Son Of A Motherless Goat!

I'm in favor of free speech.

There are a lot of people out there who push the limits of free speech and that's usually okay with me. Howard Stern is one such person. I don't care for his crudeness, so I don't listen to him. Fair enough, right?

Bill Maher is another fairly crude guy. His language offends me, so I don't watch his show except on rare occasions. Maher can be very funny, but his brand of humor being cruel makes me not a fan. I have a choice. I can tune in or not.

It sort of bugs me when some men resort to sexual terms to denigrate woman. If they want to silence a woman, the words slut, bitch, tramp, whore, and even more colorful slang words for female genitals pour out of their mouths.

(Of course, we have all heard the word "prick" to reference a man. Recently, the term "douche bag" has gained popularity, although I'm not really sure why. Wouldn't "enema bag" be an even worse term if you really think about it?)

Recently, a conservative "shock jock" castigated a young female law student and called her names on his radio show. This man didn't agree with her view that contraceptives should be part of her health insurance policy. He ranted on and on saying that she wanted to get paid to have sex, that she was a slut, and that she was a prostitute because she testified and voiced her views about the subject. The clip showing this man's broadcast was shown on every news channel and all over the internet for several days. The attack on the student was really nasty. I felt dirty listening to his words.

Because I'm an emotional creature, when I watched the young woman's testimony, I felt very upset that she had been verbally attacked in this manner. You see, I couldn't help but think of my daughter in the young woman's position, or my daughter in law, or one of my 4 granddaughters, for that matter. And, emotionally, I wanted to slap the man's face for his ugly words. Instead, I vowed to turn off any programming that featured the shock jock.

As long as there are people who will listen to and encourage the ugliest attacks and incitements to hatred, we'll have people like this on our airwaves. It seems the American public has quite the appetite for the vicious and even the dishonest. Lies and hatred seem to be just as protected under the free speech banner as truth and beauty. And that's fine.

We all have our own remote controls.

My New Hannibal Lecter Chair

All I need is the mask.

I've recently had some back trouble. Actually, recently is loosely translated to the last 30 years of my life.

Once or twice a year, my back goes "out". Now, since I'm a person that looks for "solutions", I determined that the chair in my office was not giving me the kind of support I needed for my lower back.

I figured that a new chair was certainly in order. I began to lobby my husband (yeah, "nag" is synonymous with lobby) for a new chair.

We went over to Office Depot a couple of nights ago and I tried out their various chairs for support and comfort and determined the $200 "leather and mesh" chair would be the most comfortable for me. Last night, Alex pulled the box containing the chair out of the wagon and took it into the basement for assembly. It took quite a while. This concerned me a bit because Alex is not great at following directions. Actually, scratch that, Alex does not ever look at directions.

After about an hour, Alex came upstairs with my now assembled new chair. As he was rolling it into the office, I realized this is the ugliest fucking chair I have ever seen. It looks just like the chair that Hannibal Lecter was transported in. Of course, in "Silence of the Lambs", Hannibal also had a mask. When I expressed to Alex that this was a really seriously ugly chair, he said, "Well, it does look like one that they would use for crazy people in straight jackets."

Now, this chair is actually quite comfortable. But it is also very evil and ugly looking. Why is it that you cannot find something aesthetically pleasing that is really comfortable. Maybe that's why so many people wear such ugly shoes. Maybe that's why so many people walk around in baggy sweatpants.

There is something very S&M about the metal phallic thing sticking out of the back side of the chair.

I hate it when I get what I want and it's not what I want.

The Things You Do For Love

I wasn't always blond.

This photo was taken about a week after we got married in 1989. We were on a yacht watching the Navy ships come through the Golden Gate Bridge to kick off Fleet Week.

I was deathly afraid of water, but Alex was a sailor and wanted to greet the fleet even if he was not on a Navy ship coming into port.

See, I'm making a sacrifice here, even if it doesn't look like I'm suffering. With enough Chardonnay in me, my pain level goes down.

