Friends Forever

Do you remember writing "friends forever" in umpteen high school yearbooks back in 1985? I do, and I meant what I wrote.

I am the type of person that means what I say (and/or write). I have had the same core of friends since I was 5 years-old. We grew up together. We laughed, cried, fought over boys, partied, went prom dress shopping together, etc. We've helped each other through the thick and thin.

Now that we all are married and have families of our own, we still carve out time for each other. I am hosting a "wine country getaway" for the ol' high school gang next April. I'm so excited!!!

I am fortunate to have some really great friends. I've enlarged my circle of friends over the years, but I guess you could say that I'm extremely picky about the friendships I form. I'm drawn to genuine people, and I'm not into materialistic competition that is so pervasive in the relationships in our culture. That does not mean I don't have friends with money and material things. I do. However, it is not the focus of themselves -- many of them have done very well for themselves but are not obsessed with it. They don't confuse the stuff they happen to have for themselves. In other words, they are not their possessions.

So, if you think I don't like you it's probably because you're a materialistic, egocentric, arrogant asshole.

Turn it DOWN and Turn it OFF

I'm constantly walking through the house turning off lights and turning the volume down on televisions, computers and other assorted noise makers. "Jesus CHRIST," I mutter to myself (as nobody ever listens to me), "does EVERYTHING have to be blasting away on maximum volume?"

I can't stand the constant blaring in my ears. Can't anybody just enjoy peace and quiet? Aren't the voices your head enough?

Washington Mutual - Beware Investors

Remember Great Western Bank? I do. There was a branch located right near my office where we have been located since almost the dawn of time. I loved Great Western bank. Everybody knew my name, turnover was almost non-existent, and all the employees knew our monthly business banking rythym. There is a considerable amount of money that filters through my office. None of it's mine, but I'm responsible to see that it gets to where it's supposed to go. It's not unusual for my business to have *lots* of money in one of the business accounts.

Then one sad, tragic day Great Western was bought out by Washington Mutual. Overnight the familiar faces were gone, and every month , due to excessive turnover, I had to explain the monthly business transactions to an employee who still used Clearasil and just got his drivers license. Red light number one.

Then one day I needed to change signers on one of the business accounts. When the pubescent, acne-prone employee pulled up the account, he rattled off names on the account of people I had never heard of! Then I checked the other accounts, and again, there were names listed as signers that I had never even heard of. Thank GOD no money was missing, but the incident left me scarred and I pulled our business out immediately and changed to a local bank. Red light number two.

Now today I read in the Santa Rosa Press Democrat that Washington Mutual is a target of activist investors pissed off over the plunging stock prices that are entangled in the sub prime mortgage debacle.

No shit Sherlock. I've known for years that Washington Mutual is a temple for cluster fucks who have no idea what in the hell they are doing, and don't give a shit that they don't. I feel sorry for the people who trusted them. Investing under the mattress is looking better and better everyday.

William the Silent

This is my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-grandfather. He was also a shit disturber and liked to question authority. I might also mention he was brutally killed for that. I guess I'm not so far off the mark.

Granted, I'm a bastard offspring of his (he was a slut), but I heard stories about him growing up waaaaayyyyy before the days of the internet. All that was told to me when I was a small child was that he was a "bad man" and that he was killed, and our branch of the family left the Netherlands for New Amsterdam (which was New York before it was New York -- like 1650ish). What is really scary is that my father looks just like the portrait. One would think that after so many generations any resemblance would be long gone.

Now that I'm older and I have more information as to who this man really was, I find that what is written about him hits home with me. However, my husband may have to divorce me as William the Silent has family roots in southern France which makes me part French. My husband HATES the French.

Bullshit Protector

This could come in handy being this a big political year and all. I would really like to know where he got it. This man is obviously a decorated veteran. He's a true blue American, and therefore, can't stand what's going on. You go, Mr. Veteran... Love your spirit

Disney Channel Marketing Machine

I don't believe in censoring television. I allow it to be on whatever the kids are watching and I watch it with them and point out exactly WHY what they're watching is complete shit and to question what they're being spoon fed by mindless media. If you're the type of parent with all sorts of controls on your television, they'll just go down the street to their friend's house or cruise the internet to see what you're so warped about. The more the subject is forbidden, the greater the curiosity and facsination. It's all out there no matter how hard you try to control their lives.

