out onto the flour on the countertop (yep, it had better be cleaned already!!!).
Now, using both hands, gather up all the clumps of dough and pile them on top of the mass of dough. Smash it all down until you have a flat, large mound. Fold the mound in half. Slide your fingers under the mound and make sure nothing has stuck to the counter. Use flour as you rub any wet spots to release. Smash the dough down some more, until its flat again, and fold in half again. Keep checking under the dough. Now, for the kneeding.
This is where the true sexy begins. On a chemical level, you need to work in enough flour to make all the droplets of water and oil combine, and you need to work in enough air to feed the yeast while they work their magic. See, the yeast are eating the sugars in the mixture, and expelling gas in the process, but they need oxygen too. All of that makes your bread light and puffy and so yummy. Never kneeded dough before? It's ok, I was scared at first too. But, just think 'sexy' and you'll do fine. You don't want to be harsh or rough,..not the right time. You want to be smooth and soft, sensual but firm. So, using the heels of your hands, push your mass of dough like you're going to smash it across the counter. Then with your fingertips, gather it all back into a sort of ball. Then smash with the heels of your hands again. As you do this, you'll need to rotate the dough as well. Just let it spin a little in the ball shape before you smash forward.
Now I've heard some funny things about kneeding the dough. "Make love to the dough." That one cracks me up. No, don't do that. You'll lose track of the time. It is possible to over work the dough. Don't panic, just keep an eye on your clock when you start. You want to kneed the dough about 3-5 minutes keeping a nice steady rhythm. When you've reached that, just let the dough rest where it is.
Now, hopefully by now, you have two nice floured handprints on your bum... it's critical to good bread-making!!! ;)
Wash the bowl you used to mix initially. Wash it thoroughly, and then dry. Using a bit of oil, olive oil works best, put a bit inside the bowl (about a tablespoon worth, go ahead and eyeball it) and rub it all over the bowl with a piece of paper towel, or your fingers (feel sexy now???).
Ok, go grab your dough ball. Make sure you've rolled it into a nice tight roll. Some folks do fancy things here, for a first timer,...don't sweat it. You can watch Alton Brown work his magic later on. For now, just put the dough ball in the bowl and spin it to coat the whole ball evenly. Drape a clean kitchen towel over the bowl and leave on the counter.
The dough needs to double in size. Yes, I actually mean DOUBLE. So, gauging by the size when you put it in there, it needs to grow TWICE as big. That'll take about an hour. Guess what else takes about an hour? See?? Making bread IS sexy.
After the hour (or so) lift the towel away. If there are dry spots, rub them with more oil. Then punch the dough down (no, your not being abusive, you're just letting out excess air). Let it rest there while you do the following:
Turn the oven to 425 degrees Farenheit. Remember if you're using a stone that it needs to go in cold and preheat with the over. Otherwise, grab your cookie sheet, or pie sheet or pizza sheet and rub oil all over it.
Now, grab the bowl of dough and turn the dough onto the sheet.With your oiled fingertips, press the dough down flat and fill up the pan. It's ok if it looks weird or shaped funny. Just try to stretch it flatter. Should eventually look like the beginning of a deep dish pizza (and yes, you can use this dough recipe for pizza dough). Great! Now, into the screaming hot oven it goes. Set the timer for 10 minutes, but remember, that's not how long it will take, the timer is just to make sure you don't forget about it. At over four hundred degrees, food goes from perfect, to screwed in less than a minute, so hover near your stove cause you'll need to check it often!!!
When you can tap the top and it feels and sounds hollow inside, you're good to go. Here's what I do next, but you should try things and see what you like:
I butter the whole top of it and sprinkle parmesan cheese all over then toss it back into the oven for about 4 more minutes. MMMMMMMM
Let it sit for about 8-10 minutes before you try to cut. I use a pizza cutter to cut mine, but a knife works too. Cut into strips and grab your marinara sauce, or not... Perhaps you have some balsamic vinegar and premium olive oil? Whatever, even just plain. Enjoy that with the wine, and see if perhaps you'll fall in love with bread-making too!!!
Experience Project 08
Comparing Kids
14 June 2010
OK, trying to write my blog while doing eight other things, and trying to prevent the baby from stripping naked and running commando down the hall.......not good. Here's a rewrite cause I never really got to the point.
Family gatherings can sometimes suck butt. My kids are the first grandkids of both sides. As the years went on, there were other grandkids besides my own. And, for the most part, the other siblings have no respect for experience. And everyone has an opinion. Of course, MY opinions are more like, truths...but perhaps I may be biased.