On February 18, this year, we got up in the morning like any other day. Since it was a Saturday, we had the day planned pretty fully. Saturdays is when we do grocery shopping, run to the cleaners, take the pups on adventures, and go out for lunch. It was early in the morning (well, about 9 AM), and I was at my computer sipping my first cup of coffee. I turned to put the coffee cup on the desk, and I sneezed. That sneeze would change my life for the foreseeable future. My low back did a "WHAP" and I was in agony. The pain was so intense I couldn't call for help, nor could I get up out of my chair. The spasms were very similar to the last stages of the back labor I had delivering my son. I was sweating, gasping for breathe, and in absolute agony.

Now this is not the first time this has happened. I have a couple of "protruding discs" in my low back that may cause this whap business to occur. The way this plays out is that either I go get a shot of morphine at the hospital or I tough it out. Since we have a $250 copay for an ER visit, that's not my first option. Generally, I have to lie flat on my back for the better part of a week, taking pain medication and muscle relaxants. Since our bedroom is on the upper floor, it also means I have to sleep in "Harry's apartment" on the main floor. Harry really doesn't mind.

Harry is a gentle giant at about 80 pounds of canine. He sleeps at the foot of the bed and doesn't really bother me. Zoe, our 50 pound pit bull puppy, is quite a bit smaller, but also much friskier. Zoe will leap into the air and land on my belly before she bounces off me and tries to encourage Harry to play. Zoe seems to find my shrieks of pain amusing.

At times like these, I hate her.

The truth is, I don't feel particularly friendly toward anyone when I'm incapacitated with back pain. I lay flat on my back for hours, but sooner or later, I have to get up to go to the bathroom. The problem is, I can't get up. I try rocking from side to side to turn myself a bit. I think I must look something like a turtle who has landed on his shell. Both Zoe and Harry watch my efforts with ill-disguised amusement. Since I really can't walk, I sometimes just rock myself right off the bed and on to the floor. This little trick has various degrees of success. Yes, I get off the bed and on to the floor. The impact of hitting the floor sometimes makes it unnecessary to get to the toilet. Go figure!

After one full week in bed, on Saturday I was able to walk around a bit, and I showered and got dressed for the first time since the whap. Oh happy happy joy joy! Well, not really. I still had trouble walking for any length of time and getting in and out of a chair was still a bitch. Alex and I did take a little ride on Saturday early evening and had dinner at a local bistro. Two martinis made some of the discomfort go away. We had passed our local theater and Alex noted that the new movie "Act of Valor" was playing. The film is rather unique because it started as a "recruitment" film for Navy Seals. The people in the film are actual Navy Seals and not actors. Okay, I understand the appeal to Alex.

Alex began his campaign to see the movie right then. It was starting in 20 minutes. He could grab us a couple of tickets and we could watch it right then. Uh, no. That would not work. I was not sure I could sit in one position for 2 hours to watch a movie. I was already pretty played out from my day and dinner. Yesterday morning, Alex's campaign became more intense. "We can do this. We can do that. And we'll go see the movie at 2:15 in the afternoon."

Yes, I did. I gave in to my husband's pleas. I enjoyed the movie. And I barely minded that I couldn't get out of the chair after the show without grunting and squealing in pain. Alex was happy as a clam. (Are clams happy?)

I limped and stumbled to the car with Alex holding me up. He was babbling about the movie and grinning from ear to ear.

Sometimes I hate him too.

Scary Suzanne

I was 24 and recently separated from my husband.

I had two tiny children and I was terrified. I was afraid of the future, afraid of being alone, and scared to death of dead of night intruders. I thought for sure that someone would break into our house and kill me and the children or worse.

As a result, I kept every light in the house on all night long. I sat in the hallway outside the kids bedroom with a hammer and a kitchen knife. I could only fall asleep when the sun started coming up. This might have been reasonable if we lived in a blighted area but we did not.

One more thing, I had Willie, my 125 pound German Shepherd. One night I thought I heard an intruder and I called the police. Willie would not allow the officers to come in to search the house. The cops shook their heads at me and told me everything was fine. I felt a little stupid, but I was still terrified.

My mother had a friend named Suzanne. Suzanne and her two daughters had recently been displaced from their home because of a fire. My mom suggested I might want to offer Suzanne a place to stay for a while because my house was a 3-story job with about 6 bedrooms. I had met Suzanne on a couple of occasions, but really didn't know her. I thought of the nights of terror at being home alone and being the only line of defense to protect my cubs and figured, "how much worse could it be?" I invited Suzanne and her teenage daughters to stay with me for a while. I never could have imagined that having this 40 something woman and her 13 and 15 year old stay at my house could have turned into my worst nightmare.

