♦ juin parc. says:
*i had to content myself with this spider in my room
Peter – says:
*lol awww
*name it
♦ juin parc. says:
*NO
*not when it’s already dead
*i made my little brother kill it
*it was such a mission
Peter – says:
*LOL
♦ juin parc. says:
*yesterday, i’ve been eyeing it ALL day
Peter – says:
*are you serious … you’re scared of a spider ?
♦ juin parc. says:
*’cause it was on the very top left corner above my desk
*and i was studying
*(YEAH, SO, WANNA DIE)
*anyways
*and it didn’t budge
*it just… stayed there in that wee little corner
*so we both tried to ignore each other
*and then when i turned off the lights, i KNEW the little ass would creep around
*and it DID
*it traveled from one end of my room to the OTHER
Peter – says:
*LOL
♦ juin parc. says:
*WITHOUT me knowing
*it was soooo creepy
*when i woke up, i saw it was at the OTHER corner
Peter – says:
*hahaha you’re so cute sometimes, i almost forget you’re a girl til times like these hahaha
♦ juin parc. says:
*and it’s the corner above my rack of clothes
*HMMPH. SHH.
*so yeah, and then i was scared it’d fall onto my clothes
*so i called my little brother over who looks like he’s 8
*and he (daniel) goes: “WHAT”
*me: “hey, you’re getting bigger now.. i think you can reach that corner”
*and he goes: “… is it a spider”
*so he helped me move my clothes rack and he took a chair, and like the tiny superboy he is, he took a wooden stick and hit it against the corner
*the damn spider fell, i shrieked, i grabbed my fly swatter, moved my brother to the side and annihilated it.
*then i made my little brother pick up the spider with tissue.
*and that was the end of that creeper.
Peter – says:
*LOL
*hahahhahaaha
*HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
*<3
*oh my god i’m laughing so hard
*you’re too fuckin cute hahahahahahahahahahaha

—–

And that concludes my anecdote. I HATE bugs. I’m actually bugophobic, not even exaggerating.

I remember the last time a huge housefly was zooming in my room, I couldn’t find my trusty fly swatter at the time.  So while it was buzzing around in the air – I threw my dictionary at it. Yup. It was a hardcover with 1500 pages and that fly didn’t stand a chance with my fatal aim. I pwned the shiet out of him.

Please, please, for your own health, get your ducts cleaned.  That is all.

I went to work today feeling fine.  I was a bit tired & whatnot, but okay.  I was ravenously hungry around 11:00, so I ate my hop & go bar slowly.  Ann sent me to lunch around 12:30.  I ate my usual – blueberry yogurt, my main dish & started on my raspberries.  Halfway through them I felt icky and full, so I put my food away & rested.  I had 10 minutes left on my lunch to sit and relax.  On the way back to my till, I stopped in the bathroom where I proceeded to gag 3 times.  A little bit came up in my throat.  I thought maybe I was stuffed up, because it’s been known to happen and blew my nose.  I also splashed some water on my face to wake me up, and slapped myself a little.   I noticed I was a bit pale.

While helping a customer at the till, I began to gag twice in a row.   Ann came out of nowhere and tried to close me down so I could get a drink of water as soon as I was done with that customer, who was very understanding about my gagging.  Having an obviously pregnantly rounded belly helps people be more understanding.   I took two tums to see if they’d help, served another customer, and gagged some more.  I took Ann up on her offer.  I refilled my water bottle & went back to the lunch room to sit down.  I gagged almost all the way to the lunch room, including as I literally entered the lunch room.  Here I am, standing in the doorway gagging as the poor security guard in front of me is eating veggies with dip.  (Dip mostly reminds me of barf).  Something rose up into my mouth.  I swallowed it back down, because there was nowhere to spit it.  Plus, people were eating, and I couldn’t put them off their food anymore than I already had.

