okay - let's see if writing about it helps

It's such an effing cliche; having problems with your mother...

I have an excellent relationship with my family, and am especially close to my mom. I brag about this relationship to my friends. It's that good. So, when she's something completely hurtful and stupid, I just don't know what to do. These moments are extremely rare and might account for my feeling pretty damn awful the past two days.

Without going into details in this public forum, my girlfriends were pretty shocked by what my mom said to me. Including the one that knows her. One friend asked, "Did you hang up on her?!?" I didn't. I was struck dumb by my mom's words. It sent me into a funk that continues tonight. I never EVER cry - I hate crying - it's a sign of weakness and makes my eyes all red and itchy and sooo unattractive. And I've built up a pretty thick skin working with Congress. Yesterday I let loose the floodworks. I disagree that crying makes you feel better; it definitely makes you feel worse.

She called yesterday and half-way apologized. While she says that she worried she had hurt me, she didn't admit being to a total bonehead. Unfortunately, I think her own issues won't really ever enable her to understand how wrong she is. Irritating.

bow wow wow wow yippie yo yippie yay

It's hotter than the blazes. We've been spoiled with good weather for most of this August so today seems extra oppressive and really really unfair. Why does it always have to be so dang hot when I need to look nice? I'm trying something new to combat the heat though - I'm putting my bra in the freezer in the hopes that it keeps me cool a little bit longer. Maybe I ought to stick my undies in there too. Hmmmm... Be right back.

(thirty seconds passes)

So, The Bunny made baked stuffed mushrooms for me last night. Then, provocatively dangled the recipe in front of me and yanked it back before admitting that he had left out two ingredients on purpose so that I could not recreate the recipe. I have got to stop this ridiculous thing I have for crazy men. At least he was a gentleman and left the bottle of Lillet he brought along.

message from afghanistan - part 2

I'm thinking of adding "puc 'em" and "puc' ed" to my vocabulary.

Subject: News from the Dust

I had been out on a re-supply patrol to the comapny main body down south, 2-3 hours down Ring Road (the one highway) and 2-3 hours back-just long enough to get back to base in time for making my call. Last time I did this re-supply run (via convoy) though, things got delayed and I ended up staying over night.

First, we saw some police with weapons that they are not supposed to have. Precisely, they had some 82mm recoilless rifles (that's goobledigook for rocket launcher), along with 9 rounds for it. Those rounds are often used for rocket attacks on US bases, except the weirdos don't use the launcher but lay the rockets on some rocks and aim in the general direction of the target. As inaccurate as they may be, we still like to remove the weaponry from the 'market'. To make long story short --oh wait, it's too late for that-- we stopped and agreed to make an exchange: weapons and rounds for the right to keep their PK machine gun. While we stopped we noticed some guy taking pictures of us.

So as a second distractor, we had to talk to this guy. He gave his name as Haji Kabul. I alsmost spat at him, it made me lauch so hard. The tenacity to think we buy it! Anyway, he had no plausible explanation for why he was taking pictures of us. In fact he denied he did. I wasn't going to have anything of it, traded his camera for a hand-written receipt, and told him he could pick it up again at our compound. We'd like to talk to him there in peace. In the end we chalked it down to a reconnaissance effort on behalf of our enemy. Next time I see somebody like this, he'll be PUC'ed. PUC stands for personnel under US custody-lingo to avoid the legal quarrels. The troops delightedly say "PUC'em" (puckem) when they see some foulplay.

Part of my mission yesterday was to convoy down to our company main body, deliver supplies, fresh personnel, and to pick up an undisclosed number of PUCs which we held at the local police compound, and bring them back to our main compound here. Suffice it to say we need more holding cells now. Taking PUCs is a feel-good act for all of us troops. It's a visible proof that we're making some sort of progress, where progress is otherwise invisible, intangible. These guys were apprehended during the fire fight I mentioned above. One of them ran away from troops through an orchard, seeking refuge in an Afghan compound. I guess he hadn't notice that one squad of ours had just taken that compound over for searching. Ooops. Imagine good old Haji running through the door of the compound, seeking safety from the American guns, only to be staring into 10 of them from the business end. "Hello there! Why don't you put on these cuffs and sit down over there?" That was an easy one.

