We may or may not be embracing our personal energy

I'm new to social networking and social media. New to blogging. All of it. From an outsider's perspective, it's one giant fascinating ball of wax. Like sitting at the foot of a table watching a cross-section of society play Monopoly and fight over who gets the thimble while others scramble for a seat. Here's what I've observed over the last couple of days, and my pointless ruminations and blather about it all, contained in the form of a series of run-on sentences and inappropriately placed commas, sure to set Holly Jahangiri's frontal vein a'bulging.

• Sometimes people create lists that contain mentions of other people. Those mentioned on the lists are happy, but those not mentioned are hurt and often feel betrayed. Why then do people devise such lists? And why do people continue to care about them? Why are people who create such lists often catapaulted to the top of social networking strata if they aren't already there? For the same reason Rob and Amber were so successful on Survivor. They were leaders, and others thought them untouchable. Also, because in the world of social networking people rely on other people to spread the word about them, and to make introductions. To get a nod of approval from a big cheese in the world of social networking can send flocks of followers one's way. Why is this a good thing? Exposure. To promote your brand. And for some, to quote the big N.D.:
  "But I got an emptiness deep inside
  And I've tried
  But it won't let me go
  And I'm not a man who likes to swear
  But I never cared
  For the sound of being alone'"
  


• There is a lot of resistance out there to positivity. There are a lot of life coaches on Twitter and Facebook. A lot of people telling other people how to use Twitter and Facebook. How to present themselves. How to express themselves. How to "be". There are people making a living this way. I don't mind them myself. For the most part, they are a harmless bunch. And is it really such a bad thing to be around people who encourage us to stop wallowing in our own muck and self-pity, embrace our energy and our personal power and just GO FOR IT? I suppose it is if you're not the go for it type. Some would do well to drop their wall of jokes and listen to what they have to say. Being happy is okay. Happiness and positivity are not tantamount to idiocracy. But all people weren't meant to be energetic and perky. Just because one is low key and expresses him or herself with a quiet and sardonic wit or a dark seriousness does not mean they are not embracing their energy. Some dance to the beat of a different drummer. Any attempt to alter them is, in my opinion, a crime against nature.


• There are posers among us. Or poseurs. Or possers. Depends on the observer calling out the poser. What is a poser you ask? I have no idea. If you know, please tell me. I am so out of the loop. But posers or poseurs or poosers are apparently supposed to be blackballed on one's Twitter, or Friend Feed, and we're not supposed to Digg posers. Don't even think about Friending them on Facebook. Why? Apparently posing is anti-social. Unless it's in a cute hat.


• We may or we may not be dillweeds. If we tell other people what to do, it's likely that we are dillweeds. I'm starting to suspect that being a dillweed is not a good thing. I'm starting to suspect that I may even be a dillweed. Some people don't get the tongue-in-cheekness of my "How to be a Woman" blog title, and think that I am positioning myself as an authority. To anyone who actually reads my blog, this is laughable and couldn't be farther from the truth. The whole point of this blog is that I haven't a clue how to be a real woman. I am an apprentice. I'm on the path, not the path. I admit that I am a big jerk who is flailing around, trying to learn how to be happy, how to be strong and steady and do right by the family I love. I'm going to get there somday. And I'm perfectly alright with being a dillweed. I like pickles better than cukes anyway.


• Twitter is addicting. There are so many fascinating people out there. I really, truly mean that. They're out there, and they are actually willing to communicate with you. There are talented artists, writers, singers, comedians, business moguls, you name it, right there on your Twitter screen. Right there at your fingertips. Where else are you going to be presented with the opportunity to communicate with such incredible people first-hand? At this point, I would argue nowhere. Not like this. Not this instantly gratifying. And if you're nice to them, they have to be nice to you. Heh. Because if the rest of their followers should witness them being a jerk to you without provocation, then they're likely to hear about it. You've got them over a barrel. Ain't it cool? Note to self: Do not become obsessed with losing followers. Those who matter don't mind, and those who mind don't matter. (Thanks, Annette.) Just be yourself, have a blast, and let the chips fall where they may. Note to self: Spend less time on Twitter and more time with your kids and your projects. Note to self: A little Tweeting is perfectly okay.

