Protest is futile, nothing seems to get through........

The Police -- Driven To Tears -- 1980

I had a wonderful post planned, all pretty, with a bow. It was going to have pictures. Art, really. Lots of it. A treat for the soul and the eyes. I'm generous that way. With the treats.

But

My new camera, my new card reader, my fucking computer, the wrath of the gods, the alignment of the planets, the warped karma in my life........

Something. Will. Not. Work.

I am beyond frustrated. I took some interesting pictures. I connected the very same card reader with the very same SD card to the very same computer in the very same way as I did last week.

NOTHING HAPPENED!!!!!!!

The reader drive keeps telling me to insert a disk. There is NO FRIGGIN' DISK!! I have futzed around with it about 743,207 times. It will not download the pictures.


I wonder if , theoretically, a person could possibly be fired from their job if they, in a fit of pure anger, tossed their piece of shit computer out of their office window.

I think about things like that.

I hate my life.

It's a crash course for the ravers........

It's a Drive-in Saturday -- Drive In Saturday -- David Bowie -- 1972

I'll give you all one guess what I did this weekend.....just one. NO CHEATING!

Yep, you got it right. I went to a movie. Not really a drive-in, but who can resist an opportunity to quote the most perfect man ever created ( yes, that's you Mr. Bowie. I am sure you read my Blog religiously because you realy want to dump that skinny bitch Iman and come to live with me and the pups. I promise I'll lock the Heat Miser in the basement and you and I will live in toasty, loving bliss).

Perhaps I digress.

I took the Heat Miser to see this on Saturday:

http://www.dreamgirlsmovie.com/

It would not have been my choice, but the HM really wanted to see it, so off we went. It was moderately better than I had expected, and Eddie Murphy did an admirable, non-donkey-like job.

Since the last movie the HM went to see was this:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicago_(2002_film)

I thought it was high time we dragged her ass to a theater and poked her with a pin every time she started to snore. Seriously.

Since she was a kid, the HM has had this problem with movies. She is all excited to see a film. She gets herself all set, popcorn at the ready....and about 15-20 minutes in, her eyes are rolling around in her head and the volume of her snoring is increasing. Something about movies puts her right into REM sleep.

She managed to stay awake for Dreamgirls and she liked it a lot. She was in her late teens when the Detroit music scene took off, and she loved that music. I was raised with Motown music blasting out of our speakers. I think it might have been the volume of the movie music that kept her awake. Whatever. At least I didn't have to draw blood to keep her upright.

On Sunday, I went with my friend Daryl and one of her friends to a banquet for this:

http://www.poodleclubofmassachusetts.org/

Yeah, yeah. I know already. Enough with all the Poodle stuff. But really, it was fun. My friend is good company, we had LOTS of laughs, 5 hours of travel with just the girls. It was all good until we came out of the banquet and Daryl's battery was dead. Even that made us almost pee our pants with laughter.

And, I bid on a few Poodle goodies in the silent auction and won.

Other than that, not much news to report. How was everyone else's weekend........especially you lurkers???

Blue eyes, baby's got blue eyes........

Like a deep blue sea, on a blue blue day -- Blue Eyes -- Elton John -- 1982





HAPPY BIRTHDAY to one of my very favorite actors:

Seen here in one of my favorite movies:





I don't even care if he looks more like this now:

I still LOVE,LOVE, LOVE me some Paul Newman. Happy 82nd birthday Mr.Handsome!

In other news,

ummmmm,

uhhhhhhhh,

no other news. Sorry.

Did I mention it was Paul Newman's birthday? That I LOVE HIM? That Cool Hand Luke is one of my very favorite movies???

I did!? Oh, sorry. No need to get all pissy about it.

I'm leaving now. Catch ya'll on Monday.

Stop pressuring me.......

makes me want to scream -- Scream -- Michael /Janet Jackson -- 1995





Here is a picture of my house. For real:

Cute, isn't it?

Here is a picture of my office:
In between my house and my office are approximately 7 miles. Not particularly treacherous miles, although add in chronic bridge reconstruction and it can get murderous. My rage, that is....not the drive.

Now, please take another look at the picture of my house. Still cute? Notice anything else about it? Snow, maybe? Yep, it's a little dusting of snow. Not so unusual for the end of January in New England...but unusual this year because that's about all we've seen of the white stuff. It's OK with me. I don't have too much use for snow. I think it's a major pain in the ass.

The Heat Miser, however, has a very different opinion about snow. It scares the good holy hell out of her. Always has. Scares her to the bone. From my childhood, I can remember her watching the dinnertime news fervently in the winter. I was shushed violently when the weatherman was on discussing the mere possibility of snow. I watched, amused, on snowy winter mornings as the HM searched her wallet for bus fare, scratched around obsessively for the city bus schedule, and packed her lunch, boots, gloves, war rations, mountain climbing caribiners and sundry items for the 5 mile trip into work on the city bus. I never understood her fear .....and probably never will.

It has not improved with age. Let me assure you of that. The HM is even crazier over the entire "in winter it snows" deal. Since she retired, she works a part-time job that is literally 2 miles from our home. Her actual hours are supposed to be 8 in the morning until noon, 5 days a week. However, like the diligent ( and crazy) little worker bee she is, she usually gets to work by about 7:15. Whatever. I see it this way....if it makes her happy, and it gives me 45 minutes free of "cheerful morning chatter", I'm all for encouraging the obsessive behavior.

Because we live together in our teeny-tiny house with one bathroom who's size would probably make prospective home buyers ask " where's the rod to hang the clothes?", the HM and I have a very carefully orchestrated morning dance of fluffing and buffing . She is out of the house by 7 am, I am out by 7:30. There is little room for error. We have the dance refined to an art.

So, it was with great suprise this morning that, while I was ironing my work clothes in the basement, I heard the sudden, unexplained flurry of the HM's feet racing around the house above me. The next thing I heard was the distinct voice of the HM barking out orders at the Poodles. "Get out of the way!"."Move!!" "I haveta get out of here NOW!!!". The pitch got closer to hysteria with each phrase.

I rushed upstairs to find that..........are you ready.........it was snowing!! The HM was literally in a tizzy. There was barely a dusting of flakes on the ground. Barely. But she was already nearing panic-stage. This was the course of our conversation:

Me: Wow. I've only been "downstairs for a minute and look, it's snow........

HM: MOVE! I have to find my boots!! Have you seen my boots?!? They weren't in the closet?!?!

Me: Are you driving?

HM: Oh God, that stupid weatherman never said it was going to snow this early. If I leave now, maybe I can make it to work before it gets bad?!? I need my gloves. Have you seen my gloves!?!