The jackpot, however, was delivered to our doorstep in another fashion. Some of you may have read that we had an IED attack about 2 weeks ago. One morning a guy presented himself to a local hospital for treatment. He was in a poor shape. His face was a bloody pulp, he had three fingers missing on one hand, and half his forearm missing on the other side. This fine gentleman, it turned out, had been playing with explosives, and happened to be the main/sole suspect in the IED attack from the other week. He had blown himself up while implanting another IED. As a friend of mine here said: "Could've happened to a nicer guy!" So this guy instantly became a PUC. I am not as big on revenge as I am on justice, but I have to admit that I got some satisfaction out of imagining his physical pain, his fear, and the knowledge that he will be forever bearing the signs of his calous acts--if he lives. We treated him and later saw him off to a flight to Bagram. They'll fix him up real nice so
that he won't buy the farm when we interrogate him for information. He is a gold mine, of course, but the question remains how to get the gold. We already learned a lot from him: what his devices look like before they explode, who works with him directly, where he lives. We even met his mom, no kidding. But there's much more to find out, and we've got our best professionals on the case now.

To pick up the subject of progress, let's talk about corruption. People used to be honest here 20 years ago. Not so now. When the current government came to power, they had to appoint many people to positions of trust and power who are not trustworthy, but who already held positions of power. One reason why this happened is that relative peace and security was needed to get on the path of recostruction. If they'd gone in and said "all you people with dirt on your hands and out", those people would have fought the government. To end the cycle of warfare here, the government had to compromise and hope to be able to re-visit the appointments at a later stage. Now, the elections are nearing. Some of those appointees may fear to lose their office by vote. They don't like that idea and they are now in a position to do something about it. Provincial and district governors can ammass weapons and men of war legitimately, both of which can be used illegitimately against the popular vo
te results later. That's just one reason why we are keeping tabs on those guys ans weapons. Another case on corruption: the provincial policie chief keeps 15 officers in some village down south to protect the local population from the excesses of the Taliban who come in at night to twist arms. The officers are given money (from UN funds) for food. They pocket the money and force the villagers to feed them. Then, they are not doing a great job in intercepting the Taliban, the Taliban come in and punish the villagers for feeding the police. A third story: the contractors who re-build/improve Ring Road have security guards to protect them from the Taliban/Al Qaeda poeple who'd like to prevent the government from being able to show progress. Some of these security guard use their position of power to put up illegal check points where they demand money from travellers for passage.

This country will need a long time to come back to its senses. And, more troops.

All the best to you back home!!!

summer reading list

Foxy has put together a list of his summer reads, and my competitive nature compels me to do the same. Although, his list pretty much kick my lists's ass. Asterisks mean ok to buy.

1. The Alchemist- Paulo Coelho *
2. The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera *
3. Bread Givers - Anzia Yezierska *
4. Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides *
5. My Lurid Past - Lauren Henderson (not quite an * but a damn good chick lit)
6. Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife - Linda Berdoll
7. The Twentieth Wife - Indu Sundaresan *
8. Angels & Demons - Dan Brown

I'm still working on these two:

9. Running with Scissors - Augusten Burroughs *
10. Michaelangelo and the Pope's Ceiling - Ross King *

call to action

The Thirsty Bunny Chronicles has been woefully neglected. Apparently, the Bunny is busy living the life of Riley or something, leaving his gentle readers without his crazier-than-a-bedbug sort of wit, his charming stories of bar-crossed lovers and wise recommendations regarding demon alcohol.

What to do? Stage an intervention? Can the Bunny be bribed? If so, how? All I know is we need some hot blogging action.

blogging under the influence

Ohmigod this is funny - The GOP's schedule of events at their convention next week.

Onto less funny business... Since I'm relatively new to this business, I'm learning how frustrating blogging can be. In addition to learning that there are folks out there that actually plagiarize other peoples blogs, I've discovered the unpleasantness associated with unwanted comments.