The Disney Channel is one of my favorite targets. It's just too easy. They have this show called Hannah Montana/Smiley Miley/Destiny whatever, which is about this teen who lives a secret life as a normal girl but is really a pop star. However, the show's *real* plot is to reclaim stardom for the father (who has his face in every shot) hillBilly Ray Cyrus. His short-lived celebrity star has been dimmed for sometime, and his "achy breaky heart" (yes, that annoying song from the late 80's) needs a boost and his checking account needs to be refilled. So, he's trying to relive his celebrity status through his daughter and flat-out sold her to Disney.

See, whatever appears on the Disney Channel's marketing machine sells. There could be a lame show featuring two twin boys who live in a hotel suite, and it would be a hit (ooops, they already thought of that) just because it's on the screen at a certain hour of the day. Think about the attempted mind control! This doesn't stop with the Disney Channel, either. It's all media. Anyway, I'm off track. I need to get back to hillBilly Ray Cyrus selling his daughter to Disney. I guess now that arranged child marriages between cousins have been outlawed in the south along with pimping and prostitution, he needed to figure out how to get *something* for his daughter.

Well, dad, I hope you enjoy your next few months of fame until the next teen wave hits and your daughter is all but forgotten. Her next shot at fame will be when her face is all over the National Enquirer for drug addiction, suicide attempts, and pregnancy. Hope it was worth it.

Terrorism

I want to know just what the definition of a "terrorist" is. Does it mean anybody who dares to question the government? Does it mean anybody who dares to stand up for rights that are outlined in the United States Constitution the government tries to take away? Does it mean that if the citizens stand up against corruption and the good ol' boy network we're all to be punished?

I personally know of a man who was a boy in Nazi Germany and now lives here in California. I'm amazed, shocked, and saddened of his stories of his boyhood during the rise of Nazi Germany in the 1930's. He says that the way our government operates now is no different than the way Hitler gained power in Germany. I shit you not.

History has an uncanny ability of repeating itself.

Rubber Chicken Dinners

Tonight I've attended my thousandth rubber chicken dinner. With my work I travel to exotic locations only to locked into a hotel for days never seeing the local sights and often times never leaving the hotel grounds. I've often pondered the reasoning of sending us to tempting locations if we're only to be caged. It would be kinder to send us to Fargo this time of year. At least we know we wouldn't be missing anything on the outside. And no, I'm not a hooker or into anything weird. However, I feel I have sold my soul to the 'corporation.' I guess that makes me a hooker to some extent mentally.

At these seminars/meetings, it's endless. There is not one minute to yourself. I usually bump into a collegue at the airport who will do whatever possible to be seated next to somebody they know. There goes any chance of "alone time" to catch up on that book or to just zone out. They will talk your ear off on subjects that have no meaning to you. It's very draining to pretend to be interested. They will then follow me to the baggage carousel and out to the taxi stand and want to share a cab.

Once at the hotel, they want to meet in the lobby bar for drinks. Drinks then segway into dinner, where even more of them appear out of thin air to join in. Now there is a party of at least 12 people wandering around for a place to seat us for dinner. Dinner concludes with a few people wanting to go out for a nightcap. Wide yawns don't deter these people. Next thing you know it's 2:00 Am and the morning meeting is scheduled for 7:00.

Morning comes faster than I can blink and I'm dragging myself bleary-eyed into a stuffy, hotel conference room ingesting as much caffeine as possible on my way in, in order to stay awake. Several power point presentations and dry emcee/speaker jokes later, am I finally free of these people? Hell no! The rubber chicken dinner is scheduled for this evening.

The rubber chicken dinner begins with a cocktail reception where the women prance around in their gaudy, nuveau riche clothing sporting their plastic surgery results. The men all stand around the bar trying to one-up each other on whatever the subject matter may be.

After trying to make lame conversation with people you really don't want anything to do with, you're now seated next to them at the dinner table. The rubber chicken arrives on your dinner plate.

