The Wabbit Did Not Die

Nope, was just busy. Not too busy to sit down and write a little bit, but to be honest, on my list of Things To Do, it was kind of towards the bottom. It’s been a week of fun stuff. Yep. Fun stuff.

  • The water pipes that lay under our front yard broke. Because of that, the entire street was without water for 27 hours, while these poor guys worked—through the night and in the rain—to get it fixed. They’d fix one leak, and another would spring up. When they were done, they’d fixed 5 leaks.

  • Spouse Thingy got sick. Not just a garden variety cold or tummy ache; he was curled up in a painful ball on the bed, feverish and nauseous, not able to eat anything or drink much for 2 days. But he’s much better now.

  • I got tons of work done on some projects. ’Boxer Shorts is nearing completion—just waiting for contributing authors to get their proof corrections to me before I set it in a final layout. Today I’m mailing a publishing agreement to all of them. The end of March I’ll order a block of ISBN numbers (waiting until then because, honestly, I don’t have the money to get them right now.) I expect to send the book to print by April 15th.

  • Progress was made on my own book. Writing this chapter was particularly difficult because I had to (spoiler for those who have read the last two books) kill someone off. It was sad. I surprised myself by getting choked up when I went back and read what I’d written.

  • Saw 2 movies; Daredevil and How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days. Both decent flicks.

  • Most importantly, I went on a hunt for the elusive Frostless Blueberry Pop Tart and was successful.

Happy last day of February.
And Happy Birthday to my sister Kathy!
And a sort of Happy Birthday to great-niece Kaitlyn, who turns 7, but was born on Feb 29th, so she really gets screwed out of her Real Birthday most years…


The Windmills Of My Mind

Shortly after I filed for a business license, I started getting “offers” from various banks to apply for a line of credit; now, this is an Essential Business Item, as much of what I do will require having a credit or debit card. On the whole, I’d rather use a credit card simply for the liability protection. So I read these offers carefully, because at some point I will need to apply for a card.

Now, these banks got my company name and address from the state, obviously. They know it’s a new business. Yet on nearly every application is a little box asking how much money the business makes every year.

Well now. I don’t really know that yet. I won’t officially launch until April, so all I really have right now is outgo, not income. You think they’d realize this and create a whole new application for Brand Spanking New Businesses.


I don’t think there’s any question about it: we’re going to war sooner or later.

No one wants war, not even those who support the effort. In the end, everyone wants peace, but some believe that the road to Greater Peace is war.

I don’t know what to believe.

I do know that to me it feels as if this war is being shoved down our collective throats without any apparent justification. It feels as if our Esteemed President is posturing, whipping up the Cowboy Mentality and poking his finger in the faces of our allies, trying to bully them into going “our” way. Even if there is good reason to go into Iraq, he’s alienating those with whom we must cooperate by his actions.

That said, I haven’t been given a Really Good Reason why anyone, much less my Active Duty Spouse, should gear up and head for a war. I keep hearing thinly veiled references to the events of 9/11, but nothing to substantiate a connection between Iraq and Al Quaeda. It just seems like Bush wants to use 9/11 as a reason to go into Iraq; if they’re not connected, then it’s a piss-poor reason. If they are connected, we need to know, and we need real facts, not rhetoric.

I also realize there are probably things, because of National Security, that we can’t know. But we definitely need some really good reasons to support a war with anyone, and I’m just not hearing any.

But I wonder… and I don’t really know what to believe.

I’m ready for spring.

The snow was nice, all white and fluffy and pretty, but I’m ready for warmer weather. I want to decorate the yard, plant flowers, grow nice, thick, lush grass.

That’s as in a lawn, peoples.
Not that kind of grass.

Well, not that I’ll admit to.

Send warmth.


White Stuff Redux

You gotta admit, it sure is pretty.
We got 9 inches night before last, a couple more during the day yesterday, and they predict 5-10 more today. It’s a pain in the ass, it’s crippled the county, but it is definitely pretty.

One picture here to admire, and a few more on a web page.



We had plans for Valentine’s Day, we really did. For once the Spouse Thingy had the whole freaking day off, which meant that we would be able to see the very first showing on the very first day of a brand new movie, after which we would find other things to do, and then go out to an early dinner (early because I, having a few brain cells left, was not going to brave a restaurant after 5 pm on Valentine’s Day.

This was sweet… made even better by him not having to work the weekend, or even Monday. Four days of no work, and Fun Stuff to do.

Then we saw the 5 pm news Thursday evening, and began to doubt our plans.
Then we saw the 6 pm news, and doubted even more.

By the 11 pm news, we figured we’d better scrap the plans and stay home. Every freaking station was predicting an ice storm to hit the area around 11 am, and it sounded nasty. Rush to the store and buy bread and milk nasty. We’d just done commissary shopping, so we were all right on that front—no standing in long lines to buy food to last the weekend. We could stay home and be nice and toasty warm.