Signing off,
Dillweed in California

Women know that stuff is just stuff

The Bitter Half just brought me the latest (12/22/08) issue of Newsweek and pointed out Anna Quindlen's latest "The Last Word" editorial called "Stuff is Not Salvation". He knows that I feel the same way and was thinking that I might want to blog about it. Am I a lucky woman or what? Thanks, Mr. Snugglepants.

"The drumbeat that accompanied Black Friday this year was that the numbers had to redeem us, that if enough money was spent by shoppers it would indicate that things were not so bad after all. But what the economy required was at odds with a necessary epiphany. Because things are dire, many people have become hesitant to spend money on trifles. And in the process they began to realize that it's all trifles."

"... he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we week out things to covet? ... We begin by coveting what we see every day ... don't your eyes seek out the things you want?"

There you have it. We are in the midst of a period of enlightenment. Due to economic necessity and the cyclical nature of things, more and more of us are starting to "get" the mentality of the generations of Americans that came before us. Credit is evil (think Lindsey Lohan). Idle hands do the devil's work (think Lindsey Lohan). Less is more (think Lindsey Lohan). Self-indulgence is wrong (think Lindsey Lohan). Waste not, want not (think - okay, you get it).

We're beginning to feel a little foolish and to wonder how and why we ever consumed so conspicuously. When I was making a lot of money and had few expenses, I used to go shopping all the time. Malls, discount stores, boutiques. When I wasn't out shopping, I was in shopping on eBay and Amazon. I saved nothing. And you know what? I can't think of one thing I purchased during that period that I still have today, that I still use or value. Not one thing. I've moved a few times, so what wasn't loved or useful went to charity or friends. What a sobering thought. Nothing that I purchased was loved or useful. It was a massive, pathetic, orgy of waste. None of my purchases filled the deepening hole inside me for longer than an instant. One might even speculate that they added fuel to my fire. I picture myself back then and see flashes of credit cards, last minute eBay sniping, back rooms piling with stuff. Sitting in the dark buying more and more, lonely and wasted like a flaming oil field off in the distance.

I wasn't trying to be better than anyone else by amassing so many useless things. I was shooting for par. I thought if I wore the right suit, had the right jewelry, the right shoes with no scuffs, the right fake highlighted hair, the right fake nails, and a good enough fake tan to hide the fullness in my thighs that I could sit down with the rest of you and not feel ashamed and unworthy. It was a losing battle when fought with things. A battle that was better fought by loving so deeply that everything around me melted and fell away until all that existed was love. Children can do that for a person.

How can we further quell our desire to amass? To keep up with the Joneses? The problem is complex, and I don't think there is one answer. I'm one of the worst offenders myself and need some re-schoolin'. But we can start by working together and walking the talk. Why is it so important to work together? To quote Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs (yeah yeah I know, just hear me out lol):

"... he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we week out things to covet? ... We begin by coveting what we see every day ... don't your eyes seek out the things you want?"

We watch television. HGTV to be specific. And we see twenty year olds buying massive, gorgeous first homes. We see all manner of people remodeling and "upgrading" their homes, ridding themselves of counter tops that aren't cookie-cutter granite, throwing out anything that does not fit the current and very specific ideal. We see real estate appraisers curling their lips with disgust and pointing and gasping and telling us that our homes, which look so much like those in the "before" scenes, are all wrong and even pitiable, that they simply must be changed and be changed NOW. We feel shame.

We watch The Food Network and see Giada, a professional chef who is a size negative zero, whose curiously large head is always perfectly coiffed, her upgraded nose and cleavage gleaming with perfection. Out of the corners of our eyes we catch our husbands innocently gazing at the television and we feel inferior. Everything about us is wrong. Don't our husbands deserve better? Time for an expensive gym membership. Better run out and buy new cooking gadgets, the most expensive virgin olive oils and serving platters, and lots of hair spray. Aren't the men we love worth it?

We are flooded with images of gadgets and wazoozles. Images that bend us and twist us and fill us with a hunger for things. Because only these things, these very specific new things, will allow us to express ourselves and present ourselves in the desired manner, to create the lifestyle and feel of home that we desire. Only these things will make our children feel loved, our husbands valued and appreciated, only what that guy has will do for them. They see it, they want it, they must have it or I will have failed them. They are so wonderful they deserve only the best.