So, over the years, the gatherings have turned into a sort of competition. And nothing is out of the question. The competition can be positive: who's kid is smartest, most attractive, most pleasant. The competition can be horrible: who's kid was the sickest, whose kid has the most problems, most screwed up had the most violent injury, worst habits, etc. And they often aren't completely honest about it all. And the kid is there trying to defend their self. One relative actually responded to their kid's correction by saying, "yeah, they rip out your heart and then make a liar out of you." Really? Well, I agree parenting is tough, hardest job I've ever done. But, if you start out a liar,... how does the kid get the blame for it?
Well, all my kids are very bright. And they're all sometimes really insane and sometimes they do things that force me to walk away with my hand over my mouth. But I'm not about to start sharing such intimate details of my children's lives with these ass hats. I think that's why kids feel betrayed by their folks. Some of that stuff is like the meat of who they are and doesn't deserve to be on display for the rest of the relatives to judge them by. And they WILL be judged. Whatever your relatives believe to be true of you, and the kid's father, they'll believe to be true of the kid. If they think you're a jerk, they'll find a reason to believe your kid is a jerk too. And every little thing they do wrong that gets talked about in the family gets blown horribly out of proportion. Screw that.
So, over the years, my parenting choices have come under fire. From breastfeeding, to breastfeeding beyond a year, cloth diapering, being available to the kid, open communication,.. just very dedicated parent. Apparently, these things have made me quite a target. And, for some reason, they connect unrelated things as if they are related in any way. Like, when you start feeding a baby solid food. They all started around six weeks. HOLY SHIT!!! Six weeks??? Poor kid probably was passed out from distress. And they would brag!!! "My kids were all on solids by six weeks." As if that somehow meant their kid was special, or smarter, or better developed. "HEY, jackasses, your baby's gut isn't indicative of his intelligence and shoving food they can't digest won't make them smarter!!!" Of course, they all also believe that their kid's intelligence is demonstrated by how quickly the kid learns to walk, potty train, etc. For the record, even Piaget would agree that such things are unrelated to the child's untapped potential.
So, my youngest was born. And my ex's sibling had a kid around the same time. Her kid is about 7 months younger than mine. Now, my boy is a tank. He's still primarily breastfed, though he does eat stuff. Like, crayons, and rocks, and occasionally, people food. He's the size of a three year old. I call him my "pocket hulk" cause he's just a brute! Well, he still doesn't talk yet. He's got a lot of siblings that just do what he wants. Doesn't really need to talk. But there's my former sister in law, comparing her kid to mine, "gee, why doesn't he talk yet,... mine's already got twenty words..." Like I give a shit. I don't live with her kid, and that's great for her kid,.. but my kid isn't up on an auction block for judging. But, since he's big and strong, and doesn't talk, these folks feel its ok to make fun of him and imply that his strength is countered by a lack of intelligence. Well, when I regard my little pocket Hulk, I don't see a lumbering jackass who can't read and doesn't know anything. I see more of the Beast from X-Men. Very smart, incredibly strong and funny as hell. But, "pocket Beast" doesn't roll off the tongue the way "Pocket Hulk" does.
I hate that. Judging my kids against someone else's is the fastest way to piss me off. My kids are awesome! And, so what if my kid doesn't measure up in your eyes? WTF do you think I'm supposed to do about your opinion? Of course, I don't mean YOU, I mean these asshole people. I just think some people put pressures on kids that don't belong, and some people don't pay any attention to the aspects that need it. Like the relative making fun of my son's not talking: her oldest didn't talk when she was four!!! No words. None. She's almost six and does talk now. But, four is a lot older than 20 months old. So really, she has no business questioning me, when she didn't bother to get her own kid screened.
I'd rather navigate a mine field than dance with shitheads. Then again, I can't stand other people's kids either.... and I think their kids are just like them!!!
14 June 2010
OK, trying to write my blog while doing eight other things, and trying to prevent the baby from stripping naked and running commando down the hall.......not good. Here's a rewrite cause I never really got to the point.
Family gatherings can sometimes suck butt. My kids are the first grandkids of both sides. As the years went on, there were other grandkids besides my own. And, for the most part, the other siblings have no respect for experience. And everyone has an opinion. Of course, MY opinions are more like, truths...but perhaps I may be biased.
So, over the years, the gatherings have turned into a sort of competition. And nothing is out of the question. The competition can be positive: who's kid is smartest, most attractive, most pleasant. The competition can be horrible: who's kid was the sickest, whose kid has the most problems, most screwed up had the most violent injury, worst habits, etc. And they often aren't completely honest about it all. And the kid is there trying to defend their self. One relative actually responded to their kid's correction by saying, "yeah, they rip out your heart and then make a liar out of you." Really? Well, I agree parenting is tough, hardest job I've ever done. But, if you start out a liar,... how does the kid get the blame for it?