By 4 pm yesterday we were curing the weather people. It was cloudy all day, but no ice. No snow. We could have at least gone to the movie. Probably even dinner.

It started sometime yesterday evening; by the time the storm front hit it was cold enough that what hit was all snow. THEY said we’d get about 3 inches of it.

We got 9.
And more is coming.


For once we had plans, dammit! Those plans did not include shoveling the driveway off today, just to make sure there wasn’t too much to shovel off tomorrow. They sure as heck didn’t include standing in the driveway with the neighbors, staring up at the roof, wondering when the snow was going to slide off and bury the front porch, and quite possibly my car.

Yet… this is our fault. We know this. We have brought the wrath of Our Stupid Bad Weather Luck to the Dayton area, and everyone else has to suffer.

Sorry, Daytonites.


File This Under TMI

You just don't realize how much you pee in 24 hours until you have to collect it all in one jug.


Here, Have A Bite…

Evidently, there’s a vampire on the lose in Dayton. Being that I’m night blind, I’ll probably never run into him, seeing as how we’re on polar opposites of the outside-wanderings thing. I have to be home before 6 p.m. (if I’m out alone) these days—it starts getting dark around 6:15. I’m sure he can’t go outside until 6:30 or so. That gives me a half hour window of safety.

Of course, if he’s anything like the vampires on Port Charles, he has some mystical, magical water he can drink to make himself impervious to the dangerous of being a vampire in daylight. He’d also avoid the pesky hunger pangs that seem to go with being a vampire… you know, the gut wrenching, agonizing torture that makes those neat little fangs appear. No, of course I never watch that show. I work diligently during the day.

Just like I never, ever get online during the day and surf a part of it away.

But, if you’re in or near Dayton, keep your eyes peeled. You never know when you might be on the receiving end of a bad case of the munchies.


Pass The Soap

Apparently, in my last blog entry, I said the word shitload. And apparently, some people don't like the word shitload and feel I should refrain from typing the word shitload lest I offend my readers. All three of you.

Well, yes, I sometimes have a potty mouth and shitload is a term that often tumbles from my lips, and whilst I type, from my fingers. In real terms, I don't know how one goes about measuring a shitload, but I'm sure it's a significant amount, and, well, shitload is just an appropriate term for a significant amount of... whatever.

However, in the interests of those who find the word shitload inappropriate and offensive, I shall refrain from typing shitload in my blog, and see to it that shitload is instead an implied term. And I offer warning to those who find the word shitload offensive to not read either of my books, nor my forthcoming one, as shitload is probably found somewhere in each of the tomes, as well as other colorful words such as fuck, fucking, and motherfucker. As well as an occasional goddamn.

So, yes, shitload shall henceforth be banned from this blog.
Until I say it again, of course.
No mo' shitload.


Holy Thunder Thighs, Batman!

I wanna go to fat camp.
Yep. Fat Camp.

While avoiding anything that resembled work today, I channeled surfed onto MTV while they were running something called “True Life.” This one followed a group of teens (and a 23 year old) during six weeks at fat camp. Nope, not being politically incorrect; they were pulling any punches, they called it fat camp.

Damn, they looked like they were having fun. For six weeks these kids had a shitload of things to do, from Tae Bo to water skiing to tennis—all physical activities, sure, but it looked like fun.. The kind of fun you don’t get slogging through a workout on your own, trying not to cry from the terminal boredom of a treadmill or elliptical trainer. The kind of fun we had as kids, when it wasn’t working out, but playing.

I wanna go.

I’m sure there are fat camps for adults, but being adults, we wouldn’t want to call it that. I suppose they’re called “spas” or something equally nice. And I suppose they’re not nearly as much fun, more working out and very little playing. And I’m willing to bet they’re hellaciously expensive.

I probably just spelled hellaciously wrong.

There’s about 80 pounds of ugly body fat clinging to my frame that I’d like to lose. And I want to have fun doing it. Six to twelve weeks at camp sounds like a great way to go about it. No worries about being home to feed and drug the dog, clean the cat box, do dishes and laundry and vacuuming… Just a whole bunch of playing tennis and hiking, taking a Tae Bo class here and there. Eat what someone else cooks for me.

Yeah. I wanna go to fat camp.


There Are No Words…

Just this last week there was a discussion on WWDN about where we were when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded. None of us could have ever predicted anything remotely close would happen just 4 days later.

Most of us were aware, I’m sure, that the Columbia was up there; most of us probably assumed they would come home safely.

There are already people online scoffing and sneering, asking what the big deal is; they point out that more people die in car accidents every day, declare it to not be much of a tragedy. After all “only” seven people died.

If you don’t get it, I truly feel sorry for you.
If you don’t get it, you probably never will.

High Flight
by John Gillespie McGee, Jr.
No. 412 Squadron, RCAF

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds--and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of--wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.