Just when I thought my tough love methods of getting my mother in law to stop offering me cast off crap were working, she strikes again, only this time, she called with a list of food, and I use the term loosely, that the Russians didn't eat during their 2 week stay.  For those of you just joining us, the Russians are my hubby's brother's 3 small daughters.  The Russians and their inept parents were out for a visit because, as far as I can deduce from the amount of time that my brother in law and his wife left the Russians in the care of my in-laws to go out and live like people without  children, they have already had my mother in law fly to New York to baby sit enough this year. 

  Velveeta! Yes,that's what I was here to rant about, sorry.  My train of thought derailed once again. Ok, so what does a strained obligatory visit with Russians have to do with anything, you ask?  This morning my mother in law called to list off the items in her refrigerator and pantry that she procured at the request of my idiot sister in law.  The conversation went as follows:

M.I.L. :  "I have some things that Julie left here and I was wondering if you want them?  Do your kids eat those GoGurt yogurt tubes?"

me: "No"

M.I.L:  "What? Why not?"

me: "because they are loaded with refined sugar and food dye"

M.I.L. "Oh, well, ok.  What about goldfish crackers?  I know your kids are older, but they still eat those, right?"

me: "Well I just bought them some natural baked cheese crackers yesterday, so thanks anyway"  (I'm attempting to be civil at this point. Is it working?)

M.I.L.  "Ok, well I have some Velveeta left over too, you want that?" 

ok, the attempt at being civil just came to a screeching halt as I answer, "OH MY GOD NO! VELVEETA ISN'T EVEN A CHEESE.  IT'S CHEESE THAT COMES IN A BOX AND DOESN'T NEED REFRIGERATION.  IT'S WRONG!! WRONG ON SO MANY LEVELS!"

     As you might have noticed, I have very strong feelings against Velveeta.  I am not sure why it's sold for anything other than fishing bait and the only people I know of that eat it,  prefer it slapped between two pieces of nutritionally void white bread to be washed down with YooHoo while enjoying the solitude of a folding aluminum chair on a scrap of astro-turf outside their double wide trailer.  One might think that my tirade against the evils of something that says, "processed cheese food" on the box would have deterred her from offering anymore refrigerator rejects.  You would be wrong.

M.I.L. :  "I love Velveeta.  Well, I have two partially full bottles of juice here too, how about I bring those to you?"

me:  "I just bought juice yesterday, my fridge is full, but thank you" (see, attempting once again to be civil.  Is it working now?)

M.I.L. : "Ok, I'll just keep them in mine for you until you have room."

     At this point I am beginning to stutter in a weak attempt at keeping a red hot flaming streak of trucker profanity from scorching my mother in law through the phone lines.  My hubby is sitting behind me through all of this laughing as he watches my whole body begin to tense up.  What is wrong with this woman that the idea of throwing out what amounts to less than a whole bottle worth of juice, a bag of crackers that 3 grubby toddlers have been eating straight out of, some chemical laden artificially flavored and colored yogurt tubes and the atrocity that is Velveeta is something she can't wrap her tiny brain around?  It's used food for fuck's sake!! 

My final response was, "Seriously, that isn't necessary, and if you love Velveeta, why don't you just eat it yourself?"  To which she replied, "well, it's just not that healthy for me".

    Sure, crazy woman, by all means, offer it to my children then.  FUCK!! 

That is all. I'm done ranting.  Thank you for listening again.

   Well, have I got the place for you!!  This is one of my favorite places to shop, in fact, I think I'll make a stop there tomorrow on my way down to San Diego.  Let me know if there's anything I can pick up for you while I'm there, at the store, not in San Diego.  By the way, the hubby is on vacation again this week.  I guess sometimes there are perks to having a union job, like 4 weeks paid vacation.  How do I organize a mother's union?  Anyone want to join me?  Could you imagine if we slave at home moms got 4 weeks a year away from our jobs AND we got paid.  Ok, that would be assuming we got paid anything at all.  Nevermind.   I have been listening to the peaceful and soothing sounds of HALO being played on X-Box 360 for the last hour, my brain is addled.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make a shopping list for my trip tomorrow!! 

    Feel free to do my birthday shopping at the above linked store, in case donating to my Corvette fund isn't in your budget.  I'm easy to please (hee hee)...Now go forth and shop!  That's an order!! I do love to be bossy, in case you hadn't noticed.  Damn, I'm still here....ok, now I'm really going, Coming? No, going first, coming later. Yes, that's it.