Well, all my kids are very bright. And they're all sometimes really insane and sometimes they do things that force me to walk away with my hand over my mouth. But I'm not about to start sharing such intimate details of my children's lives with these ass hats. I think that's why kids feel betrayed by their folks. Some of that stuff is like the meat of who they are and doesn't deserve to be on display for the rest of the relatives to judge them by. And they WILL be judged. Whatever your relatives believe to be true of you, and the kid's father, they'll believe to be true of the kid. If they think you're a jerk, they'll find a reason to believe your kid is a jerk too. And every little thing they do wrong that gets talked about in the family gets blown horribly out of proportion. Screw that.
So, over the years, my parenting choices have come under fire. From breastfeeding, to breastfeeding beyond a year, cloth diapering, being available to the kid, open communication,.. just very dedicated parent. Apparently, these things have made me quite a target. And, for some reason, they connect unrelated things as if they are related in any way. Like, when you start feeding a baby solid food. They all started around six weeks. HOLY SHIT!!! Six weeks??? Poor kid probably was passed out from distress. And they would brag!!! "My kids were all on solids by six weeks." As if that somehow meant their kid was special, or smarter, or better developed. "HEY, jackasses, your baby's gut isn't indicative of his intelligence and shoving food they can't digest won't make them smarter!!!" Of course, they all also believe that their kid's intelligence is demonstrated by how quickly the kid learns to walk, potty train, etc. For the record, even Piaget would agree that such things are unrelated to the child's untapped potential.
So, my youngest was born. And my ex's sibling had a kid around the same time. Her kid is about 7 months younger than mine. Now, my boy is a tank. He's still primarily breastfed, though he does eat stuff. Like, crayons, and rocks, and occasionally, people food. He's the size of a three year old. I call him my "pocket hulk" cause he's just a brute! Well, he still doesn't talk yet. He's got a lot of siblings that just do what he wants. Doesn't really need to talk. But there's my former sister in law, comparing her kid to mine, "gee, why doesn't he talk yet,... mine's already got twenty words..." Like I give a shit. I don't live with her kid, and that's great for her kid,.. but my kid isn't up on an auction block for judging. But, since he's big and strong, and doesn't talk, these folks feel its ok to make fun of him and imply that his strength is countered by a lack of intelligence. Well, when I regard my little pocket Hulk, I don't see a lumbering jackass who can't read and doesn't know anything. I see more of the Beast from X-Men. Very smart, incredibly strong and funny as hell. But, "pocket Beast" doesn't roll off the tongue the way "Pocket Hulk" does.
I hate that. Judging my kids against someone else's is the fastest way to piss me off. My kids are awesome! And, so what if my kid doesn't measure up in your eyes? WTF do you think I'm supposed to do about your opinion? Of course, I don't mean YOU, I mean these asshole people. I just think some people put pressures on kids that don't belong, and some people don't pay any attention to the aspects that need it. Like the relative making fun of my son's not talking: her oldest didn't talk when she was four!!! No words. None. She's almost six and does talk now. But, four is a lot older than 20 months old. So really, she has no business questioning me, when she didn't bother to get her own kid screened.
I'd rather navigate a mine field than dance with shitheads. Then again, I can't stand other people's kids either.... and I think their kids are just like them!!!
Experience Project 07
Backing UP
11 June 2010
My usual work car is an old Kia Spectra. For anyone wondering, KIA is Korean for "Let's Screw America." I've had this car for a long, long time. One day, I let my son borrow this car. He called me from a convenience store to let me know he could not back up out of the parking spot. I suggested a few things, but eventually gave up and told him to stick tight. The store was barely a mile away, I could run there in ten minutes. Before I got there, my son came barrelling down the road toward the house. Turns out, he simply decided that the KIA needed some off-road time.
So, he drove my car through the grass immediately in front of the vehicle, beside the telephone pole, under the diagonal wire supports, off the curb and sidewalk and onto the street. Then he drove home.
I'm typically really good with cars. Well, let me be specific. I'm good with engines. I was that greasy covered kid in coveralls beside my dad and his soldiers, watching them work on their vehicles "helping" by not getting underfoot. I didn't help much. So, I understand engines and what different car symptoms often mean. A car that won't go into reverse??? Bad news, cause that's the trans. Shit.