It's my fault in part, as I directed an acquaintance to my blog without really understanding this person's sense of humor - and they obviously did not understand mine. Since then I've deleted their numerous comments, and finally today, sent an email requesting that they stop commenting on my blog. I hopeful that this person will comply, as I don't think they really meant any harm.

I imagine that there are folks out there that do comment with petty and malicious intentions. It's part of the deal when you put your words out in a public forum, as well as the fact that the world seems to have developed an effed up appreciation for schadenfreude.

Back to happy thoughts now... The Bunny is going to cook for me! No, not his lasagna, but baked mushrooms. Apparently, the lasagna is reserved for really really really special people. Since my specialness is rather vague and unestablished, I merit the baked stuffed mushrooms. Good thing I really like mushrooms. I have several decent bottles of wine that could go along too: 97 Cabernet Sauvignon, 01 Zinfandel, 01 Sangiovese, and a 02 Viognier. They're all from North Yuba out in CA - Renaissance Vineyard & Winery. Any suggestions?

I was thinking about making a peach cobbler for dessert. I wonder if I can find some good blackberries instead... Love good homemade cobblers. Which would Bunny prefer?

Well, my loves, the Ambien is taking effect so I better crawl over to the bed now. Sleep well!

He's Just Not That Into You

It's funny. My mom and I had a conversation about this particular Sex and the City episode several months ago. In this episode, a male friend explains to Miranda that the reason the guy didn't call after the great date is because he's just not that into her. Miranda is grateful for this seemingly obvious piece of information. Momsta felt that it really would have been useful for someone to tell her this back when she was 19.

OK - for the guys out there - this article offers a pretty good window into a women's minds. We tend to over-analyze, over rationalize... We perform elaborate post-mortems on our dates with our closest girlfriends, which often end up being "ego-soothing" and futile exercises.

I've been a little better about this issue in the past year. In fact, I tend to surprise friends, who, when asking about the results of a date with responses such as, "well, it was fun, but I definitely get the feeling he's got something else going on." Fortunately, if you date with any frequency, it really doesn't sting that much.

Now, wouldn't it be nice if men and women could be straight with each other? I've also been guilty about weasling out of relationships by not returning calls, or being evasive about not wanting to accept subsequent dates. This past winter I went out with one guy 3 or 4 times - he was really nice but I didn't feel the chemistry - but could not muster enough courage to tell him that. Instead I told him that I was still seeing other guys and would continue to. His response to this was sad: "But I'm not seeing anybody else." In another situation, I lucked out when the guy emailed that he just didn't see a future after a few weeks of dating. That guy - as irritating as he was - totally gets props for being honest. (But, would I have appreciated it so much had I not already been in complete agreement?)

Maybe what we need is a sort of safe-word to substitute for "I'm just not that into you." Something clearer than, "I just think of you as a friend." Maybe a happy-sounding word, like "trampoline" or maybe something French, like "merde." I mean, profanity is funny and might help defuse a touchy situation. I don't know. Suggestions?

finally! the wine muse gets off her lazy tush

Attention, please! I have added links! This seemingly impossible feat would never have occurred without a friendly suggestion from Watermelon Memories (aka Chewy). Muchas gracias mi amiga desconocida.

guilty pleasures

So, one of my favorite bloggers, ObscuroRant, has posted a list of favorite hair band songs.

I agreed with some of his choices, but it was a bit Poison heavy for my taste. The inclusion of Dokken did revive some fond memories of my favorite high school boyfriend, but Tesla?

The field was narrowed strictly to hair bands, so metal favorites such as Metallica are ruled out. (Clearly. Metallica is in it's very own class.) Although, I am confused about what to do with groups such as Guns N Roses (I mean, they're good and I don't think they wore a lot of make-up but November Rain is a bit keyed up), Van Halen and Aerosmith. I adore Aerosmith even though they have often strayed into fromage territory. I think they are more classic rock despite the hair and Steven's predilection for spandex and scarves. Ballad-heavy bands/songs were also ruled out as they don't really rock. Bon Jovi is too popular...

