"Banzai, Daniel-san!"

Pat Morita 1932-2005.

Remember Arnold in "Happy Days"?

Remember, in one of the best movies I ever saw when I was a kid, Mr. Miyagi?

Good-by to a great talent, a great role model, and a fine gentleman.

"I was the turkey all along!"

Oh Hugh, I luuuuuuuve you...

I need some laughs. Don't you?

Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. I'm telling you in advance, so don't act surprised. Since Ms. Stewart won't be coming, I've make a few small changes: Our sidewalk will not be lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries. After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect. The dining table will not be covered with expensive linens, fancy china or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last Christmas. Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog-like decoration hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The artist assures me it is a turkey. We will be dining fashionably late. The children will entertain you while you wait. I'm sure they will be happy to share every choice comment I have made regarding Thanksgiving, pilgrims and the turkey hotline. Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00 AM upon discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut diamonds. As accompaniment to the children's recital, I will play a recording of tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don't own a recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds suspiciously like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are lying. We toyed with Martha's idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional method of yelling, "LET'S EAT!!" And we've decided against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke alarm sounds, please gather around thetable and sit where you like. In the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children to sit at a separate table. In a separate room. Next door. Now I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey infront of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be happening at our dinner. For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private ceremony. I stress "private" meaning: Do not, under any circumstances, enter the kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small, unsuspecting children to check on my progress. I have an electric knife. The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that I will eventually win. When I do, we will eat. Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small fingerprints. You will still have a choice: take it or leave it. Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. She probably won't come next year either. I am thankful. ~Author unknown, but cool.

The Day the Earth Stood Still.

What happened the day of November 24, 1999.

You know how there are some things you just *know, deep down in your heart, and no denying it? I knew that my husband would die before me, and that he'd die one of two ways--either his chewing tobacco habit would kill him or his shitty driving would.

Jim and I had gotten through a bad spell--things were beginning to fall apart in our marriage. Money problems, always that. I was fed up with his flagrant spending. But we were working through it, as people who truly love one another do. We had two happy, healthy children. We both worked good jobs, and things were about to improve. Jim was up for a huge payraise that would enable me to quit my job and go back to college the next year. So--the day before Thanksgiving. I arrived at work late because I had forgotten that we were opening an hour early that day. I missed my morning coffee and my ass was dragging. Didn't want to drink the lounge swill, either. So I call Jim and ask him to bring me a delicious cup of coffee from Sheetz. I plead, I beg, to no avail. It was Wednesday--how could I forget? The new comic books come in that day at the comic store! Comics take precedence over coffee, see (I struggled with this for a long time; if I had been able to convince Jim to bring me the coffee, it would have deviated him from his path.) Kiss kiss, I love you, remember tomorrow's Thanksgiving and we are in charge of the potatoes and green beans.

Feeling wide awake now that the pace had picked up. Two women came to the register, wanting to try on some leather jackets. I got the keys and unlokced a couple for them. Phone rang, I let it go past 7 rings and then I had to pick it up. A social worker from Washington County hospital. Social worker? My first thought was something had happened to the children. The calm voice told me that my husband had been involved in a car accident, that he was in the ER, and he wasn't "saying anything yet." I remember shouting to someone that I had to leave. The sky in the west as I drove to the hospital was almost black. I kept thinking that I'd get to the ER, they'd wheel Jim out in a wheelchair with an ice pack to his head. Honestly, this is what I was thinking.

The social worker met with me, and a couple of trauma docs. I knew that Jim wasn't capable of sitting up in a wheelchair. He had run his tiny Geo Metro into the back of a tractor trailer. No airbag. Hadn't been wearing his glasses because I found them later, completely intact with no blood on them.

I remember swimming into the room where they were working on him. I could not recognize the man who lay before me. That wasn't Jim. This man has no face. This man's face was a bruised bloody pulp. Only until I pulled up the sleeve of his right arm. When I saw the dragon tattoo it finally registered.
The doctors told me that he would never wake up. Even if they kept him alive on tubes and a ventilator. His brain was swelling and he was bleeding out of his eyes. His head had literally been pulverized. It would be like trying to repair an eggshell. His systems were shutting down one by one.