So, I run the car through a few paces. Park is still Park. Reverse is nothing at all, Neutral sends the car forward as does all the other gears. At first I thought, well, not so bad. Then I read the chilton on it,... very very bad. VERY VERY BAD!!! I called the transmission guy and confirmed my fear.
Inside the trans, is a sort of locking mechanism that prevents the car from going into reverse in all the other gears. EXCEPT reverse,.. in reverse, the locking pin is held away, and the engine will engage in backward motion. The locking pin is not being held away, ergo, the clamp that holds it back is broken. Great. Well, this part is on the innermost section of the trans so the whole damned thing has to be taken apart to fix. Funny thing about trans,.. when you take it apart, pieces that were functioning fine HAVE to be replaced cause they don't go back together. For a crap car that isn't worth five hundred bucks, the trans alone will cost nineteen hundred bucks to fix. YIKES!!! Holy Hell Hounds Of Antioch...So, believe it or not, I have been trying to find a new crap car.
Anyone want a KIA Spectra that 'runs great' (just not in reverse)???
11 June 2010
My usual work car is an old Kia Spectra. For anyone wondering, KIA is Korean for "Let's Screw America." I've had this car for a long, long time. One day, I let my son borrow this car. He called me from a convenience store to let me know he could not back up out of the parking spot. I suggested a few things, but eventually gave up and told him to stick tight. The store was barely a mile away, I could run there in ten minutes. Before I got there, my son came barrelling down the road toward the house. Turns out, he simply decided that the KIA needed some off-road time.
So, he drove my car through the grass immediately in front of the vehicle, beside the telephone pole, under the diagonal wire supports, off the curb and sidewalk and onto the street. Then he drove home.
I'm typically really good with cars. Well, let me be specific. I'm good with engines. I was that greasy covered kid in coveralls beside my dad and his soldiers, watching them work on their vehicles "helping" by not getting underfoot. I didn't help much. So, I understand engines and what different car symptoms often mean. A car that won't go into reverse??? Bad news, cause that's the trans. Shit.
So, I run the car through a few paces. Park is still Park. Reverse is nothing at all, Neutral sends the car forward as does all the other gears. At first I thought, well, not so bad. Then I read the chilton on it,... very very bad. VERY VERY BAD!!! I called the transmission guy and confirmed my fear.
Inside the trans, is a sort of locking mechanism that prevents the car from going into reverse in all the other gears. EXCEPT reverse,.. in reverse, the locking pin is held away, and the engine will engage in backward motion. The locking pin is not being held away, ergo, the clamp that holds it back is broken. Great. Well, this part is on the innermost section of the trans so the whole damned thing has to be taken apart to fix. Funny thing about trans,.. when you take it apart, pieces that were functioning fine HAVE to be replaced cause they don't go back together. For a crap car that isn't worth five hundred bucks, the trans alone will cost nineteen hundred bucks to fix. YIKES!!! Holy Hell Hounds Of Antioch...So, believe it or not, I have been trying to find a new crap car.
Anyone want a KIA Spectra that 'runs great' (just not in reverse)???
Experience Project 06
Dark Sunglasses
(with the mirrors on the inside)
11 June 2010
It has been brought to my attention that I view things, life through some jaded filters. You know how some people are so obnoxiously upbeat that they hear the "shiny-happy-people" song every step they take? Well, pick that Perky-Chick up and chuck her through the looking glass; then you get ME.
Jaded? Not even close. Jaded wakes up expecting things to go wrong. Jaded goes out into the world, expecting little from people. Jaded is a wussbag. Jaded lacks the courage of their convictions to step out on what they know. Jaded lacks the intestinal fortitude to be preemptive. Jaded is a bit of a pussy.
I've been forced to watch the entire series (note: series, not season, all of the seasons, back to back until I actually liked the show, which is a form of brain washing I feel) of NCIS. I'm with Ziva David:
1. If it annoys you, kill it
2. Attack first, ask questions later
3. Drive fast; it's the best way to avoid roadside bombs.
You want perky? Climb down out of my tree and go climb a willow, or some flowering bushy thing that can't bear weight. Go frolick through the tulips though they're only in season for about 3 weeks. Go cozy up to those sexy rose bushes, the thorns are lovely I'm told. The point is,.. I AM a fucking TREE. I've got deep roots, a deadly accurate moral compass, strong limbs that support which have been tested through storms and fire, and those leaves everywhere. And, I'm a tree,... I'm gray, sometimes drab. I weather the winters by dying slightly. But I'm right back in the spring, ready to grow again.
