Apache!

Here I sit with less than five hours left in this day, and I still have not thought of anything funny, important, profound, or pot-related to post.

I did my usual search of CNN, my local paper, listened to the radio, and FARK. Nothing.
I did find a link to this video on FARK, which is hilarious. It's a real music video from the early 70s, and there isn't anything I can say about it that it doesn't say for itself. But it did bring a few things to mind.

I was momentarily surprised that the bikini girls didn't have implants. I've been conditioned to expect ginormous knockers, I guess.

Also, what happened to the jumpsuit? Pants attached to a shirt was a terrific idea! One garment... no worries about matching your top to your bottom. I always wondered why it was called a "jumpsuit"... was it because you could "jump" into it? Or when you wore it, you wanted to jump? I know that in the 70s, I had more than my fair share of jumpsuits. And pinafores.

I solve the problems of the world.

Torture is a hot topic these days. The president and former vice-president gave dueling speeches yesterday, wherein we heard their awesome plans for what to do with the Guantanamo detainees. Cheney says torture them, it's working. Obama says we should keep them, un-tortured but indefintely, without trial, and somewhere else.

I want to feel safe from terrorism. I want bad guys caught and punished. I don't think we should be a bunch of pussies, but I can't sign on for torture. I thought maybe I could. Here is a story about a DJ, Mancow,
who thought waterboarding didn't sound too bad, so he tried it. After six seconds, he admitted it was torture. After reading that story, I was still okay with a little torture. But then, I did a google image search for the photo I will use for this post. I used the search term "torture", with safe search on, and it was as stupid as it sounds. The photos I saw were obviously prisoners being tortured, some appeared to be tortured by Al Qaeda, and others appeared to be AQ operatives being tortured. None of them looked like they were getting their faces rinsed. They were all naked, and there was blood, and much torture seems to take place upside down. It's just not right, and I can't get behind it.
It's also ridiculous to think that we can keep suspected terrorists detained indefintely without a trial. It's not American. Obama's argument is that these prisoners aren't criminals, they are warriors, and therefore, a different set of rules apply.
I think that was Cheney's argument for torture.
I don't know what's right. I think both plans suck.

Here is what I want:
I want a supersecret team of agents with the undying patriotism of a Nascar fan, the kung- fu skills of Jackie Chan, the ability to infiltrate enemy territory like James Bond, and the judgement of Jesus of Nazareth. We send this team after the bad guys with these instructions: Do what is necessary to protect us. Then, (here is the tough part) we would have to trust them. I don't want any congressional hearings or media exposes. I want to eat my metaphorical veal scallopini without having photographs of a slaughtered calf shoved under my nose.
I want the Superfriends to kick terrorist ass.

My dilemma, and other things

First off... I got a Handful bra. Let me tell you, I love it! I have a little bit of cleavage when I wear it- instead of squishing my boobs into my armpits, it squishes them up and together. It worked great for my bike ride this morning, and it's cute enough that I wore it to Madison's concert under a deep V necked shirt- it just looks like a brown tank top.
The only drawback is that it's made in China. Hopefully it is sewn by adults.

Second, I found another cool website. I guess "found" isn't the right word, since once again, Lifehacker did the hard work... It's Supercook. If you tell Supercook what is in your fridge and pantry, Supercook will find recipes you can make. It sounds time consuming, but it really isn't- It took me about 15 minutes, and I can make 935 entrees right now. Which is surprising, since I am out of onion. Supercook also can suggest grocery lists so that you can make more recipes. The recipes come from recipezaar and allrecipes.com. Tomorrow I am going to make Shaker Tavern dijonnaise ranch chicken and pasta.

Third, I went to the optometrist today. I thought that my vision is getting worse, but it isn't. What is happening is that my eyes are taking longer to change from close up focus to far away focus. Because they are getting old. And there isn't anything that can be done about it, really. Since my close up vision is fine, bifocals aren't a good option. Contacts don't help. My best solution is to wear glasses and take them off when I am working... which is what I have been doing. I can wear contacts for sports and special occasions, which is what I have been doing. So I ordered a pair of prescription sunglasses for driving and summer fun. I'm concerned about keeping track of two pair of glasses. Maybe I should go for the chain around the neck, or the clip on sunglasses.