     Two was definitely two too many episodes with which to torture my poor eyes and ears.  While I respect Kat Von D's talents as an artist and a tattoo artist, I simply cannot spend one more episode being subjected to her lock jawed low I.Q.'d "like totally, like sure, gnarly, you know, like, rad, like, whatever, let's rock, dude, like, like, like..." way of speaking, if speaking is what that could be called?  It's painful, truly it is, plus it perpetuates the rest of the world's mistaken assumptions that we Californians all communicate in this way, which is one small evolutionary step up from grunting and knuckle dragging.   

     Being one of the rare and elusive second generation native Californians, I can assure you that in my 37 misspent years here, I have never had a face to face conversation with a person affected with this speech impediment.  I have a girlfriend who, back when we were in Junior High, took to saying "like" after, or before, and often in between nearly every word.  This drove me to violence, but before accidentally shutting her head into a locker, I tried a different approach.  One day we went out to do whatever it is that 13 year olds do and I decided to repeat the word like back to her each time she said it.  That was all it took to break her of that nasty habit, and now some 24 years later, I can honestly say that she has remained "like totally valley speak" free.  She was HEALED...can I get a RA-VEN! 

   Back to Kat Von Dee dee dee and the cast of L.A. Stink, I mean Ink, sorry.  Of the 3 other artists she has begged, borrowed or blown to bring to her little shop of whores, the two women from Chicago are the only two I would let get near enough to me to so much as give me a quote on my next tattoo(s).  The guy she has brought in is, I'm certain, a fine tattoo artist himself, but it seems his speciality runs more towards the masculine black and grey works, not really my shot of rum.  I like my tattoos to be a riot of colors, just like me!  After tonight's episode, I can see that the endless ass numbingly dull sob stories that halted my viewing of Miami Ink, at least with the sound on anyway, are now plaguing Los Angeles.  Apparently one must have, or at least fabricate, some tear jerk off story about the symbolism behind their tattoos.  Everyone has their story, I know this and I'm not trivializing their plight, but seriously, I just want to see someone with a marginal command of the English language walk in and present their idea for a tattoo, without the drama.  Oh! That just gave me a wicked idea!  I think perhaps the next time my mother is down visiting, I'll give her some sample lipstick to try on and then blot on a tissue.  Then I can take that lip print to the tattoo shop and have it tattooed on my ass and when they ask what the symbolic meaning of the lips are, I can tell them that I just wanted my mother to always be kissing my ass. 

   At least Miami Ink had some nice eye candy with Ami James and Chris Nunez, but since I am not a man, it's true, I'm not, I don't derive much joy from watching an excessively and haphazardly tattooed badly dressed ignoramus clod around on her hideous Frankenstein platform shoes whilst making a mockery of the English language.  Thank you Kat, thank you for letting the world think that the tattooed women of Southern California are all a mindless group of celebrity chasing whores who will do most anything to have our 15 minutes of fame.  While I do appreciate it, I just won't need to see how the rest of the season unfolds.  Best of luck to you!

    The cool breeze from the fan is blowing across my bare legs, not because it's particularly warm, but mostly because I'm too lazy to walk to the other side of the room to turn it off.  It has been said that the noise from a fan is white noise but tonight, it's more like the whirring of helicopter blades echoing in a deep canyon.  The television has been put out of my misery with the realization that I pay for the privilege of 10,000 channels offering me a plentitude of nothing to watch.  The book that has captured my attention for the last week sits closed next to my thigh and my laptop is resting comfortably on my lap, the warmth being a delightful contradiction to the chilled air swirling around me.  It's only 9:20? It feels much later.

   For the last few months inspiration has been nonexistent, in regards to matters of a blog entry sort.  Summer's warmth inspires me to take flight, being solar powered and all, perhaps I'm just storing up sunlight for winter?  Maybe inspiration will also strike me when the temperatures drop below 60 and once again I determine that I am freezing to death. That book next to my thigh beckons me again.  It's only 9:40 now, time seems to be standing still today, or is it hiding alongside my inspiration?

    Whew!  I'm back!  Well, ok, you caught me, I wasn't really gone, technically, but I wasn't around as much.  I'm sure no one really noticed my absence last week and some people may have gone so far as to relax their sphincters and, dare I say, celebrate.  Celebrate me being gone, not their sphincters relaxing, although, no, never mind, I'm getting off topic again.  So, where was I?  I'd tell you to guess, but I have learned that guessing games are only fun if played in the presence of actual humans, well I suppose most of you are actual humans.  This is fun, isn't it? 