After dinner there is an award ceremony to celebrate somebody with a useless, internal company award. This person is usually somebody everybody hates and the award is given to feed this pathetic person's ego and to perhaps shut him up for a while. After the mandatory standing ovation and under-enthusuastic half-clap by the audience, the recipient of the award goes on gushing on how we are all loved and we are all thanked profusely for making it all possible. Like getting your name engraved on a friggin' piece of wood nobody cares about is the proudest moment of your life.

I'm not bulemic, but I do need to find the ladies room to purge.

California Airport

Don't ya love traveling by air these days? Today we made the trek from Oakland to San Diego via Southwest Airlines, which is just a glorified California city bus with wings. It is also just as smelly and crowded, too.

The Oakland airport terminal was quite busy, so when we got to our gate we thought we were fortunate to have found a couple of empty seats to relax in while we waited for our flight. Never mind about the relaxation. Granted, this is a Sunday afternoon, and the yakkers seated directly in back of us were loudly discussing work matters that had no place being discussed in public. I got plenty of back office politics on how Barb is self-serving and Pete is an asshole, etc. We have not even boarded the plane yet, nor have I mentioned the obsessive cell phone yakkers who loudly and publicly accounted for every square of toilet paper they use in the restroom. ARGGHHHHHH!!!

So, the plane arrives at the gate in preparation for boarding. Anxious travelers trip over themselves to be the first to board this bus with wings. In the meantime, several arguments are overheard between travelers and Southwest Airline personnel. Most of these arguments are of the travelers' own doing. One traveler was upset that she was denied seating because she was VERY late getting to the airport (about 10 min prior to take off) and did not bother to use the internet to check in. Her seat was given away. C'mon people..... we all know the rules. Shut the fuck up and get in back of the line. Don't make me open fire on you.

Now.... we're boarding the plane. We all know the luggage restrictions. Nevertheless, there are people with 50 pound trunks trying to shove them into the tiny, crowed, overhead compartments knocking other travelers in the head unconscious in the process of their struggle to make it fit. I have a suggestion as where these travelers can shove their over-sized trunks. It also involves tiny, crowded spaces of the human body....

In flight you can always count on the sickest bastard to be seated right next to you. If you don't have a coughing, hacking, pucking jackass seated directly on your left, then you can count on the screaming, puking baby on your right. Don't even bother to ask anybody to move so you can get up to go to the bathroom. Just piss your pants. It doesn't matter at this point.

Wheeeee..... after the flight (which includes complimentary salted peanuts and diet Pepsi) we have finally landed at our destination. Before the jet even officially arrives at the gate, all passengers must unbuckle themselves, stand up, and immediately clog the isles. Nobody is going anywhere. Sit down and relax and wait your turn before I take that 50 pound overhead luggage piece and knock you unconscious with it.

National Realtors' Association

Have you ever heard of these people? Me neither. However, they're desperate enough to purchase television commercial time and put together an advertisement trying to convince the public that *now* is the time to buy/sell real estate. It reminds me of the airline industry trying to sell tickets to an overbooked flight that will never leave the ground. Pointless.

The pathetic, desperate plea of the National Realtors' Association is to "call your real estate professional" because "every market is different" screams to the public that the real estate market is falling on its ass and this lame attempt to try and dupe the public is about as convincing as the boy who called wolf. I know they're trying for the opposite effect. It failed miserably.

Hey, National Realtors' Association, the party is over. The party has been over for some time. Everybody else has left long ago. You're the drunk in the corner passed out throwing up all over yourself. You just didn't know when it was time to quit.

Keep Tahoe Blue Part II

About a month or so ago I blogged about the idiots who drive around with the "Keep Tahoe Blue" stickers slapped on the back of racing boat trailers and extra-polluting vehicles. I bet you thought I was kidding about it all...

Yeah, like slapping a sticker on their car will redeem them of damaging the environment. Can't these morons see the connection? If you're going to drive around a vehicle the size of a military tank, at least have the intelligence NOT to put a "Keep Tahoe Blue" sticker on the back end because you just look f****** stupid. Here's a better slogan/bumper sticker for these morons, "Save the environment -- kill yourself."