Time to rip the needle off the record, ladies. As long as we keep buying what they're selling they're going to keep dishing it out. Time to stop letting people with a vested interest in making us feel shame and less than we really are dictate our realities. I don't pretend to know the right way to proceed. For each of us it will be different. But I think a good place to start is by giving ourselves some breathing room. Time to take an inventory of our lives. Get rid of people and things that are not necessary, sentimental or useful. Think ten times before making a purchase. And if we really do need something, let's see if we can repurpose an item we already own, or find it used at a thrift store, or buy it used on Craig's List from a family who could really use the money, or handmade from a stay at home Mom.

And one more request: Please stop buying your kid those $200 designer jeans. She doesn't need them to be loved and accepted. By buying them for her you just might be feeding into her suspicion that she does. And if your daughter is wearing them, then my daughter just might see them and want them because she will want Jordan or Brent to think she's pretty too. And it will never end.

Women seek the greatest gifts

There are some days when the words just won't come. I stare at the screen wishing I could imprint my emotions upon it. But since I can't do that, which is probably for the best, I'm going to post a quote sent to me a couple of weeks ago by somebody special. (to the right)

"This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again."

~~~Howard W. Hunter

To my family—my nutty, wonderful, wacky family—I love you all so much. I am grateful to God for placing you near me down here on Earth. I shudder to think how I would have survived had I been set down in a wicked or unkind pasture. I know that many of you were and that you've managed to survive so that your gifts and your sweet souls may bring comfort, joy and inspiration to the lives and hearts of others. Please don't make the mistake of thinking that the magic and the hope and the promise of the best of life has passed you by.

To a dear old friend, thank you for your honesty and for taking that baby step.

Look and see how many beautiful flowers emerged from that bed of manure.

Women love Chrissy! (And Stinkerbell Accessories)

Stinkerbell Accessories designer Chrissy Gaynor and her beautiful family

I met my friend Chrissy at our iVillage expecting club back in 2006. She was carrying her youngest, Grace, and I had little Joe Joe swimming around in my belly. Chrissy is one of those people who is just cool. She's fun, drama-free, and friendly to everyone. When the fur was flying over there and hormones were raging because we were all ten months pregnant and ran out of pop tarts on the same day, Chrissy would come in with a "What the H*ll is going on here?" type of post and bring everybody back down to Earth. She's the real deal.

Chrissy has been a stay at home Mom extraordinaire for as long as I've known her. So when she told me she'd found something that she enjoyed and was good at, (besides oh I don't know, keeping her husband Pat happy, having and raising beautiful children, keeping a home, watching a friend's child and looking sickeningly good in a bikini), I was well and truly happy for her. She wanted to send me some headbands and only wanted me to pass out a card or two when people asked about them. I told her not to, because I didn't want her to suffer the expense, but she insisted. And I'm so glad she did!



Lily, who is almost six months old, just loved our photo session. She didn't get irritated the way she usually does when, God forbid, I try to put a cute hat or headband on her. In the pic up above, she is wearing the Carina.



Here she is sporting a new model similar to the Audrey found on Chrissy's pink page.



"Aren't I beeyootiful?" she seems to say as she mugs for the camera.



The headband is crocheted out of soft, satiny fabric. It stretches and fits like a charm, even on my baby daughter's head, but isn't too tight. Some headbands leave a red mark on her head, and when they do that they get tossed into the trash! Not Stinkerbell Accessories, though. They look great on older girls as well, as you can see in the photos of the flower headbands modeled by Chrissy's lovely daughter Grace and beautiful stepdaughter Jessica, both of whom are so special to Chrissy. I know because I've heard her brag about them for years. She has a very handsome young son named Brett as well, who I know appreciates not being asked to model a headband for posterity's sake.

From the About Us section of Stinkerbell Accessories:

Designer Chrissy Gaynor uses the daily inspirations she receives through the joy of raising her children, and interpreting their love of nature into hair accessories. She feels that the right accessory can not only change the entire look of an outfit, but can also transform the way one feels about herself. Whether these items are used casually, for fun, or for formal use, we hope that our accessories make each little girl feel as special as she truly is.

Go, Chrissy!

Stinkerbell Accessories
Chrissy Gaynor
(847) 383-5430
www.stinkerbellaccessories.com
stinkerbellaccessories@yahoo.com

Women sometimes have baby birthday meltdowns

It's Joe Joe's birthday. See? I can barely type that. I had a meltdown yesterday. Yes, it's true. Calm, cool, collected moi melted down like an ice cream cat cake on a hot tin roof. (Hey, I didn't sleep last night so it's the best I could come up with.) Other factors played into it of course, but when I started warbling about my son and his birfday mid-meltdown I knew I was in the throes of baby birthday angst.

It happened last year, too. Out of the blue I was sobbing and snapping at my family for not getting their butts out of their rooms to wish Joe a proper birthday. For not getting excited about watching Joe open his present. For not caring. For not feeling the magnitude of the magnocity of this day. Now did they care? Probably. Did that stop me from snapping like a twig? Nope. I didn't see it coming and was not prepared for it. My baby. ONE YEAR OLD. Joe Joe's birth was at that point the most significant event of my life. My love for my little Joseph Hunter brought me to my knees and made me feel fearful and powerless. I held my heart in my arms and looked down at him and told him that my life no longer belonged to me, that it belonged to him. I know now that that was a silly thing to say, but it's the way I felt at the time. I love him so much it rips me up inside.

Now he is TWO YEARS OLD. My baby boy. My beautiful, bright, curious and silly boy. My boy who will put Lily's binky back in her mouth after she drops it, then rock her in her bouncy chair. The boy who will hug for no reason, but not on command. The boy who sometimes refuses to look at you when you're talking to him but who takes in everything you say, as well as what you don't say. He is so sensitive, I just want to hold him and love him and keep the world at bay with curses and a torch. I know what's out there.

I'm going to go now and leave you with a poem that expresses how I feel. I'm crying again and all poofy and wet and I want to get myself together so I can be cheerful when Joe wakes up.

The Vow
By Carol Lynn Pearson

How could I hide you
From hate?
I would,
Though my arms break
With the trying.

Life leans in
At the window there,
With its bag
Of dark treasures
Trying for your eyes—
So utterly open,
so unaware.

You will see
Men smile over blood,
And you will know
There is hate.
You may see bombs
And butcheries,
And you will know
There is horror.

Against all this
What can I do?
Only vow
That before you
Leave my arms,
You will know
Past ever doubting
That there is
Love, too.

I love you Joseph Hunter.

Women just shake their heads

I'm not professing to be a brain child, nor am I any good at politickin'. But come on folks. What is up lately?

1. We've got the Governor of Illinois acting like he's suffering from Mad Cow disease. To his credit, at least he actually overtly looks and acts like a sociopath so we can pluck him out of our system, strap him to a raft, and point him in the direction of a waterfall. Unfortunately, since our political system is set up to reward shady back-door dealings, (as opposed to back-door dealings that are on the up and up), and since public policy is bought and sold, he's just a bleeding ulcer on a spetic system. What kind of nut wants to hold public office anyway? Why would anybody want such a thing for themselves and their family? What kind of person has the kind of spotless background it takes to get elected? The kind of person who isn't human. If you haven't made a lot of mistakes and learned from them, how can you be a wise leader? Our system is broken. Why do we allow lobbyists? Why is that even legal? What, it's okay for people to buy legislation? I don't remember voting on that one. Oh, and do you mean to tell us that nobody was aware of this nutcase and his dirty dealings before the 2008 Presidential Election? I don't appreciate having this type of information hidden from me in order to help shuffle a particular candidate into public office. That stinks worse than government cheese. We should have been informed so that we could make a better informed decision. Boo! Hiss!