I sat for about 10 minutes, fighting the urges to throw up, breathing deeply, et cetera.  But the nausea wasn’t going to go away until I had a good puke I think.  So I went back out to tell Ann & sign out.  One last trip to the bathroom before the drive home, where I gagged some more.  Yay.  I quickly scribbled down my email for Pat, as it was her last day, and for Ann, just in case.   When I said I wasn’t feeling any better, Ann said that all that matters is the baby, and I have to go home & lie down & rest.  If I can’t work tomorrow or next week, so be it.  I mentioned that it was weird I hadn’t thrown up through the whole pregnancy to only have it potentially start up now.  I gathered my things and went out to the car.  As soon as I sat down, I felt like I was going to be sick.  I popped back up and out of the car.  Doubled over to breathe in, gagged, and started crying.  I remembered reading that sudden & severe nausea was one of the possible signs of preterm labour.  So I was understandably worried.  I called Shane so he could calm me down.  But he didn’t answer.  I called my mom for the same reason.  She got me calmed down, and then told me about my grandma’s little accident.

Anyways, I was worried about driving home via the highway, and took the main roads instead.  I covered my lap with a blanket, should I feel the need to puke while driving.  I told my mom I would drive by Pauline & John’s house.  If I felt ill, I’d stop in there for a little while.  If I felt better, I’d keep driving home.  Once I got nearer to my inlaws house, I felt pukey.  I turned down the heat & opened the window for some fresh air.  It helped a bit.  I stopped in at my inlaws.  My father- in-law is on vacation this week, so the door was unlocked.  I burst in & bolted for the bathroom.  I gagged a few times, had a tinkle, gagged some more.  When I came out of the washroom, John was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and asked, “Are you alright?”  I felt pretty shaky, said I don’t know and asked if I could lie down.  I lay down on the bed, shaking a little bit, he brought me a blanket, and closed the door.  I felt pretty antsy lying there, and figured I’d stay for 20 minutes or so until everything had settled.

Next thing I know, I’m waking up, and it looks like it’s getting dark out.  I figure I’d better go home.  I kind of felt that if I went back to sleep, I’d sleep through the night.  John told me he’d called my mom, and asked if he should drive me home, and if I’d like something to drink.  I said I think I should be fine to drive home, and that I had water in the car.  I thanked him for the nap & went home.  At home, I was hungry, so I had a small snack.  Then I had a little more.  I felt okay.  I had dinner later, and felt a little yucky when I ate, but no gagging or insane nausea.  The same thing happened when I had another snack, (a second helping of dinner – Kraft Pizza), I felt a tiny bit yucky but no gagging.  It was almost like my little nap cured me.  Or maybe it was the drooling on my hand while I was napping…

I think I’ll take tomorrow off just in case.  I did spend half of Thursday in the bathroom.  Maybe I have a touch of something?*  Hopefully it wasn’t a warning sign of preterm labour.  I also hope it wasn’t just a case of a too full tummy – that would be really embarassing.  I ate a little less than usual at lunch – could my stomach really have shrunk so much?  I wonder what the problem was.

I just felt a bit nauseated just now, and remembered that last night, completely out of the blue, I felt like I was going to throw up.  I went downstairs to eat something so I wouldn’t puke.  Pregnancy is nothing but a ball of confusion for the poor, underappreciated digestive system.

*Mom said that the hospital had a sign up tonight about a gastro-intestinal thing that is going around.

Stuffing has got to be my favorite Thanksgiving food.  I remember Thanksgivings past where my dad & I would fight over the stuffing bowl like it was filled with gold, diamonds, and (for me) guitars.  The stuff is perfect.  Alone, with turkey, with gravy… the decadent amount of carbs is ridiculously awesome.

Last year was my first ever attempt at making stuffing… and my grandma told me that it tasted just like hers.  Is there a compliment better than that?  I had used as a guide an old recipe that my grandfather & grandmother had both used when making holiday meals.  My mom lent me the old cook book with my grandfather’s notes last year, I collected some others, and I made scans for myself.

I say “guide” because it’s not always an exact science when doubling/tripling recipes… and there really aren’t any cooking directions… it’s just a guide to make the stuff.  Also, I tend to do a lot of “oh, that looks about right” and a little bit of “hey, let’s add a little of this” in the kitchen, as most people comfortable there usually do.

A lot of times I see stuffing recipes online, on TV, or in the little books by the cash register at the grocery store… and they include sausage, apples, raisins, (yuck!) nuts, or even peppers, carrots, or mushrooms (all of the latter of which I’ like to try some time).  The philosophy behind this recipe seems to be a K.I.S.S. one.  I like that.  It’s a very simple accompaniment, and the taste that my mind goes to every time I think “stuffing”.