Here's a girly version:

1. I Wanna Rock - Twisted Sister
2. Here I Go Again - Whitesnake
3. Once Bitten Twice Shy - Great White
4. Dr. Feelgood - Motley Crue
5. Pour Some Sugar On Me- Def Leppard (I particularly like the commercial where the guy is mistaking the lyrics for "Pour some shook-up ramen!" and his gf is like, "Pour some shook-up ramen?!?" and he's all, "Yeah, soup!")
6. Rock of Ages - Def Leppard
7. Love in an Elevator - Aerosmith (this song has got to qualify)
8. Shout at the Devil - Motley Crue (I still love this song)
9. Round and Round - Ratt (so embarrassing)
10. 17 - Winger (rilly embarrassing)

My mom's favorite music video was Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It". I worry about her.

for capriciousness's sake

Some thoughts on the Olympics:

• Blue eyeshadow on women (women??? only one of them is in her 20's) gymnists. Stop the madness.
• Male swimmers have unbelievable bodies. [Fanning myself. Oy, I'm schvitzing.]
• We need to get over the fact that Phelps won't break Spitz's record this time - he's only 19 and competing in a sport where most athletes hit their stride at 23-25.
• There are no bosomy women swimmers. I guess having more than an A kinda creates too much drag. My Olympic hopes die painfully. At least I have my rack to comfort me.
• It doesn't really bother me that the US isn't kicking considerable ass.
• Somebody needs to take me to Greece.

message from afghanistan - part 1

While I've generally used this forum as comedic relief, I feel a need to change gears a bit.

One of my friends landed in Afghanistan in July, and he has been keeping his friends and family up-to-date on his activities via email. Until recently, his messages have been rather light-hearted as well as informative. About a week ago, his guard unit experienced an awful day though. Yes, we all hear about war being hell but I really hate that my friend has to find this out first-hand. His message (sent through his lovely wife) is long but riveting. Can we ever hope to win the hearts and minds of a people in the face of religious fundamentalism and deep cultural differences? I don't know.

This is the official "Osama-Hunting Update Number 6.

I dreaded writing this update, but I suppose folks back home have a part in this fight and somewhat of a right to know what's going on even if that means learning some of the darker facets of human nature. I may not have my senses to judge if this is appropriate material for all. Please use your own discretion. This will probably push most beyond their comfort zone. Sorry for the bad language.

A week or so ago we embarked on a 2-day patrol. I usually don't get to go out on patrols, if you'd stick to doctrine, as my part of the clock work requires me to be in the "rear" and be pushing supplies forward. This time my commander asked me to come along with the primary purpose to get the lay of the land in order to be in a better position to do my job here.

We were to visit a number of Voter Registration Posts, do some village assessments on the way, and hunt down some information to corroborate previous intelligence finds. From our little battalion home away from home, we have to travel quite a ways to get into the area of operations of my company. After covering that initial distance, we just be-bop around the various settlements, meet and greet, snoop and poop. My boss was mostly doing the meet and greet part, while a senior sergeant and I would snoop and poop. We had two interpreters with us so we could divide and conquer.

As we hit the stop on our itinerary, we got out of the armored Hummvees and met the quick-to-appear locals, men and children. All were friendly enough. All insisted that security was not a problems of theirs, while they had plenty of economic troubles, with 22 months of drought. Some of the kids, however, said the Taliban had been there a month ago. Our first BS alarm was activated. We were offered tea, and accepted right in the middle of the plaza. After learing all kinds of things which did not jive with our previous intel, we figured we'd been had, so we decided to move to the other side of the village for a re-cock. Same effect. In addition to the 'we have no problems other than wanting your money' we were invited to the house of a "doctor" who spoke some English and had a car. Good manners and all. He employed all his wit to convince us to build a mosque for them, and a religious school which would have to be void of any of the sciences since those don't mix. OK, we're green but not that green.

So we went on back out of that holler, got ourselves some local food, and took up camp on the local police chief's mountain top which dominates the valley, is a safe haven 1000ft above the valley floor, and boasts a stunning view. Local food we enjoyed was awesome grapes (one of the alleged 76 species), some oblong cantaloup, tomatoes that were dense in flavor and consistency, as well as local bread. We didn't even touch the MRE boxes that night!