The accident was at 1:10 pm. I kept him alive until 8:40. After they turned off the ventilator, his heart beat for ten minutes. He had a runner's heart.

Jim died at the age of 30, leaving me, age 28, and his children Tara, 6, and Dylan, 4.

I think of all he's missed.

The Spiderman movies--he should've taken Dylan to those. The Harry Potter movies. Invader Zim he would have loved. Tara's dancing and her academic achievements. She has his intellect and love of learning. Dylan's love of art. He has his artistic abilities and loves video games. Tara's growing into a beautiful young lady. Dylan's karate classes. Christmases he's missed. The Barenaked Ladies concerts.

I think of all I loved about him--
His gravity and dry wit. His intelligence. His lovemaking and how we were so compatible. The short blond hairs on the back of his neck. The aqua-blue eyes. How he'd surprise me at work with flowers of a little gift--the last thing he gave me was a floppy stuffed dog named "Cappuccino."

But who am I to say he's missed everything? Maybe he's been there after all. I'll have to ask him when I get there.

Sleep in peace, my beloved. Be with us tomorrow, if only for a little while. Please, touch your son's heart and sweep away the fears he harbors. Tell your daughter how proud you are of her strength.

Most of all, I want to tell you I'm sorry.

And I love you, always have, always will.

"While we seek mirth and beauty,and music light and gay,

There are frail forms fainting at the door. Though their voices are silent their pleading looks will say--

Oh, hard times come again no more.

'Tis a song, a sigh of the weary,

Hard times, hard times come again no more.

Many days you have lingered around my cabin door, oh, hard times come again no more."

It's Scatological, Kids!

I think I smoked too much pot when I was younger, which I regret because it's really damaged many of my faculties; I can sing along to this all day and it's still fresh to me: Weebls Stuff - The Poo And Wee Song

And this--this is just too *flippin* funny: The Ministry of Unknown Science - Kung-Fu Fuck You

Night, all. Love--- "I'm not the landlady. I'm the CON-CEE-AIRGE!!"

Cantwaitcantwaitcantwaitcantwait.......

Is anyone else out there just DYING to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire???? I have tix for tomorrow afternoon, taking the kids and my sister and nieces are going with us.

The Dyl Man got his green belt in karate yesterday!!!!!!! Man, am I proud! He had to know the forms Ki Cho 1&2 and Pyung Ahn 1&2, and break two boards. :big foolish grin:

Be back tomorrow with my take on HP....see yas....

Oh....here's some food for thought...eBay: Vintage Extra Terrestrial Movie Doll ET Phone Home.... (item 6012991554 end time Nov-18-05 18:11:34 PST)
Look at it for the doll reactions alone. Hee.

Why I constantly monitor my children....

...on the Internet. This happened close to me ::::::::shudder::::::::
Perverted-Justice.com - Exposing wannabe perverts on the 'net

Snif. Hak. Blo. Snif. Hok. Ptooey.

Toilet Roll from HK

This g.d. cold will not desist!!!!!
I don't want to work. In no particular order I have to:
Finish spreadsheets
Laundry
Scoop litter boxes
Remove carved rotting pumpkins
Vacuum
Call dentist
Practice flute
Dishes
Instead I'm sitting here with dye on my graying head, consuming Kleenex, and thinking of other ways to feel sorry for myself. Snif.

You are a fluke of the universe; you have no right to be here...

Remember this?
DETERIORATA at National Lampoon Dotcom

Timing is everything.

This is the letter I've dared to write him.

Dear Walter,
I have wanted to write this to you for some time.
After being rebuffed (that means ‘brushed off’) by you last weekend, I decided it is time to say goodbye. You only want me when it’s convenient for you. Your rudeness has passed over to your precious son—did you hear how he talked to me on the phone? You turned him against me, against my whole family. Well, maybe except my sister. You can cry on the phone to her over this letter. You confide in her about everything else, don’t you?
Hopefully, I will only see you in passing from now on, as my feelings toward you are very wounded and filled with utter anger and pain. I loved you so much.
Every time I reflect back on our relationship, I get angrier every time. Yes, there were some good times—our sex has never suffered. But I think on the bad times, and unless I release you, they will fester forever in my heart: all the time you faulted my children for some discrepancy; calling my daughter a psycho and my son a freak; degrading me in front of the kids; treating me like shit in front of the kids; forever criticizing my parenting; throwing a temper tantrum over a stupid RC motorcycle; making my own son feel like nothing; calling my son “Kid” instead of by his real name; leaving when things got too tough for you; taking offense because my son chose to confide in me; cruelty by your children; your children acting like the spoiled pampered brats that they are. Many other things that I’m sure I’ve forgotten.