This year, it was definitely a two person effort.  I don’t know how I would have done it without Bethany and all four of our hands.  We made a lot of stuffing.  Sadly, I didn’t think to chronicle the thing with photos like I sometimes do with new recipes… but I did want to make a guide with my own notes, so when I do this next year, I remember what I did differently this year.  I know I altered things slightly last year, but the details were a little fuzzy.  I figured that if I’m going to do it for myself, I might as well share, right?  Plus, we got compliments from two moms, two grandmas, and an aunt… all excellent in the kitchen themselves!

I did take a photo today, because really, what’s a food blog post without a photo?  Perhaps I’ll see if my mom got any with her camera and amend the post later.

This year's effort was delicious, if I do say so myself.

This is my first time really writing out a recipe… so pardon me if it’s a little convoluted or long winded.  I don’t want to miss anything, and I hope to get it all in the right order as well as make it an entertaining read.

Here’s what you’ll need to do it the same way I did…

Food:

• 5 loaves of bread (equaled 56 cups once cubed)
• 1 bundle of celery (3 cups, chopped – the rest can cook w/ the turkey or be a snack)
• 2 Spanish or Sweet onions
• The giblets & neck out of your turkey.
• 1 can (14½ oz.) vegetable broth
• 1 tablespoons of salt
• ½ tablesppon Season All Seasoned Salt
• 1 heaping teaspoon coarse ground black pepper
• 1 heaping teaspoon sage
• 1 heaping teaspoon poultry seasoning
• 10 eggs
• 4 sticks (2 cups) butter
• some water
• 1 cup fresh parsley
• 1 bottle of Yuengling

Stuff:

• 2 cookie sheets
• cutting boards
• small pot
• electric skillet
• Magic Bullet^®
• electric roaster
• large crock pot
• knives
• a few large bowls
• whisk
• spatula
• several large spoons
• paper towels