Me: I think he did mention snow squalls. I think I remember hearing him say we would have some light squalls.

{{Aside: Please understand that I get a wierd kick out of this hysteria. Sad, but true}}

HM: Get your keys. You have to move your car NOW!! Where are my GODDAMN GLOVES????!!!!!

Me: You're actually driving?? Really??? Wow, you're getting brave in your old age!

HM:WHY???? Does it look bad???!!! Deep.....slippery.....ICY???!!!???

Me: No, no, I think it looks fine. You'll be fine. Remember, your car has all wheel drive, all the time. Doesn't get much safer than that. And you only have to go 2 miles. And , except for our street, it's all on a state road that has probably already been sanded.

HM: Ummmmmm, OK. I'm leaving. I'll call when I get there. If I don't call in a half-hour, call my work and let them know I'm in trouble. They'll come looking for me.

Me: Sure. No problem.

At this point, I am barely containing the laughter that threatens to bubble up, the eye rolling that is imminent, the suppressed urge to call a Psychiatrist, any Psychiatrist, and request STAT meds for this crazy woman.

She leaves. I close the door and shake my head in disbelief.

You see, the road she has to drive is the main thoroughfare along this part of the shoreline in CT. I can actually see the road from my side window. It is bone-dry. Morning commuters are whizzing by. The squall has already ended. Look at the picture of my house again. Carefully. There is not even enough snow to sweep away with a broom.

I got the call 8 minutes later to say that she had arrived safely, and that, if this snow started again, she was leaving her car at work and would take the bus home. She also warned me to be very, very careful driving to work. It could be slippery, she said. Or icy. She wanted me to drive slowly.

I let the answering machine pick it up.

Talk to me so you can see.......

what's going on -- What's Going On -- Marvin Gaye -- 1971





There are some interesting news items in my area. The city where I grew up and still work. A city most renowned for it's famous college:

I was born and raised in New Haven as were at least 4 generations before me. Today, New Haven marks the 50th anniversary of a tragedy. You can read the story here:

http://www.nhregister.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=17742539&BRD=1281&PAG=461&dept_id=7576&rfi=6

I come from a very long line of Fire and Police Department family, so this tragedy is something that has been discussed over the generations amongst our family and friends. My Mother retired 6 years ago after 30 years service with the New Haven Fire Department, and is now working part-time in a local Police department. Imagine her surprise yesterday when one of the lieutenants at her current job confided that he was one of the 4 rescuers mentioned in the above story. He and his two brothers, along with their cousin tried desperately to save lives that terrible day. He was 20 years old at the time and he says that the smells and sights and sounds are etched into his memory as fresh as they were 50 years ago.

In other news, howsa' bout this for a true dumb-ass:

http://www.nhregister.com/site/index.cfm?newsid=17738991&BRD=1281&PAG=461&dept_id=517515&rfi=8

I mean, I can understand getting upset if you should happen to walk out and see your car in the process of being booted to be towed away. Upset I comprehend. Shoving the tax man , running him over, backing up to slam into the tow truck and running the tax man over again..........well, it seems just a bit much. Doncha' think?

And, this past weekend, there was this big news:

http://www.nhregister.com/site/index.cfm?newsid=17735079&BRD=1281&PAG=461&dept_id=517515&rfi=8

Probably not such big news for people who don't live here, but for those of us born and raised in New Haven and the surrounding towns, the Coliseum was likely the place where you attended sports events, or, like me.....some of the best concerts of your life. I was 10 when I saw my very first concert there. Rod Stewart. I can still remember how he kicked soccer balls out to the audience.

The last concert I saw there was with my daughter and her friend. The Dave Matthews Band in October of 1996. She was 12. It was the first of many times she and I would go to see Dave together.

In between the first and last shows, I saw some wonderful concerts in that crappy, ugly Coliseum. The Pretenders, Peter Gabriel, Aerosmith, The Police, Fleetwood Mac, KISS, Van Halen, Queen, Squeeze, REM, Simple Minds, U2.......the list goes on and on. I was sad to see the Coliseum go, even though it was time. Being such a music lover, it held a lot of good memories for me.

My little hometown has been busy the past few days. Aside from all the aforementioned excitement, we apparently have a serial rapist on the loose, a well known City Alderman who has been running illegal rooming houses and has been arrested several times for domestic assaults on one of the residents, and a continuing string of violence....shootings, beatings, attacks ......on the City streets.

It makes me sad to see what has happened to my hometown. Many times, people from other parts of the country assume that, when I say that I am from Connecticut, all of CT is lusciously rich. The annual median income in New Haven is 32,000 dollars, while the average home price has risen to over 200,000. Compare that to the town of Fairfield, CT, less than one hour away. The median income is 94,000 per year. There is a great disparity of wealth in my little state. And in my hometown, there is an even greater disparity between the "haves" and the "have-nots". Since Yale University owns a good chunk of New Haven, and does NOT have to pay property taxes, the choices of affordable housing in the city continue to diminish:

http://www.yaleherald.com/article.php?Article=4891

It is a spiraling sense of sadness that envelops the city I once loved. Most of the shops downtown have boarded up or moved elsewhere, crime is rampant, the city even looks blighted.

I hope the next 50 years will be better for this great City.

Take a look at me now.......

Against all Odds -- Phil Collins -- 1984



Here are the photos in all their glory. Let's give it up for Nigel since he gave it up for all of us!!!! {{{{APPLAUSE}}}}

I had to buy the ungrateful Limey a card-reader to please him, but it worked!

For now, some pictures of the Poodles:



Willie, taken with light behind him:




Willie on the couch under his blanket:



Maisie doing her nightly ritual of ear cleaning:



Maisie watching as supper is made:



Annie in her bed:



Sadie peeking out of her crate:



and Trevor, sitting in his bed:




Now kids, please understand that my relationship with Nigel is a new one. He and I are still feeling each other out ( or up, whichever YOU prefer), so we have not stumbled upon complete perfection as of yet....but we are working on it. We still don't have the "red-eye" figured out yet, and sometimes the colors are a bit wonky, but with practice, Nigel and I are destined to become a great team.

Enjoy the photos and keep checking back as we master our skills together!

Nigel just needs this helping hand.......

Making Plans For Nigel -- XTC -- 1979

I told you I would be humming this little ditty to my best boy. Although, right about now, Nigel and I are on the outs. He refuses to cooperate. He will NOT download his pictures to my computer. Damn him and that British temper ( and his weird need for privacy)

Now, I can't be certain if Nigel is at fault here, or the computer. However, my old camera, Canon, had no difficulty plugging and playing ( and whatever else he and the computer did under cover of darkness). It is only Nigel who will not give up the goods.