Suzanne was a tall bosomy redhead with a very forceful personality. Two days after moving in, Suzanne sent her daughters to her ex-husband's for the night and told me we were entertaining a couple of professional football players from the Oakland Raiders that night. She went shopping and brought back more liquor than I had ever seen outside of a bar, along with groceries for dinner. While I started dinner, Suzanne went in to "dress" for the boys. She came out in a plunge neck dress, high hooker heels and startling green eyeshadow along with 2 inch long false eyelashes. Suzanne told me to go get changed and she would finish up in the kitchen. ("Changed into what?" I wondered.) I did change out of my jeans and sweatshirt and into something more suited to an office than a cocktail party, and I put the kids to bed for the night.

Suzanne explained to me as we had a cocktail, that the guys were going to expect to be shown a good time. Now I can tap dance a little, but I quickly understood this was not what she meant. She came out and told me they would "expect" to have sex. Say what? I told her that wasn't happening. Suzanne looked at me and said "You're kidding right? Do you know who these guys are?" Actually, I didn't. I didn't follow football thank goodness. Suzanne looked at me and said "I hope you aren't going to ruin this evening for everyone."

We actually had a nice enough time having a drink and dinner with the men. All I can really say about either one of them is that they were big. When Suzanne and her friend went off into the bedroom, I said goodnight to the guy I was supposed to "entertain" and went in and got in bed with my 3 year old son.

When I woke the next morning, Suzanne and the two football players were having coffee on my deck and having a grand old time. She was wearing a blue silk nightgown. I was horrified that my neighbors could see this blatant display of big men and a slutty woman on my deck. (Yes, I was sort of a little prude.)

Suzanne stayed with me for two more weeks. She did bring boyfriends over a couple more times but didn't bring one for me.

It was probably just as well.

Hula Girls and Fembots

"The Princess Pupule has plenty papayas
She loves to give them away
And all of the neighbors they say
Oh me-ya oh my-ya you really should try-ya
A little piece of the Princess Pupule's papayas
Zazza zazza zazza zazza zay "

This is the song I sang to my husband Alex yesterday as he was working on some project on the computer. Now, I also did a little hula dance for him at the same time. If you don't know the song, the name "Pupule" is pronounced "Poo Poo Ly". So it is more lyrical than it would be if it was pronounced "Poo Pool", isn't it?

Okay, you may be wondering what possessed me to do the little hula dance and sing the Hawaiian song for him. I was rather disappointed that he didn't look up at me more than once or twice while I did the little improvised routine for him. Alex may be going to Hawaii for work. He could be gone for 2 weeks and then again, he could be gone for 2 months. It's anybody's guess at this point. You may think I did the hula for him because I want to go with him on this trip.

You would be very wrong there. I don't like Hawaii. I've been about 10 times and I have no desire to go again. I'd be more interested in a trip to Fresno, California, or Racine, Wisconsin. Hawaii is too hot for me. There is no good food in Hawaii. I avoid the sun. I don't like Hawaiian music. Hawaii bores me.

Paris, on the other hand, enchants me. But, alas, Paris is not on the playbill.

What was keeping Alex so busy that he could avoid looking at his wife as she sang "The Princess Pupule" and danced the hula? Well, he was on-line with "Comcast" trying to get cable service reconnected at a lower rate than before. (Alex was thinking of me being home alone with no cable while he was in Hawaii drinking Mai Tai's and watching hula dancers.)

The person he was on-line with was named something like "Nikita" and every comment he made was responded to with a "Great!" or a "Cool!". I asked Alex to see how much more it would cost to add "Showtime" to our service and Nikita responded "Great!" but never actually addressed the question.

I have concluded that Comcast enlists the help of "Fembots" to do their customer support. I do not know if we actually have signed up for cable again or not. I don't know if we added "Showtime" or not.

Alex was very happy with the ultra pleasant Nikita!

"Cool!"

Framing Esme And Other Weighty Issues

Now we all know that gal Esme is pretty darn near perfect.