     I needed a new paragraph to get my train of thought back on track. I now return you to my roundabout way of telling you what I've been up to.   It should be common knowledge amongst my friends, enemies, and stalkers that I have been studying karate for the last year, yes?  Are we all still conscious and upright?  Conscious at least? Good.  On July 29, in preparation for my upcoming test, I spent 5 hours training with various blackbelts in my form.  Oh, not me alone, it was the Thuper Thummer Theminar, hode on, leth me juth finith thith thucker.  Sorry, I just love to suck.  My son and I were training at our annual Super Summer Seminar on Sunday Sunday Sunday!!! 5 hours of intensive karate training in a local high school gymnasium with some 200 other students from all over the world AND the Shihan of our form, in the heat, with no a/c. Yeah, that's right, we're hard core!  We sweated, we perfected our katas, sweated, sparred, learned new throws (not like a girl either!), got thrown down several times on the hard wood floor, violated a dozen different ways, I see you are still paying attention, sweated, sparred against blackbelts, sweated, learned to make an origami cup, sweated and then, after a full day of rigorous training in the art of Shito Ryu Genbu Kai....we were broken into teams of 10 for a race that would make most folk's bodies collapse from sheer muscle fatigue.  Why would I subject my 37 year old body to this?  Because yesterday, I was up at our main dojo testing in front of a group of blackbelts (who's sole purpose was to watch every move I made and pick it to bits) hoping that they decide I am now worthy of a green belt.    GREEN BELT!!  That will move me just 2 belts away from my ultimate goal in all of this brutal training and physical punishment, and what I learn in karate too.  BLACK BELT!!  Hai Ya!  Ooooh, please forgive me, I got a tad excited just then.  Let me just pull my panties back on and we'll continue. 

     When I started karate last year, I just wanted to have something to do  that was just for me.  Many people would not find an activity that utilizes your entire body, mind and spirit while simultaneously  wondering if the parts of you that were just beaten to a bruised pulp will ever feel right again as their first choice.  Run on sentence...wheeeee!!  Some women play bunco, some crochet, some cackle and cluck, some do yoga, but that's just not me.  I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie and at the end of the day, I need a much more interactive (violent) way to burn off my pent up aggression.  What better way then to learn martial arts? 

    So now you know not only why I have been sporadic in my visiting and blogging.  I almost blamed my bitchiness on the stress surrounding this test, but who am I fooling? I can be bitchy any time.  It's one of the many services I offer!  The test results will be given to us on August 15.  I'm not expressing a wish in any direction as I don't want to influence the Matrix's decision.

    Let's change subjects instead?  Yay! One month from today is my 38th birthday.  I am only asking the birthday fairy for one thing, you might want to get together and pool your money for this, unless one of you wants to step up and be my sugar daddy? Anyone?  I'll let you think it over, you do have an entire month.  Here's a photo of what I'd like to find....

the car, silly, not the windows in front of it!

Thank you in advance!!

     Squishy, gray, malleable and fun for about 10 seconds.  Just like a lot of people in the world.  The yes men and team players many know and just as quickly forget.  Generally describing themselves as reliable, constant, flexible and willing to please; the types that love to be part of a team, group, club, fraternity or sorority to avoid thinking for themselves or risk taking the blame for failure. Sure, to some those are traits worth possessing, to those of us who are blessed with the ability to express ourselves in a myriad of ways without the use of quotes, poetry or any the eloquently written words that can be credited to others, it is just sad.  I'm not knocking the famous words or expression of people with the forward thinking to jot their thoughts down and publish them, there are many great works throughout history that need to be shared, it's those that rely heavily on other's words to make their point instead of forming an original thought that just sicken me.  Just as pathetic are the people who beg, borrow or buy clothing in a style that is not their own thinking they will stand out or impress someone. Ludicrous! What makes someone think that by performing that time dishonored ritual of puckering up to the posteriors of the ones with the power indicates to said decision makers that you are anything other than a chameleon?   This behavior is reminiscent of the fans that dressed like the band they were seeing in concert, the girls that changed their musical tastes to suit those of their boyfriend du jour, the people that consult consumer reports before making a purchase and the mindless folks that choose their movies, restaurants, music or books based on the critic's reviews.  I just remembered something, when you mash silly putty down on a picture, the gray blob picks up that image when you peel it off.  Is that too extreme a punishment for putty people?  I don't think so.   

THINK FOR YOURSELF, USE YOUR OWN WORDS, BE AN INDIVIDUAL!!