So please, dear friends and lurkers, come out of the shadows and offer advice. Please, I beg of you in the name of all that is good and sane. I have spent hours trying to fix this problem already. According to Nigel, I am just supposed to plug him in and "poof", like magic, my computer says "hello old friend" and they share Nigel's sweet memories.

Not happening. Please tell me what the hell to do!!! I don't want to have to hurt Nigel.

I'll be coming home again to you, love,and 'till the day I do, love........

P.S., I love you. -- The Beatles -- P.S. I Love You -- 1962





The sun is shining {{LIE}}, the birds are singing {{ANOTHER LIE}}, my life is simply wonderful {{ A BIG, FAT, RIDICULOUS LIE}} -------- because





MY NEW CAMERA IS HERE!!!!! The digital camera from E-Bay!!! The love of my life! I have smothered it with kisses, offered to take it out for a lovely dinner, and bought it some sexy boxers. I have, in fact, decided that my new camera is male, because anything that sleek and sexy with the ability to bring me such pleasure MUST be male!



Maybe I should name it!?! Whaddya' think of Simon? Nah, some dumb ass might call him Simple Simon if he produced even one blurry shot. Howsa' bout Oliver?? Charles? Nigel?



YES! Nigel. I like it. He looks like a Nigel, and when he is peacefully hanging around my neck, nestled into that groove of my collarbone waiting patiently for his next photo opportunity, I will hum the XTC song "Making Plans For Nigel" to him. Quietly, as to not disturb his aperture or white balance. It will be our special song. A secret between my Nigel and me. I get tingly just thinking about it.



The camera is everything I hoped for, and more. I have already taken some great shots of the pups, and some dopey shots of household stuff....just to try it out........and they deserve to be hung in a museum. A museum of photographic perfection. And not because of me. My Nigel has skills. Mad skills!



When I finally read the skeighty eight million pages of the manual and figure out how to make Nigel communicate in PC-speak and share his images, I will download the photos and post them here. You can all oooohhh and aaaahhhhh appropriately, but let me warn you........there will be NO derisive comments allowed about Nigel, no secret plans to kidnap him, no comparisons between Nigel and your "cameras". His magnificence stands alone. A solitary Nigel, proud and regal in a world full of disposables.



It's a good thing I got my new, larger bed. I would hate to roll over and scratch him during the night.

Oh get me out of here, please get me out of here......

Just help me I'll do anything, anything if you'll just help me get out of here -- Tonight, Tonight, Tonight -- Genesis -- 1986

This friggin' job is killing me this week. All I can say is this:

More tomorrow when I complete my nervous breakdown.

Hold out, just keep on hoping against hope ........

That it's gonna get better -- It's Gonna Get Better -- Genesis -- 1983


The Princess had a very bad day yesterday, and she is a bit disheartened by her new " internship". To refresh all of our memories, the Princess is pursuing a career as a teacher. She is currently in the last semester of her Master's program. When she graduates , granted she passes all of her associated exams, she will be certified to teach Pre-K through Grade 6.

She originally only wanted to do what the school terms a "single track" that would certify her as a Pre-K teacher, as that is what she really loves. Thankfully, a very astute advisor convinced her to take the "double track" to hopefully become more employable and not have such restricted teaching options as a new grad.

So she did the double track, but it has meant double the work. The Princess truly is one of the hardest working kids I have ever known......and not just because she is mine. She was invited to take her first year of Master's classes as an Undergrad Senior, so she will, in fact, finish her Master's program exactly one year after finishing her Undergrad degree.

Sooooo...it's a long way of saying that the kid is busy. Full time classes, 3 days of student-teaching as an intern ( unpaid) and LOTS of time babysitting under the table for spending money. Busy.

She completed a half-year internship in a 5th grade class before Christmas break. She was then selected to work the second half at a school in " the city". Yep, that city. New York City. More specifically.....Harlem. NYC is about a 15 minute train ride from her college town. The internship is a subway or cab ride from the train station.

http://nymag.com/realestate/articles/neighborhoods/harlem.htm

The Princess had mapped out the route a few weeks back when Lumpkin came to visit her. Together, they took the train, took the subway, found the school and met the staff. She has been in regular contact with the woman who teaches the class she is joining. She and the teacher had agreed that they both could save some money by sharing a cab from the train station to the school on the days that the Princess was teaching. They both come into Grand Central at about the same time in the morning, albeit from different directions. They made all of the arrangements beforehand, and yesterday, they were due to carry out the plan for the very first time.......the Princess' first day at the new school.

So, the Princess was up at 5:15 a.m. She was out of the apartment at 6, walking to the little train station in town. The walk took her about 25 minutes, but since she is so short on cash, she prefers to walk rather than pay an outlandish commuter fee to park her car. She caught the train into Grand Central and arrived at 6:45 a.m. She had arranged to meet the teacher at 7:01 at a predetermined spot after the teacher's train arrived.

The Princess got to the spot. She waited. And waited. And waited some more. The teacher never came. When she finally decided that enough time had passed to justify leaving, she found her way to the subway and got off near the school.

When the Princess got to the school, it seems that no one was prepared for her arrival. There were no introductions, no assignments.....and best of all.....no teacher! It wasn't until 10:30 that someone from the school was able to reach the teacher. She apparently said that she was " jet lagged" after returning from her vacation ( the day before), had fallen asleep very late and had slept through her alarm.

So the Princess spent her entire first day at her new assignment with absolutely nothing to do. She had no guidance, the substitute would not give her any direction or permission to participate in anything that the kids were doing, and the assistant teacher complained all day that she needed a vacation.

The Princess was mightily disappointed. And she didn't arrive home from this debacle until almost 6 P.m. Can we say tired and cranky? And she has to do this three days a week until June!

She has to go back again tomorrow.

I am considering buying myself a crafty disguise, taking an early train to New York, hopping onto the Teacher's train and threatening her life......discreetly and politely, of course....if she ever screws with my hard-working, overtired and overwhelmed Princess.

Do you think that will affect the Princess' chances of graduating at the top of her class? Seriously? Because, you know, I'm not averse to finding out where the college President lives either.

I'll take on the world for that kid.

Today I make the action, take snapshot into the light.....

Family Picture -- Peter Gabriel -- 1980



Please, my friends, hang on to yourselves. Tightly. I GOT A CAMERA!! A new digital! You know it makes me wanna' shout----put my hands up and.........