Fourth, I am concerned about the direction of my blog. It's turning into a diary, and that was not my intention. I have come to a Y in the road- do I write whatever the hell I want, since it's MY blog, or hold myself to some made up standard? This is my dilemma.

8 more ways to leave your lover

It's Monday, it's sunny, and my concentration is poor. I've spent the day puttering around the house listening to pandora internet radio and grooveshark.com. One of my favorite songs is "50 ways to leave your lover" by Paul Simon, which inspires today's list.

*Just get on your bike, Mike.
*Send her a text, Rex.
* You don't need to be right, Dwight...just listen to me.
*Start wearing a skirt, Burt.
*Gotta hit the street, Pete!
*get caught with a ho, Joe... She'll force you to go.
*Forget her birthday, Ray
* Just find a new date, Nate, everything will be great.

Crazy Bee Swarm of DOOM!

This may come as a surprise to regular CBL readers, but I have been having a wee bit of difficulty coming up with interesting things to wrote about. I blogged about a pot, for Pete's sake.

This morning was no different than most, I asked myself aloud what I planned to write about on my way to work. I got to work, still no good answer.

Noon, nothing. Haiku?

By 2:30, I am thinking I need a new "weekly feature". At least I have direction on Sundays and Mondays. How about "Ask the Crazy Blog Lady" or.... or what?

3:30, the phone rings. Spencer is home, and there is a swarm of bees in my driveway! Hooray, I can write about the bees. I bet bees are fascinating. I send him out to take lots of pictures.
Madison sends me an email: "We have a MAT OF BEES at our house!"

I skip out of work a few minutes early. What do you do with a driveway full of bees? Call the police? Not me. I call my mom. Mom says to call a beekeeper, who will be happy to come get the bees. She's so smart.

By the time I get home, the bees are dispersing. There are only about 50 left at 4:30, and they are just lumping together. The lump seems to be getting smaller, so we decide not to call the beekeeper.

The bees were all gone by 6:00. Here are some pictures. Spencer says they were more impressive when they were in the air. I would have had a better story to tell if we would have called the cops.

Maybe next week.... FICTION!

Mean Girls

On Wednesday, my daughter got in trouble at soccer practice because she was fighting with another girl. A girl that she considers her best friend, whom she has known (and fought with) since kindergarten.
What Madison told us was that she was hyped up on sugar and her "friend" wouldn't stop joking about Madison's brand new but uncomfortable shoes, which were exactly the same as the friend's, so Madison kicked her in the shinguard. The only explanation Madison could offer for why she would kick her friend was that she was feeling "tense".

Today at the game, the friend was absent. Madison's coach approached me as I walked the sideline as a referee to tell me that she had talked to the other girls about watching what they say about Madison. She told me that she has heard the friend and others saying mean things about Madison within Madison's earshot . The coach told me that they tease her about being small, and not able to run as fast as the other girls. This was the first time I had ever heard of Madison being teased.

It's a good thing I was wearing sunglasses. The field went a little blurry for a while. I've always known that kids can be mean. I guess I didn't think her friend would turn on her. Ever since we found out that Madison has Turner Syndrome, I have been trying to prepare her for the comments she will invariably hear. I should have been trying to prepare myself as well.

It's probably also a good thing her friend wasn't there. She reached her educational plateau in elementary school, and I was angry enough to maybe mention it.
I'd like to think I'm mature enough to restrain myself. I'd like to think I wouldn't kick her in the shinguard.

Madison, I know you read my blog- here is a link just for you. I love you.

I did an about-facebook.

I resisted joining facebook for a while, but now that I have been at it for a few months, I am glad I joined. I am not sure I have the vernacular down- is it "I have a facebook," "I facebook," or "I am on facebook"? Is facebook like Google- a noun, a verb, a phenomenon? It sure is getting a lot of press lately... here is an article in Time about 10 facebook "don'ts."
I have to say I think the article's author might be a little high strung. I mean, is it so tough to ignore (or accept) a Li'l Green Patch request? I agree with her, however, about the vague status updates. I have a couple friends that really should get to the point already. Jane is praying it will all turn out alright... Bart is thankful... Jemima is on antibiotics....

I like facebook because it has helped my reconnect with my family and friends, who I am geographically distant from. My cousin Megan and I have always been close, but never in daily contact until facebook. Now, I know what she is up to every day and whether or not her kids are sick. She makes me laugh every day.