Now, here’s the opportunity for me to slam you and your kids.
Seth is a nasty, hulking brute who likes to bash heads. He’s rude, lacking in manners, and typical white trash in training. He only has to whine to get what he wants. He coerces others into giving him their things. You know that’s true. He will never know what it’s like to earn anything because it’s all been given to him. And you went back on what you said—you didn’t take away the dirt bike. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went to prison someday.

Tallulah is a spoiled little princess. That’s the ONLY reason that you didn’t want to go halfsies with me on a dirt bike because Ohhhhh, they have to have one of their own! She has never been taught to share; she has never been taught giving or compassion. She’s been more petted and pampered than a damn Pekingese dog. Hope she finds a rich husband, she’s going to need it. Oh, and she’s a liar. Actually, they are both liars.

You are in complete denial about the damage you are doing to your children. You cuss around them and permit them to watch anything they want, saying “it’s real life.” They are kids! Not adults. Yes, they may be “street smart” but you are jading them with your ways. Why don’t you just sit down and teach them how to roll joints and load a crack pipe—they will be doing it soon enough.

In all honesty, you should have stayed with Robin. No one is going to be good enough for you, because you’ve been too damaged. You deserve each other. But that point is moot. You’re already fucking your children up as well apart, right?

I did love you, so very much. But now I see that you will always treat me like garbage. Now that the concert is over, you washed your hands of me, isn’t that the truth?? Well, I’m done. Go find another woman and her children to fuck over.

Jules

No longer a woman.

Squeak the Musician Kitten had her girly organs removed today. Came through the operation well and squeaking her lil heart out when I picked her up. At the same time, Hermione, Tabitha and Tuxedo Lee (now *that sounds so Damon Runyon!) were getting a checkup, deworming and vacs. I truly am a crazy cat lady. Certifiable, definitely. Must mention this to The Therapist next time. I do think I need some other meds, though. This is a terrible time of the year for me--Jim's birthday, our anniversary, then Jim's death date. I despise November. That's when it all comes pounding back to me. Hard to believe it's been almost 6 years ago.

The photo is of Iceland, the land of Sigur Ros : Glosoli. I recommend listening to anything by Sigur Rós. If you aren't *moved by 'Glósóli' then you cannot possibly have a soul. Photo credit goes to Robert Jones.

"Well, if you're not sure, let it be..."

Gryffindor!





Get Sorted By The Hogwarts Sorting Hat!

I'm really looking forward to http://harrypotter.warnerbros.com/gobletoffire/index.html

HP is a household name. I have been preparing for the movie by rereading all the books. I love the books. There is nothing I enjoy doing more than cuddling up in an afghan with an HP book.
There hasn't been a lot happening here--

Halloween came and went, and we all had a great time. Dylan went trick-or-treating and then went to Dairy Queen for free ice cream with his best buddy. Tara was with the church youth group and she did t-or-t also. We always get a lot of children so I didn't have any candy left. I'm pilfering from Dylan's stash (shh!)

Hand is much better. Stitches come out the following Monday. I think I can take them out myself.

Walter is being an asshole again. And this is after we had such a great time at the U2 concert together. It's so fucking unpredictable with him :sigh: He's worse than a gang of premenstrual women going through chocolate withdrawal. I called him on Friday night to tell him they were rerunning The Apprentice. His son answered the call and he was downright rude @@ Well, I expected that, but I thought Walter would call me back. I didn't hear from him again all weekend. So I tracked him down at work and he said "I don't want you calling me when I have the kids." What the fuck?? I won't call him at all, if that's the case.