Yep. after all my bitchin' about the Christmas gift that never was:



http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/12/what-i-wanted-is-what-i-wanted.html



I went and bought my own damn camera. From E-bay. I {{heart}} my beloved E-Bay. This is the camera I have wanted for months, and I bought it for less than HALF the retail. Here is a picture of the love of my life:



I {{heart}} myself for being a winner on E-Bay. I can't wait for it to come. You will all be inundated with crafty/artsy/probably terrible pictures from my new camera. Whether you like it or not.



You might want to invest in a blindfold. Or a supersized delete button.



On the other front, for all of you kind enough to be interested....I DID NOT go to the wake or funeral of the person who died. My Mom decided that she wanted to go with her friends from work. Without me. They left 3 hours before I even got out of work.



I was fine with that decision and even happier about it when she finally got home. 6 hours after she left!! Yep, she and her friends waited 5.5 hours to get into the funeral home. Outside. In January. In new England. While it drizzled.



She was not a happy camper. But, she did feel good that she paid her respects. Her former friend sobbed at the sight of her and thanked her over and over for coming. I guess, for her, it was worth the wait.



Not much else from here. As soon as the camera arrives, I will begin to document my life-----photojournalist style. I might even sign myself up early decision for a Pulitzer in photojournalism. I will probably win, because my new camera will be THAT GOOD!



Say Cheese!

Up all night, ooh staying up all night.....

Up All Night -- The Boomtown Rats -- 1980

Thanks kids for all the advice and comments lately. It can almost make a girl feel popular!

In the past, I have discussed such tantalizing subjects as getting old, and my lack of appropriate furniture for sleeping. Now I have a problem that seems to combine the two. Remember this classic?:

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/11/wake-up-you-sleepy-head.html

Well, I got the bed, and not long before Christmas, I got a wonderful new mattress set. I was in heaven, I tell ya'. Sheer heaven. The first few night I slept like a baby. Blissfully unaware of anything but comfort. I woke up refreshed. No aching joints from a saggy mattress. No dull headache from trying to toss and turn with out success. I was a happy, happy girl.

However, now that I no longer struggle with the nightly aches and pains from the 20+ year old twin sized mattress, my senses have found a new focus. I'm thinking that I was on sensory overload all those years with the old bed, and now my senses have moved on to bigger and better worries. Like noise. Any noise. No.Matter.What.The.Noise.Is

I have always been a person who requires complete darkness to sleep. Lay me in a black-lined coffin, seal all the cracks and cover me up thankyouverymuch. I'd sleep like a baby. Noise never bothered me. I used to be able to sleep through everything. I worked the overnight shift for 11 years and slept during the day. I snored through screaming neighborhood kids, screaming neighborhood parents, screaming Police cars responding to the screaming neighbors, barking dogs, ringing phones.....whatever. I never even lifted an eyelid.

Suddenly, I can't sleep with noise, except for my radio ( which I forgot to add in the coffin [gestures wildly to the paragraph above], but please, when you all come to my Blog one day and discover that I have died, please, please remind the Princess to toss my radio into the coffin. I cannot be without my music. Ever). I go to bed with the music on low, the room as dark as possible after shooting BB's at the street lights, and the sweet, cuddly feeling of my new mattress under my ass. And. I. Am. Awake.

I can't sleep. I hear every little thing. Car doors closing, a neighbor's dog barking (OK, maybe not exactly a neighbor, but I do honestly think the dog lives in the same zip code as me), my own dogs snuffing and sniffing and licking whatever it is that they lick at 3:27 a.m. I hear it all and I am awake. And mad. Mad to be awake.

I have tried different things. Turning my radio up louder. That only made me worry more about the burglar-type noises that I might NOT be hearing so I turned it back down. Sleeping with a pillow over my head. That obviously limited my Oxygen intake and caused some sort of permanent harm. I even tried sleeping under the covers to muffle the near-inaudible ( to a normal human) noises, but when I almost killed myself in a personal Dutch-oven, I gave that idea up pronto.

So, I got myself a cute little sound machine that plays all sorts of cute noises. Cute in the store. Not so cute in the bedroom at 2 in the morning. The "cricket-chirping" setting fills me with red, red rage. It makes me want to go out into the yard and stomp on helpless bugs. The "waterfall".....can we say "need to pee" 4 extra times a night? Ditto for the "gentle rain" and the "babbling brook". The "heartbeat" sound is for adults with adjustment/dependency issues. I won't even consider that one. So I was left with the "white noise" setting. I tried that one for all of 7.3 seconds. It sounded so much like an out-of-tune radio station that I chucked the whole damn machine under the bed.

At 5:15 this morning, I gave my Mother an ultimatum. She is to snag me a pair of the Police-issued ear plugs from her job or I will leave fingerprints all over her windows and touch her precious curtains with the same hands that just played a rousing game of "toss the filthy mud ball" with 5 dogs. She is to get the earplugs TODAY! I simply cannot go on with interrupted sleep. It ruins my naturally cheerful nature. My Mother thinks this is all a very funny joke, slinging around statements such as " early menopause" and "age related sleep disorders". She's a fuckin' scream sometimes. I may just touch her curtains out of spite. Or move her spice jars around. Or cut her brake lines.

I'll keep you all informed on how the earplug thing goes.

Just know this.......... if you read about a woman and 5 Poodles being murdered in the middle of the night by a serial killer, it wasn't because I couldn't kick his murdering ass. I just couldn't hear him coming.

I hurt you cause you hurt me

I Hurt You -- The Pretenders -- 1984

I have another little moral dilemma. Someone died the other day. He was the son of someone my Mother and I used to be very close to. A co-worker of my Mother's who became a very close friend. This person was one of my Mom's best friends for almost 12 years, and therefore also became very close to me, and eventually to my daughter. This person was a male, and although there was never any type of intimate relationship with him and my Mother, they were as close as friends could be.

He had a wife and 3 kids that we grew to know. His youngest son is the one who died the other day. The son was 35 and his death has been all over our local news as he was a Police Officer that was originally injured in the line of duty a few years back. His death could possibly be linked to that injury.

So, there will be a very large public wake and funeral. My Mother will likely go to both, but I am very torn about attending for several reasons. Firstly, there is my aforementioned distaste for any ceremony that is church related:

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/09/im-at-it-again.html

And then there is my complete and utter inability to give up the rage that threatens to boil over when I think of what this " friend" did to my Mother several years back. As I said, they had become fast friends after meeting at work. There's was a relationship similar to a brother and sister. This person quickly became like an uncle or father-figure to me at a very difficult period in my life. He was a constant....an enforcer of rules....a backup to my Mom when she was not strong enough to handle my challenges. We both trusted him completely, and when my daughter was born, he was there to welcome her as he would a grandchild. His wife was just as welcoming to us. His kids and I were close in age. We were like one big happy extended family.