Next morning we head on over to the second village on our itinerary. Roads were getting bumpier and dustier. For dust, imagine a beige matter the consistency of flour about 8 inches deep. Now imagine a fat Hummvee tire plowing through that! Let it suffice to say that you don't need to have your vehicle painted in desert camouflage. It takes care of itself.

We get to our village and go through the same experience as the day before: no problems, but could you make it rain or truck in some water for us? No Taliban here. If we hadn't found out otherwise, it would have been a believable story. We found out on the way out of the village.

Our convoy snaked its way out of the village down into and over a river bed, and up again. I was in the very last vehicle. My vehicle was just leaving the last grape fields of the village when we heard and felt a loud explosion. Everybody got a sense of emergency and got out of the vehicles, scanning the area, looking for the source of the blast. It was about 300m from my position, up ahead. All I saw was a big smoke and dust cloud. Reports filtered in with varying degrees of confusion. I couldn't get a clear picture of what was going on so I headed up towards the source of the blast, just enough presence to arrest locals that were headed away with a sheepish look on their face (I'm just minding my own business). I get to the fourth vehicle from the front when I get a report that makes my skin crawl: "we need a medevac and we need it fast!!"

Foreboding and unreal at the same time. "Call it up", I respond. It's the RTO with the TACSAT radio. He is the only one who can reach out far enough. I press on. Passing by the next two vehicles, I only notice the big eyes of the turret gunners. It's this squad's first time out, like mine. They are freaked out! I keep on running uphill. I can look ahead now. I see and understand. Like an ugly beast roaring and bearing its teeth towards me, there lies the wreckage of an armored Hummvee turned sideways, ripped open. Jagged edges. Debris strewn everywhere. A tire 100m off the the left, its rim another 50m. The dry rice paddy colored greenish in what I suppose is diesel from the cans on the outside of the vehicle. No bodies. Thank God. There's the hole in the ground. Fuck. Now I get it. We got struck by an IED. Still not real.

LT P comes up from around the vehicle wreck. He is screaming: "I need another jack. I've got a man under the vehicle." He looks mad, crazy, or in emotional pain. I can't tell, but I take his request serious. I make the next two Humvees move up and cough up a jack, along with the soldiers to help LT P. The first crew can't find theirs fast enough so I have the second dig up theirs and rush them forward. I get a report. We've got three critically wounded. That's two soldiers and one interpreter. The TERP is looking real bad, they call out. Some of the men from the first three vehicles had already begun to assist LT P in rescueing the casualties but that portion of the action takes place on the other side of the vehicle, shielded from my view. I've got my facts. The wheels are in motion. Time to act.

I've got to get back to my CO so he can report to higher and make them understand to ship us an air medevac without delay. I run back. The heat and the weight of the IBA is kicking my butt. So is the altitude. It's all still unreal. I head back over the bridge and find CPT G. He is on the horn with higher. I tell him IED. Serious. Three down. I don't know their names, but one is the Terp. LT P was in the vehicle, he is fine. One tire is 100m away. The three casualties are critical - urgent. That's a classification we use when requesting air medevac. There is no higher.

We've got local security covered, we are searching the site for more mines, booby traps, IEDs. We see some people on a roof in the next village. They seem to be doing a jiggy-dance of joy. We kick out a foot patrol to grab those fuckers. Those must be the ones! Our senior sergeant takes the lead on that. I head back to the IED site. This time I have to check on the rescue efforts. I go all the way up front. The turret gunner was ejected. Looking at the vehicle, that sounds like a good thing. Turns out it's not. We can't find a pulse. We work on him anyway. Sometimes it comes back. The interpreter has changed color. Probably had from the very beginning. We understand what it means. Focus on the others. We've got the vehicle jacked up enough to get the driver out from underneath. He's got a pulse. Faint, but it's there. We're working them both. We're smoking ourselves doing so. We take turns. Everywhere you look, crazy eyes. Not sure what's more taxing, the physical act or the emotional drain. We stop in horror: right next to where we're working on the driver we see an anti-personnel mine, touching the knee of the interpreter. Everybody FREEZE! It's a secondary IED. LOOK around! We pick up the driver and carry him out of the danger zone, keep on working on him. Meanwhile, we give up on the turret gunner. His pulse never came back. We pull his T-shirt over his face. It's a sign but it's also for dignity. Focus on the driver now. He's the only one left. We must save him!