....and hope they follow through....

NASCAR: Rednecks Turning Left for Hours

My 19-year old so astutely said the other day, "NASCAR should be renamed to Rednecks Turning Left for Hours."

I so whole-heartedly agree. I mean, what's the point? I have much better things to do than "watching rednecks turning left for hours." The cars just go around, and around, and around, and around the track over and over, with the spectators watching with the same anticipation as my cat does when I make a circle of fresh fish around his face to make him nod, or motion yes or no with his head.

Oooohhhh then there's the wreck. Rednecks seem to think this appealing. How can they take pleasure watching somebody get flipped through the air, crash, and burn?

I can't help but notice that the fans are typically white trash. It's the most homogeneous gathering of idiots on the planet.

Fwd Fwd Fwd Fwd Fwd Fwd Fwd Fwd PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ever get these?

If you do, hit the 'delete' button immediately. Then send a hit man over to the sender's home to have the sender's fingers and thumbs removed to prevent future cluttering of your inbox with: urban myths, pleas for missing children, warnings of toxic rat piss on Pepsi cans, the dangers of stalkers lurking in shopping mall parking lots, friendship 'angels' that demand to be forwarded to everybody in your address book (including the person who sent it to you, or you will die in 5 minutes if you don't comply immediately), and promises of instant riches if you participate in Micorsoft's e-mail beta testing protocol.

To those of you who forward this lame shit, STOP IT! Are you f***** bored or what? Why don't you clean out a closet, scrub your toilet, weed your garden, smoke some pot, call your mother, do SOMETHING other than issue pointless e-mails that are irritating and are a downright nuisance? Don't you know you're giving me carperal tunnel syndrome by hitting the delete button so frequently?

Can't Buy Me Love

Allow me to digress into the world of celebrity divorces for a moment. For the most part, I don't care about which celebrity marriages are ending in divorce at all. I do, however, take exception to Paul McCartney and that Mills psycho-bitch he married. I don't follow it blow by blow, I just listen when I hear or read clips on the news. I'm an avid Beatles fan, what can I say?

I was saddened when Paul's first wife, Linda, died a few years ago. I do have to give them both credit for a long marriage and staying together -- especially in the spotlight.

Paul's choice in Heather seemed a bit sketch from the git-go. I could have told him that she was nothing but a money leach and would try to suck every bit she could out of him. Now she's using their daughter as a pawn. Sick.

Paul, you're 65 and that Mills bitch is 40. You mean to tell me that "gold digger" didn't flash through your mind at all? You were either insanely in love, or completely stupid -- maybe a dash of both -- like stupidly in love. Gullible to the core, aren't you? Well, who can hold that against a man who loves with his heart and not with his head? I think you were using the wrong head, but who's perfect? Wish there were more men like you.

Here's your dating rule for the day: Do NOT date women who are younger and have less money than your children. Yes, Paul, I realize that puts me out of your dating pool (so sad *sigh* another lifetime, perhaps) but your fans in the universe truly want you to have a mate who really cares about you and is not using you for your money.

Well, Paul, sorry you have to go through this messy divorce. Better you find out now that Heather is a manipulative schiz-oid than when you're 80+ years old and she pushes you down a flight of stairs in your wheelchair.

Know the Difference

No, I'm not going to use "hormones" as an excuse anymore. I'm chronically pissed off all the time and I'm done making any apologies for it anymore. There are several things that contribute to my angry state of mind. I'm just sick and tired of everybody thinking that I'll drop whatever I'm doing to take care of whatever it is that's at the forefront of their attention without any consideration of what I'm doing at the moment.