OK, on to the directions…

1. Monday night, get your loaves of bread, open the bags, and put the loaves on cookie sheets before dinner.  Leave ‘em out on a table or counter while you do your thing.
2. Right before your favorite prime time TV shows come on, set up a station on the coffee table in front of the couch with the cookie trays of bread, some cutting boards with knives, and the pans out of your electric roaster.  Cube the bread and fill the roasting pan.  When I say fill it, I mean fill it.  It will be ridiculously full.
3. Cover it with paper towels, and set it on the kitchen table that you only use when company comes over anyway.  Over the next few days, stir it a few times a day, whenever you think of it.  This will get it nicely & slightly stale.  If you’re going to be doing anything that smells, like using cleaning chemicals, put it in the oven… but don’t turn it on.  It’s nice & warm & dry & not stinky in there.  The bread will absorb that stuff and the stuffing will taste like Mr. Clean made it.
4. Wednesday night, get out your turkey… and pull the disgusting papery bag of giblets out of the neck cavity, and the neck out of its butt.  (Why exactly do they put the neck in the butt, anyway?  Who’s idea was that?) Boil the giblets in your can of vegetable broth, or just use plain water… or even turkey or chicken broth.  I thought the vegetable broth would add a nice flavor.  I boiled them for a nice long time, and let it cook down quite a bunch.
5. Finely chop up your celery & onions… or use the Magic Bullet, like I did.  I’m not real big on chunks of slimy or crunchy stuff in bread-like consistency foods.  I probably had half of each chopped finely, the other half rendered to near-paste by the genius little piece of equipment that list the Magic Bullet.  I’m sure any food processor would work.. but this one is easy to pot pout of storage, use, and clean when you’re done.
6. Then I popped out the electric skillet to sauteé the onion & celery mixture… probably in some Country Crock & a bit of extra virgin olive oil… adding some of the spices mentioned above, and maybe even some paprika… although, they don’t come the totals listed above.  These are the aforementioned “oh, that looks about right” and  “hey, let’s add a little of this”.  You’ve sauteed stuff, you know how it works.  I love this step because it turns the onions from gross into awesome… especially the Spanish onions.  The sweet onions are oddly enough not as sweet to me when cooked.
7. Next time, I’m totally getting a pair of swimming goggles or those glasses that I’ve seen at Bed, Bath & Beyond for when I chop & pulverize the onions.  I was crying like a little girl who just watched a car run over a kitten.
8. I popped the onions and celery into separate containers for the ‘fridge to save for Thursday morning.
9. Next, I pulled out the giblets and chopped them into tiny pieces, & put them with the reduced broth from cooking into a 3rd refrigerator bound container to be used on Thursday morning.
10. Go to bed.  You have to get up early.
11. Thursday get up about an hour before your turkey needs to go in the roaster oven, and start to mix all this crap together.
12. Add the dry spice ingredients to the now stale-ish cubed bread.  Good luck not getting any on the floor.
13. Chop the fresh parsley.
14. Nuke your butter in a microwave safe bowl, add it to a large mixing bowl, crack open the 10 eggs, and whisk away.
15. Add the fresh parsley to the buttery gooey egg mixture.
16. Add 2-3 cups of the broth from the giblets, and the finely chopped giblets to the now even gooier butterier egg mixture.
17. This is where I got the bright idea to dump in some Yuengling.  It wasn’t a whole bottle… but I had it out & only needed about ½ cup for my butter/garlic/beer turkey injection/baste,  so I dumped some into the gooey buttery gibletey mixture, and drank the rest… all before 8:00 am.
18. Dump the celery & onion concoction on to the bread, mix around, and then dump on the gooey buttery gibletey Yuenglingey mixture.  This is where it was imperative that there were two of us.  Bethany opted to use her hands to mix while I poured.  The mixing gets easier when it’s wet, as it goes down a little.  You should probably wash your hands before you do this.  Not that I think you’re stupid or anything… but there are signs out there all over the place… so someone somewhere must need reminded.  Use soap, and hot water.
19. Now, this needs to come out of the roaster so the turkey can go into it… and you should be doing this around the same time as turkey prep… so stuff what you can into the turkey carcass’ various cavities, and put the rest in the crock pot.  I had Bethany scoop it into a bowl small amounts at a time as I stuffed it into the bird, so I wasn’t touching raw poultry and the stuffing that wasn’t going into the bird.  She made it clear that she wasn’t touching the raw dead bird, or sticking her hands into it.
20. I sewed up the turkey and popped it into the roaster to cook, and then put the stuffing in the crock pot on low to cook for the same amount of time.
21. Everyone told me last year that stuffing + crock pot = bad idea.  This is where I say that you could not be more wrong.  It was perfectly moist and heated well throughout.  I did break the cardinal cock pot rule by removing the lid every hour or so and stirring a little so it didn’t stick to the sides or burn.  This worked well, except that I didn’t get the bottom well enough.  You could add more liquid throughout if t looked necessary… or not stir if you like the crusty part as much as the other part.  If you use the crock pot enough, you get to know what works for yours.  Pop it on to warm or off a while before you eat.
22. When the turkey’s ready, the stuffing’s ready.  Stuff yourself silly, send people home with leftovers, and eat for breakfast, lunch, & dinner the next day.

Well, I hope you enjoyed the process, and I’m sorry for jumping tenses.  I think I did anyway.  All over the place.  Maybe Dave and Kristin can give me some pointers on that.

I’d love to know what you think of this recipe, and how you do your stuffing.  I’m always up for trying things new ways… and I’m always up for eating stuffing.  In fact, even better — make some, and invite me over for dinner!

]]> http://cruisestogalapagos.wordpress.com/2009/11/27/galapagos-last-minute-departure-deals/ Fri, 27 Nov 2009 16:40:10 +0000 cruisestogalapagos http://cruisestogalapagos.wordpress.com/2009/11/27/galapagos-last-minute-departure-deals/

> RESERVE NOW

He’s all for efficiency and saving both time and resources.  He’s no time thief.  On a daily basis, he asks himself “…for every decision [I] make, is this good for the company?  Am I helping with the company’s strategic vision?”