2. What is up with ball players? First Plaxico's shooting himself in the thigh in a night club and now TO's at it again. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth the way these ball players are groomed from childhood to throw and catch and run, the way they have sweet smoke blown up their bottoms by everyone they encounter. The way they're bought and paid for and sold and re-sold like human chattel. The way we put up with all manner of crap from them because if you can catch a ball and run with it you can get away with rape and murder. I've had enough of bling bling and gun-toting and self-aggrandizing tough talk. I'd like to see a little more passion for the game, fair play, respect for players, coaches and fans. What about the little kids who look up to these guys and emulate their every move? We know this, but yet we turn the other way. Why? Is it so crazy to make these athletes sign morality clauses and make them stick to them? You mess up, then buh-bye!


3. Why is my shower never the correct temperature? It's always either too hot or too cold. Here's my showoral procedure. I turn on the hot knob and allow the water to go from cold to hot. Then I turn on the cold knob and try to net myself a stream of warmth. It's always still too hot, so I do the right thing to save water. Instead of turning up the cold knob, I turn down the hot. Does this work? No. It never works. Why not? I have no clue. It's always too hot or too cold. I can never ever find the sweet spot. Who cares, you say? I like hot showers you say. I turn them on my lower back and groan with pleasure. I'm with you on that. The rub is that I'm still nursing Lily and if water that hot gets within six inches of one of my boobs then letdown starts and I dribble milk all over myself and my towels when trying unsuccessfully to dry myself into a clean and unsticky state.

There's more, but I don't want to bitch too much all at once. God lets me do it in bits and pieces. If I go too far he starts to think of me as unappreciative of the blessings set before me, and a fool for focusing on things that don't really matter. Time to hug the babies, visit my Mom, and then come home and wait for my husband to arrive home safely. Ain't it cool? Have a good weekend!

P.S. Please pray for my friend Nicole. She and Eric will be married soon, and then he is off to Afghanistan for a year or so. Also, please pray for Nicole's best friend and his family. Her best friend was recently paralyzed in an accident right before his wedding. Light a candle for his recovery and remember that every day your family is around to irritate you is another blessing-filled day. Not that my family irritates me. More likely, it's the other way around. But I digress. Off to the races! Be well!

Women like Candy

I heard it today. "Candy" by Cameo. Each and every time I hear this song my mouth draws open in amazement. I raise my hands and shake my head and open my ears as wide as they will go, and just take in the sheer mastery and horror that is Larry Blackmon's voice, and the symphony of Godawfulness that is the song's lyrics.

I have a burrito theory. Let's suspend reality for a moment and imagine a situation or thing as a tortilla. One one end of the tortilla is blood-curdling badness like Rosie O'Donnell or John Basedow. On the other end is pure goodness like a baby kissing a chipmunk. Now wrap that tortilla up like a burrito. The two ends overlap and touch to become one entity. In this sweet spot you will find things so horrid they become terrific, and so terrific they become horrific. In this sweet spot you will find Larry Blackmon's vocal stylings. In this sweet spot you will find "Candy".

Here. Let me share the lyrics. To enable you to better comprehend my burrito theory, I've included my notes.

Artist: Cameo ~ Song: Candy

It's like candy
I can feel it when you walk What, Candy? You can feel candy?
Even when you talk it takes over me
You're so dandy
I wanna know
Can you feel it too just like I do (What, an impending intestinal malfunction? Why yes Larry. Yes I do.)

(hoo!) <-?!?!?!?!?!?

This stuff is starting now
It's the same feeling
I always seem to get around you
There's no mistaking; I'm clearly taken
By the simple mere thought of you

(oh!) What, this stanza isn't "hoo!" worthy?


This stuff is starting now
This stuff is starting now
This stuff is starting now What stuff? What stuff? What stuff? What are you talking about??


(hoo!) Oh good, it's back.


My eyes roll in my head Ew.
I toss and turn in my bed Ew.
In the morning when I think about you

(yes I do) You'd better not.


Simply put, you're the reason why Why what?
Even though I'm real shy Clearly.

(real shy)

I attempt to look my best for you Women love codpieces, so you're on the right track.


(indeed I do - just for you)

Cause you affect me, fascinate me
I thank heaven for the things that you do (for the things that you do)
It's like candy
You sure are sweet - Sweet!
You're so dandy
You're taking my appetite - but it's all right You don't mean that. You just said it because it rhymes.


It's like candy Again with the candy.


(ooh, vanilla! oh, chocolate!) Vanilla candy?


You look real nice, wrapped up tight
You're so dandy
(in the night, if I have a little bit more like that) Huh? Like what? Little bit of what? Why at night?