Which makes what he did to my Mom even more difficult to understand. As I have mentioned before, my Mom has been heavy for most of her life. Not grossly obese, but in our favorite terminology, "chubby". She has always been pretty comfortable in her own skin. She has never made her weight an issue, so therefore, neither has anyone else.

Until this "friend" devastated her.

They were at work, in front of many other people. My Mom and her friend worked in a field dominated by men. There were several of their co-workers present when her friend, unprovoked, said:
"Hey, I got a call about you".
At the time, my Mom was on the hunt for a part-time job to supplement the full-time wages that were barely covering our expenses. Her response was "from who? about what?"
He said" a guy called about a job for you. He wanted a reference".
My Mom naively said " what kind of job?"
And in front of everyone, her " friend" said "he wants you to be the fat lady in his circus!"

Everyone laughed nervously and quickly scattered.

My Mother was devastated. Humiliated, embarrassed, crushed and demeaned. She never expected such a cruel comment from one of her best friends. She couldn't fathom why he would say such a thing. Especially since his own wife was well over 300 pounds herself.

To this day, she still doesn't understand it. He never apologized when it happened. He seemed to think it was just a joke, no matter how hurt my Mother was by his comment. She didn't speak to him for many years after that day, but when his son was gravely injured a few years ago, she contacted him to offer her sympathy, her forgiveness and any help that she could provide. He finally apologized to her in that conversation, 17 years after the fact.

My Mother is a forgiving woman, but I am not. I vividly recall my Mom's confused and sad face when she came home that day, her absolute humiliation at having to return to work with all the guys who heard the comment, her broken heart at the hands of her "friend".I was furious with him when he hurt her, and I attempted to tell him so, but my Mother forbade me from contacting him. I have nothing to say to him now. I feel nothing for him either......not even sympathy. I feel like a hypocrite if I attend the wake or funeral for his son because I don't much like or respect him after how he hurt my Mother. He doesn't deserve my emotions.

I can't forgive someone who would intentionally be that cruel. I just can't.


So, what should I do? Dismiss my own feelings and beliefs to attend the wake and funeral, or stick to my guns and do what I think is right?

Tell me Internets, tell me!

World shut your mouth, shut your mouth..........

Put your head back in the clouds and shut your mouth -- Julian Cope -- 1990



After yesterday's warm-n-fuzzies over Pet Therapy......today I gotta' bitch. Can't help it. I'm not a touchy-feely type of girl, so when we go to that touchy-feely place, the trip must be brief. I need balance. Otherwise I might get hives.

So bitch I will. Today's rant is brought to you by the letter A. For Asshole. And it's about ignorant slobs who don't know when to shut their pieholes. They say stupid or hurtful or rude things and then they feign surprise when people become offended. I hate those people. That would be hate, brought to you by the letter H.

As you may have guessed ( and I'm sure you have because my gynormous fan-base is intelligent---indeed!) some ignorant shit said something to me that got my knickers in a twist. Know this about Avalon---------I definitely prefer my knickers untwisted, and for that matter, out of the crack of my ass. So this fool did not make me happy.

It was a woman at the school where I took Trevor for his Canine Good Citizen test on Sunday. Another dog owner. She was there with her tongue-hanging, slobbering, near-frenzied brown and white canine. The dog was a wreck, the woman was loud and coarse, the waiting room was filled to capacity with people and their soon-to-be-tested pooches. This asshat was butting into people's private conversations, she was dragging this poor dog around the room yelling completely ineffective commands at it, and was basically making a complete spectacle of herself.

In total, there were 10 dogs and their owners waiting for their turn to take the test. 3 of the dogs, by happenstance, were Standard Poodles. All male. All with similar, stripped down Utility hairstyles. My Trevor, a Black male named Thomas, and another Black male named McCourt. And, they are all within three months of each other in age. So, as owners of a beloved breed are wont to do, we started chatting. We were having a fine time extolling the virtues of our breed when Ms. Asshat rudely and loudly shouted "so, those are all Poodles, huh?. Big ones"

( Yeah you friggin' mental giant. 10 points for you)

Me, the ever charming manner-school graduate ignored her and continued to converse af if she had not interrupted by yelling at us from across a crowded room. To which she then yelled to the woman with Thomas " that one's a boy?!?". Thomas' owner indicated that he was. She then, mistakenly ( as she would later learn) turned her stupidity gun on me and fired.

Indicating Trevor, she asked " is that one a male. Because it sure looks like a girl with that haircut. Did you do that haircut?!? Must be a girl. Only a girl dog would have a haircut like that". This after she heard me calling him by his name and referring to him as a "good boy" when he waited patiently.

I managed to hiss these few simple words after I stemmed the bleeding of my tongue from biting into it. "He's a male alright". To which Ms. Asshat turned around and commenced her verbal assault on another unsuspecting dog owner. I did my best to remain calm because, as trainers hammer into dog owners again and again and again.....tension travels down a leash. I didn't want to screw up Trevor's chances of success by getting all aggravated right before the test.

What I really wanted to do was lock him in his crate in the car, go inside and punch her sorry lights out, then calmly take him back out for the test.

I was just worried that the handcuffs might interfere with my loose-leash walking.

So I waited and watched. I watched as Ms. Asshat's dog tried to attack another unsuspecting pooch. I watched as she cruised around the room interjecting herself into other people's conversations, offering opinions on things they said. Generally being an obnoxious twit.

And I continued to bite by tongue. Luckily I'm tough and I don't bleed much. It's that Chronic Anemia. Saves my ass every time.

Trevor and I were called, went into the room, took the test, and as you all know.......WE PASSED!

When we were done, I took my seat back out in the waiting room and sat patiently for Ms. Asshat to be called. She went inside, but after a few brief minutes, she came out into the waiting room fuming. MAD! If she had been a cartoon, there would have been a thermometer over her head that had a hole in the top where the mercury had burst through. She verbally assaulted the girl at the desk, complaining that her dog had " gotten bad vibes" from the friendly greeter dog during the test and that was why her charming little pooch had growled, and therefore, failed. Because in Ms. Asshat's estimation " this little girl has never done anything like that before!".

I had a brief moment of sympathy for Ms. Asshat as she clearly must have suffered a traumatic brain injury which had caused short-term memory loss. My sympathy quickly dissolved when, as Ms. Asshat was berating the clerk, her monster of a pet again lunged viciously at another waiting dog and then growled at the Asshat herself when she decided to notice and try for a correction. I almost laughed out loud!