Taking turns again. It gets harder. We cracked ribs, but that's what you do when you do it right. He's got bigger problems. We yell at him to hang tough. He is. Some of us get to the end of the emotional capacity for rescue work. We rotate new people in. I'm in and out. I also gather up a bunch of locals our soldiers have gathered up from the surrounding fields. I question them. I'm not making friends. I try every trick I know to make them spill their guts. They hold fast. We need the information fast so it's still actionable. 'I know nothing.' 'I'm just a farmer.' 'Allah has brought this day upon me.' Lies. They know. I know they know. It's just as taxing emotionally as CPR on a guy you've known for years. It makes me furious, and I am bound by the rules. All I want to do now is against the rules. The hatred has spawned new hatred. I can't even touch them. I don't but I try to get to them otherwise. One starts to crack. He shakes like a leaf. Good. I tell him he shakes. It must be because he has guilt. I'm mean. Not mean enough. He doesn't break. He holds his ground. I go to the next guy. He's tougher than the last guy and I am spent. I stop. I don't have it in me any longer. I cuss and walk off.

We get a call from the foot patrol. They come up empty-handed from searching a few compounds but they just spotted a motorcycle driver trying hard to get out of view. That's enough for suspiscion. The patrol wants re-inforcement and is almost out of water. I ask my boss to go lead the patrol. He agrees. We get two Humvees ready and move out. First vehicle movement since the blast. We have to guide them around the blast site. Everybody is jumpy, wide eyed.

Everybody is saved by the action. Doing something-other than CPR or interrogations-is welcome. We're fixing now. Let's go! We link up with the foot patrol and decide to go into the center of the bigger village and talk to the village elder. We move in. We own the village now. We dominate all ways in and out, as well as the little plaza in front of the mosque. All males hang out there. They know we don't go into mosques, but the mosque is too small for everybody. It's a gathering outside as much as it is inside.

At first we take the approach usually take when we get into a village. We ask for the elder. 'We have no elder.' It's a Jedi mind trick, but we're clued in. It goes back and forth a few times, until I am fed up. I'm fairly laid back but when I'm mad I'm mad. Some of you know. I'm madder than I've been before. We came in peace. We came to figure what help they need. I'm doing civil projects, for crying out loud. So I thought. They owe us and they know it. They must change. We must make them change. I burst.

I yell at them, pushing a mix of official message and personal gusto. They are riveted. I'm performing. Their eyes are trained on my every step. My interpeter catches my fire. He lost his buddy, too. They look at me and listen to him. They see the change of the tide now. "We're not here to punish. We're not the Russians. But we will find the ones who did this, and you can choose to be on our side or on our enemy's." They come up with all sorts of excuses. I have enough again. Call them liars. I tell them I know they know. I will no longer listen to their excuses. Either you tell us what you know or we make this an unpleseant neighborhood. Blank stares. But their eyes tell me thay understand how this dance goes. They understand where we are coming from. They actually appreciate the clear talk. No fake politeness, no weakness.

I stop talking and start walking among them. I'm the one with the rifle, the gun trucks, and the attitude. They watch. I'm still on fire but I'm more collected inside than it seems. I'm performing. I give the middle aged men a hard stare with my uncovered eyes. The 'look' times ten. I look for something that tells me that behind those eyes lies a reasonably honorable being. I pick out my first victim. "You! Come with me." I say and make myself understood by gesture. They don't know what's in form them. I pull him aside. Around the corner, out of sight and out of earshot. They remember the Russians. They may think I'm crazy. I turn on my guy, "asalaam aleikum"- peace be with you, have a seat. I talk through our position, I indirectly appeal to his sense of justice and honor. There's no honor in silence. I tell him I understand it's difficult for him to speak up in front of his village. He starts over with excuses again. I cut him off. No more excuses. Listen to me. I know you know something and you're not telling me. I recognize your position. I offer you to come see me at my compound. Nobody has to find out. You come tell me. If nobody from your village tells us, we'll come in and find out ourselves, but the innocent will pay a price. You choose. Expressions changed. Understanding was there, or maybe just the sensation of getting off the hook. We'll have to see.