For example, my husband seems to think that I have all the energy in the world to be his: cook, maid, sex object, personal secretary, personal bookkeeper, laundry woman, PLUS work full-time outside the home. I want a partner, not another child! You wonder where my sex drive has gone, well, who wants to have sex with a kid? Plus, I'm just too damn tired after taking care of your sorry ass. My message to him: MOTHER and WIFE = KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

My kids seem to think I have ATM stamped on my forehead. No, I'm not your source of money. Neither am I your full time maid. I'm sick and tired of picking up your shit strung all over the house. I've started putting their crap they leave all over the place right into the trash. They look at me in bewilderment when they ask, "Where's my report for school?" Well, if you leave your fucking shit strung out all over the place, it looks like trash to me, so go dig through the goddamn garbage to find it. The kids seem to think that I have nothing better to do than chauffer them around, pick up after them and spend money on them, I've got news: MOTHER and SLAVE = KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband and kids, but don't look to me as your be-all-do-everything-for-you. Get your asses off the couch and help me! Pick up after yourselves! Gawwwd... No wonder women get so pissed off during their periods. It's the only time where it's socially acceptable to let everybody know how we really feel.

I'm done....

Overwhelmed... leave me alone

Don't you just love how everybody has ideas as to how YOU should be spending YOUR time? Not a day goes by where I'm not solicited to do, attend, help organize, or to donate. You get the picture.

Can't anybody just stay home anymore without these hyper freaks in my face thinking that I'm not doing anything? My favorite days are those where I don't have any appointments or commitments. I enjoy puttering around the back yard, or cooking a special meal for the family OR just nosing around on the internet. I just might sit on the couch and watch a movie....... Oh, the SHAME!

Attention hyper freaks: Go about buzzing around like busy little bees trying to draw attention to yourself. Leave me out of it. I'm quite happy being anonymous puttering around in my home.

I'm Not Your Commission-Free, Full-Time Salesperson

Just because I had a couple of children, don't expect me to be a willing, volunteer, full-time salesperson for your constant bombardment of fund raising crap you fling my way. My kids attend a public school, and the number of fund raisers is enough to drive a person crazy. Maybe I'm just stupid, but aren't my taxes supposed to fund public education? What about the California lottery money that was supposed to "save the schools." Last I heard, the amount of money the local elementary school received from the lottery was about $250. Yeah, we're saved, alright... way to go California Lottery. What complete bullshit. Guess how I'm voting on the upcoming ballot initiatives that are promising to "save the schools" and solve our budget woes?

No matter what my kids are involved in, there is a constant, ongoing fund raising drive for cookie selling, magazine selling, T-shirt selling, etc. I will gladly give a flat donation or pay the full cost of the activity/sport, and leave me the f*** alone. Thank you.

The Game is Secondary

Today we hit a couple of Superbowl parties. The food was world class, the company lively, and the drinks were flowing. Money was flowing as well with bets and squares. Both parties we attended were outstanding. I think it's funny how a football game can capture the attention of an entire nation. Everything is planned around "the game."

I thought it ironic that more attention was payed to the food and company than to the game itself. This includes the guys as well as the gals. Yes, there were a few hard core football fans glued to the tv set oblivious to the social activity around them, but that was more the exception than the norm.

Let's face it. The Superbowl is just an excuse to throw a big, loud party. That's ok in my book, but let's call it for what it is. We should just call it "National Party Hard Day -- No Reason Needed."

Three years from now, I believe you won't remember who played in the Superbowl, but you'll remember the parties you attended and the good food and company. The game is secondary.

Apathetic Whiners

Apathetic whiners will kill this country. We all sit around complaining waiting for 'somebody else' to fix our problems. We grumble and complain about how "they" (meaning government) should get their act together and improve schools, fix roads, whatever the gripe of the day is. Get involved, people! We are the "they" that needs to get busy.

It's so easy to sit back and complain. Before you go popping off your mouth whining about whatever injustice you think you're experiencing, get off your ass and volunteer for a committee that directly effects your cause and be part of the solution. Believe me. Volunteers on all levels are needed.

As head of several volunteer committees, I listen to complaints from the general public on a daily basis. Some of them are justified, some of them not. After I listen to a complainer rant, I offer a position on the committee that directly deals with the issue they're complaining about. Dead silence. The conversation usually takes the direction of how the complainer doesn't have any time, resources, etc. and ends abruptly.

Dealing with politics and policy takes effort, time, and involvement. There simply is no other way. Get out and vote, no matter what your political beliefs are. There is no one person who can fix your problems for you without any effort on your part.