You're giving me a heart attack I'm sorry!
It's the kind I like Oh, you like the heart attack. My bad.


It's like candy, you're so dandy...

(Why you do - why you do - baby)

You're like a brand new feeling (feeling)
In a special way What kind of man says special???
A surprise package
On a bright clear sunny day (you're so dandy)
And wrapped up tight

(so good - so good)

Strawberry! raspberry!
All those good flavors!
Violets and gumdrops
That's what you're saying to me I'm saying that? I"m sorry. I must be losing my mind. Violet isn't even a flavor, it's a color.


(ow!) You okay?


(sweet candy - candy)
It's like candy
Sure seems like good candy oh baby!

You're so dandy
Just keep doing what you do

you know what i mean
baby
it's like candy ohhhhhh
your so tender sweet candy
your like your like ohhhhhh

its like candy
fades

ETA: For Andrea, who's never before had the pleasure, here's Cameo on Arsenio Hall:



Can you think of any other songs of this caliber?

Women need sleep

My Lilyfus, who sleeps in a cradle next to my side of the bed, did it again. Woke up all cute and perky way too early this morning. She was actually cooing and dare I say frolicking? Yes, it is possible to frolick in a cradle. After fumbling around with my outstretched arm trying to locate her Godforsaken binky, and failing miserably, I {groan} lifted myself up on my elbow for a better look and accidentally locked eyes with her. That, of course, means that the ball game is over. She's got me now. She knows I'm awake and there and is convinced that I'm trying to engage her in a game of peek-a-boo. So I did what any good Mother would do. I scooped her into bed next to me and plopped a boob into her mouth to quiet her so she didn't wake up The Bitter Half. Her little feet were cold. How did her feet get cold? She has a lovely little pink baby afghan (with lots of holes) wrapped around them. Hmm. I put them on my belly to warm them and rubbed her little toesies. Yeow! She fed just long enough to preclude the possibility of me falling back to sleep, then passed out. I lovingly placed her back into her cradle and stared at her for about five minutes, then got up.

I figured since I'm up I might as well cook some eggs for The Bitter Half. Men like nothing more than to be an afterthought. So I put a pan on the oven, cut up some onions, and turned on the burner. Then I realized I should probably get the eggs out. It kind of went on from there. I started lighting candles in the kitchen and living room. I don't know why. It just seemed cozy.

I checked email and Facebook and Twitter and MySpace and thought about writing a blog post, then decided that I was way too brain dead to attempt it. I did that once, you know. Wrote a blog post when I thought I was sleeping but I was really not awake but was typing anyway like with my hands in the air, and then when I woke up the next day I saw I'd been rambling publicly about Mari Smith and Robert Scoble and she'd actually been here to post and I hadn't a clue what to say to her I was so excited. Kind of reminded me of my drinking days. Ahh, my drinking days.

I had one Diet Coke left. I need two to get going. I should probably switch to coffee, but it just seems so complicated. I can't drink it straight. I need some of that fancy vanilla creamer stuff. But then I worry about that adding too much fat. And I don't know if it's better to buy the fat-free version because I keep reading about how fat-free stuff has so much sugar added. And I'm wondering about sugar and fat and thinking I just know the creamer will be expired when I need it, so why set yourself up for that kind of disappointment. I mean, that's practially begging for it don't you think. Ooh doggie I'm tired. Why does it smell like maple black cherry in here? Oh yes, the candles.

Ohhh myyy Gooooddd, it's 8am. EIGHT AY EM! Joe will probably be awake - should have been awake much earlier than this. I usually get him up as I'm getting out of bed, but since I was awake earlier I thought I'd let him sleep in for a bit while I cooked up an onion.

Yawn.

I need a picture for this post. Do I attempt it? Photobucket Photobucket. Photobucket rhymes with OOPS. I wonder if I have anything suitable. I don't want to have to go and find a snoozy simley or something so expected and pedestrian because what will people think of me if I go and do something like that. That's just. Oh wait! Hmm... maybe I'll post Tyler Durden again, people seem to like him. I mean what's not to like, he's kind of an everyman boy next door type of guy. But no, wait. What about my mego Klingon, the one that was unpunched but got punched during a move oh drat that made me so sad. Or maybe this freaked out cow. Freaked out cow always cracks me up, he's like "errr?" lol. Oh boy.

Sigh.

Better get some sleep. I need to post to my blog today. Oh yeah.