That’s great he is so committed to the company and what he does. But really, can he not take a five minute break for a little personal time?  We’ve all had that sinking suspicion that when we’re on the phone with him, something isn’t quite right.  There’s an odd echo.  His voice periodically sounds like he is straining.  You’re hearing noises that you shouldn’t hear on a regular phone call.  You wonder to yourself if the call signals got crossed.  Sadly no, your deepest and darkest fear has come true.  He has been multitasking while in the bathroom.

Although we’re sure (i.e. hope and pray) he washed his hands when he was done and used a hand wipe on his electronic gadgets, just to be in the free, don’t ask if you can use his phone or laptop.  And no sir, I will not shake your hand.  I have no interest in a 0.0000000001% chance of an inadvertent stink palm.

Unsere westliche Kultur hält mittlerweile doch recht viel von sich: Durch sein ausgereiftes, hochentwickeltes Denken sieht sich der humanistische, aufgeklärte und selbstdenkende Mensch im Zentrum des Geschehens. Nicht so das Universum, auch nicht unsere Galaxie, in der wir wohnen. Für sie steht jemand anders im Zentrum…

Die Nadel im Heuhaufen

Wir liegen nicht im Zentrum unserer Galaxie.

Betrachtet man unsere Galaxie, würde vermutlich manch einer vermuten, dass wir irgendwo im Zentrum liegen müssten. Nein, wir leben zwischen ein paar Spiralarmen in einer freien Zone, etwa zwei Drittel vom Zentrum entfernt (weisse Punkt). Der Durchmesser unserer Galaxie beträgt ca. 100′000 Lichtjahre.

Im Vergleich zur Milchstrasse ist die Grösse unseres Sonnensystems ein 20 Rappenstück, der irgendwo auf dem nordamerikanischen Planeten liegt.

Ein 20 Rp. Stück auf Nordamerika

Es geht nicht darum, uns dazu zu bringen, dass wir uns klein fühlen sollen. Vielmehr sollten wir erkennen, dass wir klein sind!

Wenn ich anschaue deinen Himmel, deiner Finger Werk, den Mond und die Sterne, die du bereitet hast: Was ist der Mensch, dass du sein gedenkst, und des Menschen Sohn, dass du dich um ihn kümmerst? (Psalm 8,4-5)

Explosives Spektakel

Ein wütender Feuerball

150 Millionen Kilometer von der Erde entfernt erfreut uns die Sonne mit ihrem Licht und ihrer Wärme. Doch was uns so hell und wohl erscheint, ist in Wirklichkeit eine äusserst hitzige Angelegenheit. Als ein riesig wütender Feuerball gleicht sie Milliarden von Atombomben, die jede Sekunde explodieren. Sie verbreitet Licht mit einer Geschwindigkeit von 300′000 km pro Sekunde. Ein Lichtstrahl benötigt von der Sonne bloss 8 Minuten, um bis er auf unsere Haut gelangt. Man bedenke, dass laut der Bibel sogar die Sonne durch den Mund Gottes entsprang. Was für ein enormer Gott!

Unzählige Explosionen...

Es benötigt das Bruttosozialprodukt (BSP) der USA während 7 Millionen Jahren, nur um die Sonne für eine Sekunde zu heizen. Ein wirklicher Energie-Gigant, und doch ist sie bloss eine der Milliarden Sterne in unserer Unterabteilung, genannt Milchstrasse, welche wiederum eine Unterabteilung unter Milliarden weiterer Unterabteilungen im bisher bekannten Weltall ausmacht. Wie kann der Mensch bloss so viel von sich halten, dass er behauptet, es gäbe keinen Gott da draussen?

Und doch, trotz all den unzähligen Sternen und Galaxien hat Gott den Überblick nicht verloren. Er hat unseren Planeten nicht vergessen. Nicht nur kennt er alle Sterne mit Namen, er kennt auch jeden einzelnen Menschen – und zwar so gut, dass er nebenbei noch unsere Haare auf dem Kopf gezählt hat!