I do view things through some darkened glasses. No rosy tinting over here. But hell, why do I have to be judged about it? I haven't attended the party yet where I didn't have at least three quarters of the crowd laughing their asses off at my sarcastic observations. If Dennis Miller, Dennis Leary and Chris Rock were blended together and made into a woman,.. that woman would be my friend (not arrogant enough to claim to be THAT witty or smart). So, I have a few dark clouds that rain on only me. And the sun shines out of other chicks asses. Whatever.
On the dating front. This aspect does make me less attractive it seems. A guy I work with said, "well, guys just don't want to be dragged down all the time." Hmmm, yeah, I get that. That would suck. Seriously? I don't get that. Aren't there any jaded, pissed off dudes out there, that aren't total assholes? Of course,..they are all flocking to the impossibly cheerful, angelic little cherubs that twitter and giggle so sweet and demure with the right thing to say at every given moment..... ... ... ... ok, enough of that, I just vomited in my mouth alittle.
So,.. one does not want to venture into the dark unknown, alone. However, apparently, I will be comforted with my medium cache of weapons and knives, my stunning reparte and rapier wit, and perhaps a bottle of Scotch,...
Cheers.
(with the mirrors on the inside)
11 June 2010
It has been brought to my attention that I view things, life through some jaded filters. You know how some people are so obnoxiously upbeat that they hear the "shiny-happy-people" song every step they take? Well, pick that Perky-Chick up and chuck her through the looking glass; then you get ME.
Jaded? Not even close. Jaded wakes up expecting things to go wrong. Jaded goes out into the world, expecting little from people. Jaded is a wussbag. Jaded lacks the courage of their convictions to step out on what they know. Jaded lacks the intestinal fortitude to be preemptive. Jaded is a bit of a pussy.
I've been forced to watch the entire series (note: series, not season, all of the seasons, back to back until I actually liked the show, which is a form of brain washing I feel) of NCIS. I'm with Ziva David:
1. If it annoys you, kill it
2. Attack first, ask questions later
3. Drive fast; it's the best way to avoid roadside bombs.
You want perky? Climb down out of my tree and go climb a willow, or some flowering bushy thing that can't bear weight. Go frolick through the tulips though they're only in season for about 3 weeks. Go cozy up to those sexy rose bushes, the thorns are lovely I'm told. The point is,.. I AM a fucking TREE. I've got deep roots, a deadly accurate moral compass, strong limbs that support which have been tested through storms and fire, and those leaves everywhere. And, I'm a tree,... I'm gray, sometimes drab. I weather the winters by dying slightly. But I'm right back in the spring, ready to grow again.
I do view things through some darkened glasses. No rosy tinting over here. But hell, why do I have to be judged about it? I haven't attended the party yet where I didn't have at least three quarters of the crowd laughing their asses off at my sarcastic observations. If Dennis Miller, Dennis Leary and Chris Rock were blended together and made into a woman,.. that woman would be my friend (not arrogant enough to claim to be THAT witty or smart). So, I have a few dark clouds that rain on only me. And the sun shines out of other chicks asses. Whatever.
On the dating front. This aspect does make me less attractive it seems. A guy I work with said, "well, guys just don't want to be dragged down all the time." Hmmm, yeah, I get that. That would suck. Seriously? I don't get that. Aren't there any jaded, pissed off dudes out there, that aren't total assholes? Of course,..they are all flocking to the impossibly cheerful, angelic little cherubs that twitter and giggle so sweet and demure with the right thing to say at every given moment..... ... ... ... ok, enough of that, I just vomited in my mouth alittle.
So,.. one does not want to venture into the dark unknown, alone. However, apparently, I will be comforted with my medium cache of weapons and knives, my stunning reparte and rapier wit, and perhaps a bottle of Scotch,...
Cheers.
Experience Project 05
Little Stampy Feet
11 June 2010
All of my kids have done the same thing pre-tantrum. They stamp their little feet really quickly, like they're running in place. Its the funniest thing, and I can hardle stand there and be stern with them bouncing around before me. And their little angry faces just tickle me more and I want to tickle torture them!!!
The littlest one just burst through the gate at the top of the stairs, sending it crashing into the sidelight below and bolted down the stairs. I was fast on his heels but he still managed to get all the way down stairs, into the oldest's room, and pull a bookshelf over onto the floor. When I picked him up, he started with the stampy feet and wailing. WHY? I was ruining his fun. But I still have to pick up all the books and such. I can hear his stampy feet even downstairs as he stamps in his pack-n-play. I only have a few seconds before he remembers how to escape from there.