My boss calls me back to the site. We roll up our positions and move out. We're not giving friendly waves. We're as stern as we feel inside. We pushed them, we made them glimps our rage, we played them our prelude. They and us are on the same sheet of music now. The stage is set for the big play.

We return to our guys. The medevac had come and gone. Two birds: one for KIAs and one for WIAs. We don't mix them. Guilt sets in immediately regardless. I ask about the driver. He didn't make it after all. He put up a fight and lost in the end. He went on the KIA chopper. LT P went on the WIA chopper. I'm glad he left. He was in a poor shape mentally and needed to be removed from the scene. He also had a cracked rib and from the looks of it a concussion. We wait for EOD to analyze the techniques used against us. We adjust our perimeter and coordinate for the wreckage to be hauled away. We are not leaving a token of triumph for the punks. We gather up every piece from the vehicle. Everything. We settle in for the night.

Cross your fingers that all future updates will be less troubling. All the best to you back home!!!

because i haven't figured out the links thing yet...

I'd like to take a second and acknowledge those blogs that make my life worth living. I hope they provide as much joy to you as they have to me. Some day I hope to figure out how to create permanent links somewhere on this page - perhaps the whisky muse will help me - or maybe I'll just read the instructions on blogger. Whatever. Baby steps, people.

Wonkette - kinda an online Mad Magazine of Washington political gossip, but dirtier
Maccers - Brit humor in NYC
Smitten - to read her is to love her
Defamer - seriously mean hollywood gossip
Gawker - seriously mean and funny NYC gossip
Thirsty Bunny Chronicles - smart and funny but has yet to give into the Dark Side (won't let me have my way with him)
Obscurorant - Beantown friend of The Bunny - Is it possible to have a crush on somebody for their writing alone?

the wine muse is completely useless

But at least I figured out how to post photos for free! Behold (below)! A photo of my sassy hazel-green eyes (in black and white)! Now I just need CamillaParkerBowles help me get an equally sassy photo of my rack. That'll keep my dance card full, fo sho.

Alas, it is pumpkin time for this faceless bureaucrat. Sweet dreams!

you are getting sleepy...

hurricane preparedness/dating tips for women

All rightey. For those of you living on the coast, I highly recommend girding yourselves for storm surges and lotsa rain. If you feel all anal about it, I refer you to FEMA's website for some truly helpful hints. If you're not so anal, at least stock up on some adult beverages that need not be refridgerated in order to be happily consumed. You might also think about batteries for your flashlights (or other battery operated items), candles (hey, they're not just for creating mood or airing out the bathroom), and food that doesn't need to be refridgerated or cooked (cuz, some of you WILL lose power for a while).

Now that we have that out of the way, let's move on to our main business item: dating tips for women.

You see, it has come to my attention that men aren't the only clueless ones out there. Yep, apparently the Alabama Slama finds herself at loss. While TAS was hanging out in the Far East last week she too belatedly found herself being macked on by a rather luscious male specimen. I don't have all the grisly details yet (and now that I've blogged this she will probably never spill) but suffice to say, said lovely specimen retreated after repeatedly hitting on her without her realizing it.

OK - so I really don't have any dating tips. Guess I need the grisly details before I can provide some constructive advice. Lemme study on it (by which I mean do a little homage to the wine muse) and get back to you.

dating tips for men

So, we were sitting out in front of my apartment. He was dropping me off (IMO kind of early which generally isn't a good sign) after a rather lovely evening, and asked me, "So, should I walk you to your door?" "It depends, " I said. "You walk a date to the door. You just drop a friend off." "We're still in that gray area," he said. Well then, "Do you want to kiss me?" He says, get this, "Kind of." Yo. Kind of? "Well then, you better walk me to the door," I replied.

So he kisses me. It was a nice soft kiss. But I'm a little put-out that he didn't try anything else.

sad but true

I'm a study in contrasts. Complex. Not so much complicated. I think this is a good thing.