So Adam Lambert kissed a guy at 11 and change at night on network TV. Who the hell gives a crap?! Personally I saw it on youtube the following day before Dick Clark Productions got all crazy about their ‘rights’ (though I suspect the controversy had more to do with it being taken offline). But when i saw it online I really did think it was overtly sexual – however – not overly sexual, at least when compared to what is generally deemed okay nowadays at 11pm.  I’ve got news for you America – Sex is not Immoral. Maybe inappropriate for younger viewer (who shouldn’t be up so late), but just cause whatever nasty sex act you’re witnessing is not your cup of tea doesn’t make it immoral. I certainly don’t think it’s hot when you and your significant other do some of the crazy kinky things you do either.

Oh No! Two Dudes Kissing.

I mean for real folks, the fact that he had his hand massaging the outside of some girls vagina is actually kind of more obscene than the gay-kiss. Though I suppose there was always the mock-gayllatio.

Oh No! Two Girls Kiss

Ewww scream millions of straight men and Christians across America.  Well here’s a news story – Just because you think it’s gross doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t air. Trust me, there are whole networks devoted to depravity and immoral things that I disagree with and ya k now what I do? I don’t watch them. Period. And if I had kids, I wouldn’t let them watch it either – especially not at 11pm on a school night. Now I suppose there is a certain age where 11pm isn’t too young to be up that late, in which case, I think it’s probably also an appropriate time to have a talk about different people and actions sexual and otherwise – make it a learning experience for Christ’s sake.

In any case – here’s what I think it boils down to : for as much as Christian-Right/”Moral” America say that America’s moral fiber is being taken away and they are losing “their” America – they are just incredibly wrong. America has never been this moral paradigm of selfless christian devotion. It was always a farce and people are finally just doing what they have always done in public instead of hiding it inside the white picket fences – and they’re not apologizing for who they are. So get over yourselves America and let Adam Lambert sing and be the queeniest sexually outward homo he wants to be and if capitalism is allowed to work – let the masses decide whether or not what he does is appropriate. Something tells me that all these horrifying actions will only make him more popular. And if you think it’s gross or icky – too bad – here’s a video for you:

You guys, not playing around with the TMI tag today. Not to be read while eating!

NTKOG #67: The kind of eating disordered girl who decides to cheat her body out of a few calories by the weirdest method possible. To wit, the “chew up your food then spit it in a bucket” diet.

I am: quite fond of eating. The whole process. Including, y’know, the swallowing step.

I am not: the main character in a Lifetime Movie.

The Scene: My apartment. Ballsy though I am, I couldn’t quite bring myself to trying this one in public, so I picked up a slice of pizza and a piece of carrot cake at the mediocre pizzeria down the street.

None of this food actually made it into my stomach.

For context, The Ex is actually the one who gave me the “chew it up and spit it in a bucket” diet idea. Over the many years we were together, periodically he would jolt up in bed during pillow talk moments and crow, with a just-cured-cancer awe in his voice: “Instead of bulimia, why don’t people just not swallow?! Why don’t they just chew up the food and spit it in a bucket?” My answer: “Uh, ’cause then someone would have to clean the bucket?” But the idea always compelled me, so why not give it a shot.

Once I got the food home, there were two big questions: 1) What am I going to spit the food into?; and 2) omg seriously what the fuck?! Although there wasn’t much to do about the second question, I solved the first by spitting the thoroughly chewed mouthfuls into the paper plate that the pizza came on. (No, I won’t gross you out with pictures. Have you ever vommed pizza? It looked like that.)

I rather expected that the experience of chewing up food and spitting it out — and keeping it in plain sight! — would trigger a for-realsies bulimish response and send me puking immediately, but it honestly wasn’t as gross as I expected. I chewed every mouthful basically down to paste — much more thoroughly than I’d chew a normal slice — and tried to focus on extracting and enjoying as much flavor as possible. And the actual chewing bits were nice, but spitting the bites up on the plate? Kind of reminded me of vomiting, though with less velocity.

I think it’s because when we’re normally chewing food, the high-profile flavors hit your tongue immediately (pepperoni! spicy sauce! gooeyness of cheese!), and in the normal bite-swallow-repeat process, you don’t have time to fully experience the more understated flavors (like how a thick, cardboardy crust has a bland sort of cornmeal sweetness to it). And when do we actually experience those flavors in full? When we’re vomiting, of course.

That, and slick, slippery mouthfuls of pre-chewed food just sort of falling from your lips? Um, yeah. The comparison is pretty close to begin with anyway.