But we probably would be right if we said she worries about her weight. She shouldn't. But she probably does. Esme came to me from Totsy Mae, one of my favorite writers. If you haven't checked out her blog, you should. She's a Southern girl, and the essence of sweet tea comes right off the page when you read her stories.

Totsy is also a very gifted painter. I contacted her about getting one of her nudes and it had already been sold. Totsy said she had a similar one to the painting I had requested and she sent me a photo of Esme here. What can I say? I fell in love with the girl at first sight! Who wouldn't?

When the painting arrived, I was stunned. The bathroom depicted in this piece of art could have been my own. I have the pedestal sink, the mirrored medicine chest, and the pink towels just like Esme does. It was a piece of art that called my name for a reason.

When the local "frame" guy called and told me that the painting was framed and ready to be picked up, I ran over to get it yesterday. Art, the guy from the shop, said "That is sure a pretty girl!" I agreed.

On my way home, I ran into Pilar's dress shop to take a quick look at what she had and to show her Esme. Pilar thought Esme looked excited because she had lost some weight, and then bemoaned that she wanted to lose some weight too. Now Pilar is a very pretty woman with a lovely shape. I left the store and ran into Kim, a female firefighter, friend and neighbor. I showed Esme's picture to Kim and she said "Poor thing! I know just how she feels!" Kim thought Esme was afraid to look at the scale. Kim is also a beauty with a great shape.

Both Pilar and Kim loved the painting and agreed that Esme is a stone cold beauty! If they can see that in her, why can't they see that in themselves?

These girls aren't skinny. They are perfect.

My Happy Place

Alex worked on performance reviews all weekend. He was talking about employees who were top level engineers, but they had no interest in mentoring, no interest in interacting with customers, and very limited social skills. These employees just wanted to put their heads down and write code. The problem is, the company wanted more from them than their software skills.

When I was about 35, I left a job at Chevron because things got "complicated". I had married and divorced a man who was a manager and I kept running into him in the elevator. After 12 years at Chevron, I decided to cash out and go do something else.

I went to work with a small "high tech" firm that manufactured computer keyboards and terminals. I started out as a "secretary" for the Director of Sales, but when he got fired, the Director of Marketing asked for me. I worked for this marketing guy for about a year. It was safe, boring, and just not "all that", but it was a job.

Everything changed when the company hired a new Vice President of Engineering named Jon. As part of his employment agreement, Jon wanted an "assistant". To my surprise, he asked for me. Jon had zero requirements for administrative help. (He was better as a word processor than I was.) My job included sitting in on all meetings and interviews and giving Jon my opinions of the proceedings. Jon also took me everywhere with him, including to purchase random electronic parts.

When it came time for my first "performance review" from Jon, he asked me about my job satisfaction. I told him honestly that I felt like I wasn't "doing" anything. When he asked me what I wanted to do, I told him I wanted to work in the hardware area and learn to wire stuff and solder eproms and such. Jon agreed that I would be working in the lab whenever it didn't interfere with me being his "assistant".

I was thrilled. I had a little counter space, equipment, and a high stool. A couple of the hardware guys taught me how to read schematics, wire a keyboard and do basic soldering. I was in heaven. I didn't have to interact with anybody. I could just put my head down and do my job. (I would have probably been wonderful on an assembly line too.) I think that may have been the first time I realized that my intellect was probably a "dull -normal". I loved doing this stuff. It fulfilled me. Unfortunately, Jon went the way of many other honcho's at the firm. Yeah, he got replaced. The new VP of Engineering wanted me to take transcription and word process morning till night.

I moved on to another company where I entered the wonderful world of Marketing and Sales. I did pretty well at it for the next decade, working first for engineers, next for architects, and then back to engineers. I was okay putting my hand out to shake a potential client's hand and handing them my "Director of Marketing" business card. But I never liked doing it. In fact, I hated it. I made cold calls and set up meetings. I solved client problems. I wrote proposals and prepared presentations. I did it well, but all that "people contact" made me a little sick.

I would much rather sit on a lab stool and do wiring or something else dull-normal. I am not an extrovert. I am an introvert.

So I understand Alex's engineers better than he does.