I get to see another cousin's newborn baby get cuter each week.

I learned that I am friends with a London architect whose work was featured in the cover of the New York Times Style magazine, a middle school principal, a librarian, numerous firefighters,and a whole lot of teachers. My cousins have so many kids that I need a chart to keep track of them. My high school boyfriend is a computer geek. Most of my friends spent the better part of their youth in Washington State. They have since spread to all corners of the US, and one is a real estate agent in Mexico. Some of my friends blog, and some of them write on their facebook (pages?) and I love to read what they write.
I've noticed that people don't change much, which is comforting.

This week, I have re-connected with my numerous cousins on my mom's side. It will be nice to see them at our next family function and not spend the first few hours getting reacquainted. I am the lone only child on that side of the family, so I have always felt like a little bit of an outsider- my cousins always had their brothers to share inside jokes with. I feel a little closer, now that I can see their vacation photos and comment on their status.

I hope facebook turns out to be more like Google- an internet mainstay, than now-obsolete MySpace, which I never used. I don't use twitter, but I will if I have to... Who knows? I may learn to enjoy it.

Aluminum Foiled Again

Here in Oregon, as in many states, we pay a deposit on most of our single-serve beverage containers. Beer bottles, pop cans, and now water bottles... we pay a nickel apiece at the checkout, then return them to the grocer for a refund.

In theory, it's a good idea. Literally tons of glass, plastic and aluminum are kept out of landfills, and our parks and roads are free of beverage litter and broken glass bottles. Most large retailers have machines set up outside the store that count your empties and issue a receipt that you can take in to the store to redeem for cash.

In practice, the bottle bill is a pain in the ass. We have to save up our empties- separate of course, from trash and recycling. Then, we have to remember to bring them back to the store. Then, we have to deal with the three big problems with can returns:

1. Each store is only obligated to accept returns for products that they sell. Which means if you bought Dr. Skipper from Safeway, you can't take those cans back to Fred Meyer.

2. The machines I mentioned earlier are quite prone to fill up, jam, mis-print, reject, mis-read, or otherwise malfunction. This means a trip into the store to the customer service desk. The customer service lady pages the lowest man on the grocery totem to the bottle return area. It always takes him about 5 minutes to finish his smoke, then another 5 minutes to walk all the way through the store to get to the machines. When he finally does show up, he usually does something like the Fonz did to the jukebox at Arnold's, and the machine resets itself and works again for another 40 cans or so.

3. Due to the above problems, a cottage industry has arisen: Seagulling. Seagulls are the men on bicycles who stand about 20 yards away from the machines and wait for people to walk away from their broken machine in disgust, or for someone to throw their Select Diet Cola cans into the trash at Albertson's. You can feel their eyes boring into the back of your jacket, waiting for you to give up. The Seagulls have plenty of time to wait for customer service. The Seagulls have plenty of time to shuttle their wares between grocery stores. The Seagulls are not bothered by the stench of month old beer bottles. I think the Seagulls are getting wealthy one nickel at a time.

Ole Ole Ole

Soccer season started today in Albany, Oregon. About one hour after dawn, SUVs and pickup trucks began filling the gravel parking lot at the city park near the airport. Parents filed across the wet grass to secure a good spot on the sidelines. Players searched out their teammates and began passing their balls back and forth. The balls bogged down in the freshly mowed grass and were followed by small rooster tails.
As game time neared, I dug my whistle and stopwatch out of my bag and removed sweatpants to reveal my referee's shorts and socks. I left my jacket on as long as possible. I asked my daughter to be a linesman, which she was thrilled to do. I think the coaches may have questioned that assignment, as Madison is about as tall as their 7 and 8 year old players, but she is almost 12, and a stickler for rules.
I checked the players' shoes and shinguards, and made sure they weren't wearing any jewelry. I made my same old joke about removing belly button piercings, and they all laughed.
The game came and went rather uneventfully. I only had to stop it once for tears- a redheaded defender had to pee real bad. I think the Daisies bested the Petunias 4-3, but I am not exactly sure since we don't keep score. Everyone's a winner!
I thanked my young linesman for a job well done as we walked to the regulation size Under 14 field for her game.