Added 11 July 2010
Stampy feet are kid's way of letting you know they are unhappy, or pissed. It's so clear and easy to understand. I wish that we, as adults, had the freedom to express ourselves in this free manner. Wouldn't it be so awesome, the next time someone pisses you off, if you could throw your arms over your head, start wailing like a maniac while you stamp your feet into the ground in a tribal dance of anger??!!!! Well, after all, I AM angryface!!!
11 June 2010
All of my kids have done the same thing pre-tantrum. They stamp their little feet really quickly, like they're running in place. Its the funniest thing, and I can hardle stand there and be stern with them bouncing around before me. And their little angry faces just tickle me more and I want to tickle torture them!!!
The littlest one just burst through the gate at the top of the stairs, sending it crashing into the sidelight below and bolted down the stairs. I was fast on his heels but he still managed to get all the way down stairs, into the oldest's room, and pull a bookshelf over onto the floor. When I picked him up, he started with the stampy feet and wailing. WHY? I was ruining his fun. But I still have to pick up all the books and such. I can hear his stampy feet even downstairs as he stamps in his pack-n-play. I only have a few seconds before he remembers how to escape from there.
Added 11 July 2010
Stampy feet are kid's way of letting you know they are unhappy, or pissed. It's so clear and easy to understand. I wish that we, as adults, had the freedom to express ourselves in this free manner. Wouldn't it be so awesome, the next time someone pisses you off, if you could throw your arms over your head, start wailing like a maniac while you stamp your feet into the ground in a tribal dance of anger??!!!! Well, after all, I AM angryface!!!
Experience Project 04
Chasing The White Rabbit
10 June 2010
I was talking to a friend of mine about having just bought the new Alice in Wonderland. He said that the phrase "chasing the white rabbit" was a drug reference. Apparently I've grown up completely oblivious.
I don't want to admit that I am naive. But, sometimes if the Mad Hatter's hat fits,.. you gotta wear it. Between the drug references in AIW, and the mystery around The Wizard Of Oz, I can't believe I grew up with these movies and never picked up on it. Sadly it doesn't end there.
In high school, we went of an extended trip where we were gone for a week, and stayed in hotel rooms. I ACTUALLY thought that everyone on the trip was sleeping at night, and in their own room, and alone. And I never would have thought that any drinking or drugs were happening. But, years ago, at the ten year reunion (wait,..make that twelve years ago, at my ten year reunion) a bunch of the kids I hung out with were all sharing this incredible tale. They were reminiscing about the drugs and how drunk so-and-so was, and who slept with who, and the wild kinky things they were doing. After a few long minutes listening, I asked, "wow, when did all of THAT happen?" They all started laughing. Great. Turns out, their wild kinky adventure occurred at the same time as my relatively benign and boring school field trip. Apparently, I sleep rather soundly.
Even in college, I was just not socially aware. My first roommate (who I later couldn't stand) and this guy hooked up the very first night at a freshman mixer hosted by the college. Woo-Hoo. It was supposed to be "dry week" with no booze on campus. But this guy was legal and bought some beer. Yee-Haw. We sat in our dorm room,.. and I had no clue there was some sort of etiquette surrounding roommates, and who gets to sleep in the room when someone has a "friend" over. So, I sat at my desk, with the lamp on, and just read through my textbooks (I know,...NERD). I ignored them, and was listening to a sony walkman (remember those!!!). After a while, they realized I didn't get it, but recognized I couldn't hear them. So they started having sex,.. and had someone had the good grace to just tell me, I'd have gone to the dorm library for the evening. But no,.. I stood to go to the bathroom, and managed to catch a glimpse of him riding her like Sea Biscuit. I ran into the bathroom, and straight into the adjoining room, past another couple going at it, and out their door.
Horrified, I stayed in the library all night, freezing my ass off and bawling my eyes out. While I'm a bit ashamed to admit that, at least it's honest. I had spent my years in high school just trying to support myself. I hadn't been able to learn the social interaction kind of stuff that everyone else learns. I was working a few jobs and lived alone in the smallest studio apartment you ever saw. I could stand in the center of the living room/bedroom, and in two steps, reach the kitchenette, the dining table and the bathroom door. So, sue me if I didn't have a clue.
The next morning, my roommate accosted me in the dining hall. She walked right up to me, no shame or discretion at all, and in front of the entire dining hall filled to capacity,.. she said, "next time I have a date over, if you don't leave, I'm going to throw you out." The girls in the adjoining room seemed to agree. And within a few months, the Dean gave me my own bedroom, on the top floor of the dorm, and I had no suite-mates or room mates. Had the room to my self for the rest of my time there.