I really want to go see Metallica when they come to DC in October. My friends and acquaintances are aghast. My sister and I have liked them since 1991 or so... And we don't look like typical metal heads (back in 1992 we were rocking the Southern sorority chick look pretty hard) so our affinity for Metallica tends to be a shock.

Alas, the concept of seeing Metallica live frightens my friends. I'm not even sure I'm gonna get anyone out to see the movie, for that matter. Sad but true...

"i don't believe in happy endings"

We were in my car, Toonces, headed across the Potomac for some serious quality time. CamillaParkerBowles (CPB) and I try to get together at least twice a month for some retail and wine therapy, but our schedules have been rather hectic recently.

We were discussing movies that CPB has seen when the subject of neat Hollywood endings came up. "I don't believe in happy endings, " said CPB. She prefers ambiguity instead, and cited Lost in Translation as an example. CPB asserted that life does not end happily or sadly, nor do things really just end. I agree with the preference for ambiguous endings. After seeing Lost in Translation with a couple friends, it was interesting to see how we viewed the end so differently. I found the end rather uplifting. Maybe that's a function of being a rather happy/hopeful person. My friends saw it a little differently.

At the same time, I don't necessarily like ambiguity when it's personal. I like tidiness, knowing where I stand, having an idea about what to expect, being able to count on certain things or people. I think this is a rather human tendency.

Obviously, I've been doing way too much navel gazing this week. I need to go take Toonces for a ride and try to exorcise this pensiveness. It's not making for good copy.

Some happy news: congratulate me; I'm going to be an aunt again!

tipsy ramblings

So, last night the whisky muse hit me hard. So hard I couldn't sleep. Tonight, we've let the red wine muse out of the bottle in the hopes that she might be rectify (The Bunny would be giggling that I used that word) my insomnia. So far, so good. I'm kinda sleepy. I don't understand why scotch and wine take such different effects.

First - let's all send shinyfunhappy health vibes over to CamillaParkerBowles. Let's send her some good sex vibes too. For good measure send me some too. Good sex vibes all around! (Was the double entendre good for you, Bunnykins?)

Second - Let's all concentrate very hard and send some serious shrinkage/erectile dysfunction vibes to TPCLAP (Multicultural Spitfire's poorly bred ex). If that bastard has moved on, I'd like to make sure he and his new gf are unfulfilled.

In regard to Bunny, I believe that we will be meeting up on Monday at my neighborhood Scottish bar so that he can get his Belhaven fix. He has yet to tell me how he will be compensating me for my fantastic research skills... I will expect something much finer than a shiny quarter.

Oh - forgot to tell you all about this hilarious t-shirt I saw on the metro yesterday:
"Miso Knotty" - I nearly laughed out loud and you know what a public transportation faux pas that would have been...

dalwhinnie 15

Dalwhinnie 15 is not as delicate as my usual favorite, Auchentoshan 10, but it is growing on me. It's a little smokier and goes nicely with the chocolate peanut butter Atkins candy thingy I had for dessert.

But more importantly, it feels good. The first sip is a bit of a surprise. My tongue and lips tingle just a little, and not in an unenjoyable way. After a few sips I feel a slight warmth in my stomach (not to mention other places) and the bouquet (do you call it that for single malts?) is really lovely. It is very sexy.

So I am on to my second teensy glass and am feeling no pain. At least, I'm not feeling any pain until I watch the beautiful trainwreck that is The Player (showing on UPN). All these cheesy guys are in wifebeaters doing their best ghetto fabulous. And the chick has them totally pinned. My latest guilty pleasure...

fie on thee!!!!!!

On behalf of my friend, The Multicultural Spitfire, I'd like to give an anti-shoutout to TMS's former boyfriend who will now be known as That Piece of Crap Living Across the Pond.
TPCLAP and TMS broke up in June as TPCLAP decided, after four years of hemming, hawing and wasting her time, that he did not want to make a lifelong commitment to her. Today, he informed her that he had met someone else...

Dudes (ok - and Chicas for that matter), after relationships lasting 2+ years, if you should like to display exceedingly poor breeding by informing your exes that you have moved on within 3 months of the breakup, well, a pox on your genitals.

And TMS, baby? English weather would've been hell on your hair. Something better is on it's way. Trust me.