Once Ms. Asshat decided that she should probably leave with her own tail between her legs, I took my long-awaited opportunity. I waited outside and feigned complete ignorance about what had happened in the test and waiting rooms. I said, ever-so-sweetly '"so, how did you do?" ( as butter dripped slowly down my chin). She whipped around and practically yelled " we failed!! And it was because of that OTHER DOG!! Now I have to wait 8 weeks and pay again!!!"

To which I nicely replied " well, then I guess we were both wrong". She cocked her head in puzzlement and I continued.

" You mistakenly thought my new Canine Good Citizen was a girl and I mistakenly thought you and your dog stood a chance of passing. Have a nice day!"


It was beautiful!!





P.S. - dont' go giving me any shit about playing nice. I could have said a whole lot worse to her. Truly. If she didn' t leave crying.....trust me.....I was kind.

You're too old to lose it, too young to choose it.........

Rock N Roll Suicide -- 1972


I made brief reference yesterday to the Pet Therapy work that I do with two of my Poodles. I need to back up a bit to bring it all into context. In April of 2003, my near 13 year old Mini Poodle Emmett died suddenly of a massive stroke. He had been purchased as a puppy to be my dog, but bonded strongly with my mother and became "hers".


When he died, I knew fairly quickly that I wanted another Poodle ( we had had Poodles since I was 8) and so began the hunt for a happy, healthy puppy. Since Emmett had been gifted with a multitude of health problems, was undersocialized as a puppy and was later dog aggressive, I never did much with him outside of the home. The new puppy was to be MY companion, and since I had heard the term Pet Therapy bandied about, and because I worked in a hospital, I decided that we would focus on finding a puppy that would make the perfect therapy dog.


Enter Willie:

Possibly the most perfect dog I have met. Easy, smart, charming, willing to please and oh-so-loving. He was in puppy training classes by 5 months old, got his Canine Good Citizen certification by 10 months old and started Delta Society Pet Partners Therapy training:

http://www.deltasociety.org/VolunteerAboutBecome.htm

He passed with flying colors but then we were a team without a location to visit. I knew that Willie was too exuberant to visit with seniors, and I really wanted to visit with kids because he loves them so, but I wanted a population that was already underserved. I approached the director of my hospital's Inpatient Psychiatric unit for children ages 2-16 and asked if we could set up a visitation program. They were thrilled! Even though my hospital has visiting Pet Therapy volunteers in other locations, no one had ever agreed to try this particular unit, and the staff thought that having regular visits from a non-threatening pet would be wonderful therapy for the kids hospitalized there.

And it is. The kids LOVE Willie nearly as much as he loves them. But it's also sad. Suicidal 3 year olds, chronically depressed 7 year olds, delusional teenagers. And worse. The abuse that some of these kids have seen. The fact that at ages 3, 4, 5.......they are already into their double digits of foster placements. The 5 year old kid that was there for 69 days without a single visitor. Sad.

There are also extremely happy times when we visit. Kids who have grown up in this tough inner city and their only exposure to dogs has been with aggressive protection animals. They love Willie's soft coat, his happy nature, his near-constant tail wagging. Kids who will pour out their most intimate secrets and fears into his soft ears......things that they refuse to discuss with their counselors. Kids who cry because they miss their own pets at home, but then vow to me that they will do better so they can get back to see their beloved animals.

And the worst times. When the innocence of the kids breaks your heart and makes you cry. Alone in your car after you leave. Because life shouldn't ever be so hard when you are so young. Somebody should care enough to make it better. Like the kid who was turning 6 on the very day that we visited, and because no one from his family bothered to remember his birthday, the staff told him we had come especially to celebrate his special day. He gave his paper birthday hat to Willie. I promptly went home, took a picture of Willie and brought it back to him so he too could have a picture of someone, anyone, on his bulletin board in his room. No 6 year old should have a blank bulletin board staring back at him, confirming with every glance that he has been forgotten. Willie and I will remember him always, the beaming little face holding Willie tightly, so proud that Willie had come to see him for his birthday.

It's good work, but sometimes it's very hard.

Then there is Maisie, my rescued girl.

She lived an awful, terrifying life of abuse and neglect from puppyhood until she was 3 and one half. Then she came to live with us. At first, she was so terrified of humans that she was virtually catatonic. For weeks. She didn't learn how to play with a toy for many months, and even then, she would only play until a human showed interest in the game. Then she would run away in fear. I knew that some obedience training would be good for her confidence, so we started out in basic training. It was very hard at first given her near-overwhelming fears, but she managed to pass her Canine Good Citizen with the help of a kind and understanding evaluator and we signed up for our round of Delta Society training. To my amazement we passed the test! I was incredibly proud of her, as she was of herself.

Every month, she and I visit the nursing home affiliated with my hospital. While our visits are not as intense as the ones Willie and I do with the kids, they can be difficult just the same. The elderly are far less reluctant to cry into her soft fur, much more open about sharing their memories of beloved pets that have passed. They sometimes cry for the pets they were forced to give up or leave behind when they were placed in the facility. There is a pervasive sadness in their days....a monotony that Maisie's shining face helps to lift when we visit. They cheer up immediately. They beg to have me put her on their beds so they can cuddle with her. They love to see her run through her repertoire of tricks. They smell her and hold her and whisper baby talk into her ears. They thank me over and over again and remind me to make sure to visit them the next month. They look forward to our visits to break up their days.

Once again, wonderful, fulfilling but hard work. To know that these are the ends of their days. that many of these seniors are alone and lonely. That the only soft touch they will have comes from a 13 lb dog. It can get depressing sometimes, but we keep going back because, in the end, it is so much more about the goodness than it is about the sadness.

My hopes for Trevor are to have him also pass his Delta certification and begin our visits. Willie and Maisie are "porta-puppies". They can be picked up and passed to the kids, or laid down on the beds of the seniors. Trevor, on the other hand, is the perfect height to plop his head onto a hospital bed. He is a great size for petting from a wheelchair. He has the best, liquid brown eyes for gazing into calmness. He has the steady, inviting nature for sitting quietly while stroking his soft fur. For those reasons and more, I hope to do our Therapy together here:

http://www.hospice.com/

About 2 miles from my home. I think he would be outstanding to comfort the people, young and old at the end of their lives. And their families.

It may be harder than anything I have done so far, but I truly think, in the end, it will be so worth it.

And teacher, there are things that I still have to learn..........

One More Try -- George Michael -- 1987

I know I have broken my solemn promise of not posting over the weekend, but there was big doins' over at the Casa de Avalon today. Big, big doins'.