Another funny event happened at college because of my naivete... going to a Dead concert. No one told me that I might get high, just from breathing the air... My good friend was shocked that I'd never heard of the Dead,.. so he bought me a ticket, along with a whole bunch of people. We took a van up there to the concert. At some point, someone handed me the keys to the van because I was "white." I thought they meant my nationality (which is only half true), but they meant that I was pure... yikes. In college, that's the same as calling someone "boring" "dull" and "unattractive." So, I watched the concert, and most of the folks with us drifted away. I remember seeing some of them eating little bits of paper which I thought was weird (duh). And the friend that brought me promised he wouldn't leave my side,... About ten minutes in, his old lover and he connected and he left. So, after about an hour of the concert, I started feeling confused, dazed, dizzy and silly. I went over to a man who was standing at a booth, and I said, "I don't feel so well, somethings wrong." He handed me a sandwich. So I ate it,.. not bright,.. do not eat food a stranger hands you. HHEEEYYY! Kinda like Alice!!!
Anyway, so eventually, I staggered out to the van, surprised I found it, and the doors were locked. I forgot I had the keys, which was just as well, cause some of my friends were using the space... *wink wink* So I sat on the ground, by the driver's side door still confused. After a long time, everyone got back, and I opened the van and we all piled in. To say that my driving was erratic would be an understatement. Eventually, my friend (with his lover beside him) told me to pull over. So I did. He drove us back toward campus.
Around this time, I started complaining that I was really hungry. The sandwich wasn't cutting it. I was HUNGRY. So my friend (Paul, to make this easier) stopped at Denny's. While everyone ordered food, I actually devoured mine and some of each of theirs. I was hungry. But then, I threw up. So Paul got worried (he was fatherly of me, cause I was so naive) and decided to take me to the university clinic. I was scared they were trying to kidnap me and made a huge scene leaving Denny's. And I felt weird.
We got to the clinic, and they brought me in. The doctor asked me a few questions, but then just said, "what drugs did you do tonight?" He wouldn't listen to me,.. I didn't do drugs. I started vomiting violently again. And, I broke out in hives. Seriously, hives, everywhere. Paul tried to convince the dude that I hadn't done any drugs. But they ran blood tests and confirmed that I had marijuana in my system. The levels were really low, though, too low for the length of time that had passed. So eventually the very young and not bright doc realized that it was a contact high, from being completely surrounded by the smoke from others smoking dope. I wasn't allergic to the dope,.. but at Denny's, they had a kind of crab cake thing that they served (which I'm surprised was not Krab cake,..) and the chef cross contaminated my food with one of my friend's food--the crab, which I'm allergic to.
I've never tried drugs because of that event. But I do remember the silliness and the confusion,.. and the hunger. I've always believed that we should legalize marijuana, and put huge imbargos and taxes on stuff coming into the country, and bolster farmers who grow home-grown weed legally. We can tax the crap out it, like we already do with tobacco and alcohol. And I bet we wouldn't have a deficit, could provide healthcare for the country, and would pull our service members home, because we need them here. THAT is what I call, chasing the white rabbit... creatively solving a problem, while knocking out four other problems at the same time!
10 June 2010
I was talking to a friend of mine about having just bought the new Alice in Wonderland. He said that the phrase "chasing the white rabbit" was a drug reference. Apparently I've grown up completely oblivious.
I don't want to admit that I am naive. But, sometimes if the Mad Hatter's hat fits,.. you gotta wear it. Between the drug references in AIW, and the mystery around The Wizard Of Oz, I can't believe I grew up with these movies and never picked up on it. Sadly it doesn't end there.
In high school, we went of an extended trip where we were gone for a week, and stayed in hotel rooms. I ACTUALLY thought that everyone on the trip was sleeping at night, and in their own room, and alone. And I never would have thought that any drinking or drugs were happening. But, years ago, at the ten year reunion (wait,..make that twelve years ago, at my ten year reunion) a bunch of the kids I hung out with were all sharing this incredible tale. They were reminiscing about the drugs and how drunk so-and-so was, and who slept with who, and the wild kinky things they were doing. After a few long minutes listening, I asked, "wow, when did all of THAT happen?" They all started laughing. Great. Turns out, their wild kinky adventure occurred at the same time as my relatively benign and boring school field trip. Apparently, I sleep rather soundly.