Trevor, 25 month old Standard Poodle (of the fireplace poker, squirrels thrown in the bathroom, butter thieving tales......remember him now?) passed his Canine Good Citizen test today. Actually, I spent all weekend explaining and warning and threatening him that he was not to treat this like a simple little test. It was to be considered an "EXAMINATION" of the utmost importance. He took me seriously I guess.

The test, offered by the AKC, is basically comprised of 10 stations designed to reflect how well a dog and it's owner can work together to follow commands, and serves as a standard for polite doggie behavior. The dog must pass all 10 stations, or they have to go home shamefaced to confess to their family why they couldn't get their act together. Here are the requirements for the test :

"http://www.akc.org/events/cgc/training_testing.cfm"

I have done the test twice before and passed with both Willie and Maisie. Willie was only 10 months old when he passed, but then again, he was basically the perfect dog as he was the first and only puppy until Maisie came along. I trained him like we lived at Camp Lejune. He also passed his therapy certification without a hitch.

Maisie was a bit harder due to her neglect and abuse history. I honestly did not think she would pass, but she did and has gone on to be a great therapy dog.

Trevor, on the other hand, was a bit different. He has been slower to catch on to training than the Mini's ever were. He still had a teenaged, immature brain up until the past few months. He can also be very shy in new situations, especially if those situations include large dogs. And poor Trev also has the unenviable luck of being the 5th of 5 Poodles to come into our lives, so he doesn't get nearly as much one-on-one training and attention as the others did. So, needless to say, I was a bit worried about how he might fare.

I shouldn't have been. He actually did very well. He was slightly exuberant by the time we got into the testing room, and he managed to do a little bit of pulling on the leash, but mainly out of excitement to get started. He was friendly to the tester and leaned right into her leg as she was petting him. The best part------when she asked me to "down" him on the floor. That's a Trev special. Flinging himself into the down position so hard that his legs bang the floor, then laying there and looking up at you expectantly. Makes em' laugh every time.

When they informed us that he had passed, we tossed his favorite ball in celebration. Now, it's onward and upward for Therapy training. I think he will be a wonderful therapy dog.

Tomorrow,I'll write a bit about Pet therapy and what it does for me and my dogs. For tonight, Trev and I are going to sleep off our celebration!

What I say now........

I don't think we know each other enough to lie -- Love Is (What I Say) -- INXS -- 1984


Before I start ringing any chimes ( remember the promise from yesterday?), I need to tell you all about the terrible, horrible, near-maiming type situation that occurred in our little house last evening.

You all know by now that I have 5 Poodles.......4 little and 1 big. The big one, Trevor, can sometimes be.........uh......how can I say this kindly.............GOOFY.
Yeah, that's pretty kind.

His entire frame of reference for his size is shaped by 4 other dogs that look a lot like him. Only they are a mere 12 lbs to his 52. The problem is that Trevor does not have a clue how large he is, so he often tries to squeeze himself into small spaces......precarious situations.......little-teeny-tiny areas where a 52 lb body was not meant to fit. He's spatially oriented that way.

In our living room, we have an antique doll crib that we converted to hold dog toys. The pups are able to grab what they want at will, whether it be from the top or between the rungs of the crib. Now, you may all think you see where this is going, but I'm gonna take a quick turn so hang on.

This crib is next to our unused fireplace. And the fireplace's decorative accessories. Including the fireplace poker. Which hangs on the side where the toy-crib is situated. Now, is it getting any clearer?

So, all 52 lbs of Trevor decided last evening to play with a toy. A toy that was nearer the bottom of the crib than the top. Having watched his Mini sized Poodle siblings poke their Mini sized heads in between the rungs of the crib to return with a prized toy, Trevor decided that he would do the same. Except his head is proportionate to a 52 lb body, which is waaaaaaaayyyyy different from a head proportionate for a 12 lb body. Waaaaaaaayyyyy.

Can you see it coming? Yep, as I sat a foot away on my couch, the dipshit got his big ole' head stuck in between the rungs of the crib. Before I could even move to offer help, he decided to yank his head from between the bars with a dramatic flair. Which then caught his ears on the tyne of the fireplace poker. Which then caused the poker to fly off of it's hanger and crash onto the floor next to Trevor. Which then caused Trevor to leap into the air, legs and paws scrabbling for purchase. Which then somehow caused Trevor to do a complete backflip, land on the floor with a giant thud and run for cover behind me on the couch.

One must hide in the presence of a marauding fireplace poker.

After I finished wetting my pants, I assured him that he was fine, but he cast a wary eye on the crib and the fireplace all night, and would only lay at the furthest point across the room.

My life is full of such rollicking examples of fun.


On to the intended story. The ringing of chimes.

To set the stage:

I was raised by a single Mother. My Father was long gone by the time I was 2. We had very little money for most of my life.

I was a kid who craved independence, even from a very young age. When I was 4, I told my Mother that I wanted to buy her a Christmas present. I was insistent that she NOT be with me. So my Mother enlisted the help of my Aunt, her older sister. She told my Aunt Kate that I was allowed to buy ANYTHING I WANTED with the 10 dollars she provided. She was clear that my Aunt put absolutely NO restrictions on my choices.

Now, you probably should know a little more about my Mother. Since my Father left, my Mother has only ever dated one other man. She worked 2 and sometimes 3 jobs, felt it was not appropriate to spend her time dating when she had a child that she needed to spend more time with, and was generally a homebody......a "nice girl'. She, at that time, was also about a size 16 in clothing. Short and round is how she would describe herself.

So, my Aunt took me shopping and she followed the rules set out by my Mother. She gave no suggestions as to what I should buy. She simply escorted my 4 year old self to and from the store ( Caldor's) and helped me wrap my choice of a Christmas gift for my Mother.

Imagine my Mother's surprise on Christmas morning when she opened her gift from her only child. A pair of fire-engine red bikini underwear! That were embroidered with the lovely phrase " ring my chimes" And had little gold balls hanging from them. That rang!! In a size 2!

My Mother said that she tried mightily to maintain her composure and not to laugh. Until I begged her to try them on and show me how they fit.

I have never lived it down.

So kids, what's the best thing you ever bought for someone you love? C'mon, do tell!

Shower the people you love with love........

show them the way that you feel -- Shower The People -- James Taylor -- 1976


I survived the work extravaganza, although I refuse to comment on the state of my mental health as a result of being forced to work for 2 entire days!!!! The horrors! I thought I was having a near death experience while sitting at my computer looking at the evil data, but then I realized it was probably just screen glare.

On to a new day.

I finally got around to taking a closer look-see at one of my Christmas gifts. It was from the Princess, and it was something I had expressed interest in after seeing a piece on the Sunday Morning Show hosted by the asexual and oddly bow-tie-clad Charles Osgood.


The gift was this little CD compilation of ditty's:




And here is a brief description of what the CD is:

http://www.billboard.com/bbcom/news/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1002691275

I started to listen to it today and it's pretty amusing. Raunchy and ribald. Not a soundtrack for Disney's Pirates Of The Carribean fans in any way. I'm liking it a lot and I'm only up to track 6.

So, as I was humming along to a pirate song about lost fuckin' limbs, I got to thinking about some of my other favorite gifts over the years. Things that really rang my chimes, so to speak ( more about that later---stay tuned, I promise it will be worth the wait).

When I was really young, there was a stuffed dog, a bloodhound-y type thing that I saw in the W T Grant store. I don't know why I loved it, but I did, and I was so good all year that Santa brought it to me for Christmas. I was about 5. I named the dog Sherlock and I still have him to this day. Those long stuffed ears held many tears and secrets.

Then, there was the doll furniture set. All pink ( because that was the only color it came in ....NOT because I like pink! I'm not girly that way.) It was a bassinet and changing table -- exact miniature replicas of the real things. I loved baby dolls when I was a kid.

Speaking of:

There was baby Chrissy, who's hair grew when you yanked on her scalp. I got her when I was about 7. Good ole' Santa came through again. Anyone remember Chrissy?

She obviously remembers you. She's waving! Happy, happy Chrissy. Until I chopped her hair off to make her Baby Christopher. I think himmer stopped waving after my scissoring job.

Then, there was the bike. A bike like no other. Such a rare and beautiful bike that I cannot even find a picture of it when I Google. It was a Huffy bike. A BMX bike! I was 9 and had officially hit my true-tomboy stage. It was black and shiny and rugged and tough looking. It had knobby tires and suspension under the seat. It was definitely a boys bike as my nether regions would so painfully learn a few months later when I crashed into a stationary object and slammed said regions onto the cross-bar. Hard. Can we say " bruised for weeks?"

There were also cool birthday gifts. A much-coveted set of tickest to see a sold out Fleetwod Mac concert when I was 13. They had just released this a few weeks earlier:



Another cool set of concert tickets to see Peter Gabriel after the release of this:



Undoubtedly one of the best concerts I have EVER seen, and I have seen a lot.

However, probably the best gift I ever got was from my Mom for my 28th birthday. A gift certificate for a tattoo. My first, as it turned out, of many.

From the time I was about 14, she would ask every year " so, whaddya want for your birthday", to which my smartass self would reply " a tattoo". She would shake her head sadly and walk away, thinking of all the lovely robes and underwear and sweaters to be purchased.

Except, for reasons still unknown to me, she decided to grant my wish on my 28th birthday. That tattoo is on my right ankle.....a Claddagh in green and yellow and black. Sort of similar to this:

I have gone on to add 5 more to the collection, and soon hope to add another.....one I have wanted for about 3 years but have been unable to scrape up the artist or the funds. It is this photo:



Hopefully, this will be etched on my body in the next few months, in time to show it off to my friends when I meet them at the Westminster Dog Show, the source of another fantastic gift. The Princess got me Westminster tickets 3 years ago, and I am now a full-blown addict.

Finally, a gift that cannot be overlooked. For my 40th birthday, my family was looking for something unique, different, out of the norm. They asked what I wanted and I told them. Honestly. And they gave it to me.

Here it is in all it's glory. My 40th birthday gift:

For my 50th, I'm asking for a mental health vacation.

PS: Tomorrow's post----the story alluded to above. "Ring my chimes".

This is the working hour........

We are paid by those who learn by our mistakes -- The Working Hour -- Tears For Fears -- 1985

I have been busy on a project at work. Imagine that shit. They actually expect me to work for a living! Crazy.

This project has a timeline that I've rather effectively blown off for the past few weeks. I was busy shopping and Blogging and reading and worrying about all the work that needed to get done. I'm smart like that.

Gimmee a break. I can't do it all.

So now the deadline looms large and my fat ass is in high gear to get it done. Even if it kills me. I start off my day okey-dokey. By midday, I look something like this:

I get a second wind after lunch, but by the end of 8 hours, it all takes a turn for the ugly and I am left like this:



BTW, do you like my shorty-shorts? I hear they're all the rage in the workplace these days.

Please, I am begging you. Please, please, send:

I've had a hole in my heart for so long.......

I've learned to fake it and just smile along -- Iggy Pop -- Candy -- 1990

How's everyone? Survived New Year's revelry? Mired in useless resolutions? Sick of family and cheeriness and decorations and post-Christmas -debt blues?

Good. Just checkin' to make sure we're all here.

New Year's Eve was a bust---as expected. Apparently, the Princess had a fairly successful visit with 'the fam", although she couldn't get a moments peace to whisper the info to me on the phone. I'll have to get all the gory details tonight once she gets back to her apartment.

At the Avalon homefront, nothing much. I managed to stay up and watch the ball drop. I was oddly fascinated by Dick Clark's stubborn refusal to make his countdown match the official ball drop countdown. Seacrest and the rest of the metro's were on 11, 10, 9..........Dick was on 13, 12, 11.......

Somebody has to fess up to the old guy that he's just not cuttin' it anymore. I am as sympathetic as the next guy about various and sundry devastating medical conditions. I mean, I work with OLD PEOPLE for a living, so I know all about strokes. But c'mon! When you are a TV or radio announcer as a profession.......in front of skillions of people......on New Year's Eve...........you need to be able to speak comprehensibly or give up the act. It was kinda like watching a rerun of Weekend At Bernie's.

Otherwise, not much to say about New Year's. As I mentioned before, it's not a holiday I have much use for to begin with, and then....... there's the memories. Old memories. New Year's Eve is the birthday of someone I used to love. Someone who not only broke my heart, but crushed it into the ground after it fell out of my chest. And then apologized. And then came back. And then ripped out the supporting organs and smashed them to smithereens. And then left again.

Someone I loved more than anyone I have ever loved before ( man-wise). Someone, if truth be told, that I still love to this very day. Although no one knows that except me and my very closest Blog buddies.

You won't tell, will you?

I truly have never recovered from this someone. It's been a LOT of years. A LOT. And my heart is still broken over him.

Yeah, yeah, blah,blah,blahdefuckinblah. I know. Let it go. Give up the ghost. MOVE ON!

Easier said than done.

So, New Year's Eve. No fuckin' party for me in more ways than one.