Even in college, I was just not socially aware. My first roommate (who I later couldn't stand) and this guy hooked up the very first night at a freshman mixer hosted by the college. Woo-Hoo. It was supposed to be "dry week" with no booze on campus. But this guy was legal and bought some beer. Yee-Haw. We sat in our dorm room,.. and I had no clue there was some sort of etiquette surrounding roommates, and who gets to sleep in the room when someone has a "friend" over. So, I sat at my desk, with the lamp on, and just read through my textbooks (I know,...NERD). I ignored them, and was listening to a sony walkman (remember those!!!). After a while, they realized I didn't get it, but recognized I couldn't hear them. So they started having sex,.. and had someone had the good grace to just tell me, I'd have gone to the dorm library for the evening. But no,.. I stood to go to the bathroom, and managed to catch a glimpse of him riding her like Sea Biscuit. I ran into the bathroom, and straight into the adjoining room, past another couple going at it, and out their door.
Horrified, I stayed in the library all night, freezing my ass off and bawling my eyes out. While I'm a bit ashamed to admit that, at least it's honest. I had spent my years in high school just trying to support myself. I hadn't been able to learn the social interaction kind of stuff that everyone else learns. I was working a few jobs and lived alone in the smallest studio apartment you ever saw. I could stand in the center of the living room/bedroom, and in two steps, reach the kitchenette, the dining table and the bathroom door. So, sue me if I didn't have a clue.
The next morning, my roommate accosted me in the dining hall. She walked right up to me, no shame or discretion at all, and in front of the entire dining hall filled to capacity,.. she said, "next time I have a date over, if you don't leave, I'm going to throw you out." The girls in the adjoining room seemed to agree. And within a few months, the Dean gave me my own bedroom, on the top floor of the dorm, and I had no suite-mates or room mates. Had the room to my self for the rest of my time there.
Another funny event happened at college because of my naivete... going to a Dead concert. No one told me that I might get high, just from breathing the air... My good friend was shocked that I'd never heard of the Dead,.. so he bought me a ticket, along with a whole bunch of people. We took a van up there to the concert. At some point, someone handed me the keys to the van because I was "white." I thought they meant my nationality (which is only half true), but they meant that I was pure... yikes. In college, that's the same as calling someone "boring" "dull" and "unattractive." So, I watched the concert, and most of the folks with us drifted away. I remember seeing some of them eating little bits of paper which I thought was weird (duh). And the friend that brought me promised he wouldn't leave my side,... About ten minutes in, his old lover and he connected and he left. So, after about an hour of the concert, I started feeling confused, dazed, dizzy and silly. I went over to a man who was standing at a booth, and I said, "I don't feel so well, somethings wrong." He handed me a sandwich. So I ate it,.. not bright,.. do not eat food a stranger hands you. HHEEEYYY! Kinda like Alice!!!
Anyway, so eventually, I staggered out to the van, surprised I found it, and the doors were locked. I forgot I had the keys, which was just as well, cause some of my friends were using the space... *wink wink* So I sat on the ground, by the driver's side door still confused. After a long time, everyone got back, and I opened the van and we all piled in. To say that my driving was erratic would be an understatement. Eventually, my friend (with his lover beside him) told me to pull over. So I did. He drove us back toward campus.
Around this time, I started complaining that I was really hungry. The sandwich wasn't cutting it. I was HUNGRY. So my friend (Paul, to make this easier) stopped at Denny's. While everyone ordered food, I actually devoured mine and some of each of theirs. I was hungry. But then, I threw up. So Paul got worried (he was fatherly of me, cause I was so naive) and decided to take me to the university clinic. I was scared they were trying to kidnap me and made a huge scene leaving Denny's. And I felt weird.
We got to the clinic, and they brought me in. The doctor asked me a few questions, but then just said, "what drugs did you do tonight?" He wouldn't listen to me,.. I didn't do drugs. I started vomiting violently again. And, I broke out in hives. Seriously, hives, everywhere. Paul tried to convince the dude that I hadn't done any drugs. But they ran blood tests and confirmed that I had marijuana in my system. The levels were really low, though, too low for the length of time that had passed. So eventually the very young and not bright doc realized that it was a contact high, from being completely surrounded by the smoke from others smoking dope. I wasn't allergic to the dope,.. but at Denny's, they had a kind of crab cake thing that they served (which I'm surprised was not Krab cake,..) and the chef cross contaminated my food with one of my friend's food--the crab, which I'm allergic to.
I've never tried drugs because of that event. But I do remember the silliness and the confusion,.. and the hunger. I've always believed that we should legalize marijuana, and put huge imbargos and taxes on stuff coming into the country, and bolster farmers who grow home-grown weed legally. We can tax the crap out it, like we already do with tobacco and alcohol. And I bet we wouldn't have a deficit, could provide healthcare for the country, and would pull our service members home, because we need them here. THAT is what I call, chasing the white rabbit... creatively solving a problem, while knocking out four other problems at the same time!
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