The carrot cake was even weirder, ’cause the cake part was stale and dominated by thick, cold cream cheese frosting. There were really only a few chews in each bite, then I was left with not much to do but swirl some rapidly heating sweetened cream cheese around my tongue before sliming it out onto the plate. You guys. This was just about as attractive as it sounds.

The Verdict: What, are you friggin’ nuts?! Don’t do this. Don’t ever do this. It ruins the taste of good food, provides none of the satisfaction of swallowing and digesting, and makes you look like an absolutely crazy person. Although it is perhaps the least invasive form of psychotically disordered eating, um, maybe let’s all agree to just actually eat food like normal people and maybe not freak out if we go a few calories over?

Sorry, The Ex, to put a damper on your diet scheme, which is brilliant on paper. But all this ended up accomplishing was filling my Scottish-Jewish heart with guilt for wasting $5 on food I didn’t eat, and forcing me to take out my trash in the middle of the day. ’cause, I mean, ugh.
___

Guys, even without gross-out “after” pictures of the process, can we all agree this is totes a TMI Thursday? Keep up the appetite-suppressin’ bloggy goodness by stopping by LiLu’s awesome blog and checking out her TMI Thursday archives.

Oh my goodness. You smell like a gross thing. Here I was, thinking I was coping with the newly changed poo-situation quite well. Until this morning.

Another poo on the mat, floor, all over you episode. But this time with me trying not to gag as I wiped you down and washed everything, including you.

lovely. Stinky poo to roll in.

Yerk. It was definitely the yoghurt. I mentioned it to someone else today, and they said, “oh yeah, yoghurt was the worst”. I wish I’d been warned. I would have added it to your diet a little later.

Gross.

happy as a pig in mud. No, as a baby in poo. Muck. Yuck.

Yet you still looked so happy, rolling around in it when I got out from the shower. Needless to say, the clean-up took a while, but not as bad as last time. And, due to the requests last time, I did stop to take a photo. What the heck, you already had it all over you.

love you stinky poo pants
mum

Make-Up by Thomas de Kluyver

Make-Up by Thomas de Kluyver

In my opinion, sex is something that could always use a makeover. Call me a prude, but the thought of sweaty, naked bodies grotesquely pounding away to the most evil of rhythms isn’t exactly a beautiful one.

Because of this, I’ve always been enchanted by the idea of what I thought was referred to as a “Chicken Party”. For most of my life, I’ve been under the belief that a chicken party is a gathering of friends in which all of the females wear a different shade of lipstick and, at the end of the night, the male with the most colorful penis wins some kind of fabulous prize. Pretty imagery, right?

I was embarrassed to learn that this is actually referred to as a “Rainbow Party”. I’d been throwing the wrong term around for years and have probably made a complete jackass out of myself on several occasions without even realizing it. What else is new?

Where in the hell did I get “Chicken” from? I also feel totally thrown off since this means what I previously thought a “Rainbow Party” consisted of was also completely wrong. It’s too long to explain what I had originally believed it to be, but I can safely say that it was far more elaborate and debauched than a “Chicken Party” could ever hope to be.

***

The amount of dumb shit happening at award shows this year is pretty staggering, and I could not be happier about it. How does one top Kanye’s infamous outburst during Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech? Shove your cock in a leather-clad male dancers face, that’s how.

Everyone is talking about pop diva Adam Lambert and his way gay antics at the AMA’s this Sunday. The repercussions for his glittery, pelvis-popping actions have caused hordes of angry gays to shout “Double Thtandard!”.

I think this is stupid. If Lady Gaga or the insufferable Rihanna gyrated their dirty pussies into a dancers face on a Sunday night in front of millions of families, people would be just as pissed. Should people be upset? I of course don’t think so, but what are you going to do? We live in a country where an innocent nip-slip instigated the FCC to enforce a “5-Second Delay” law.

Come on, gays. Stop complaining. Maybe it’s one of the reasons people “hate” queers so much. The man you’re all defending is doing absolutely nothing to help you or your causes.

]]> http://zenithmax.wordpress.com/2009/11/25/is-loving-adam-lambert-a-hate-crime/ Wed, 25 Nov 2009 01:48:45 +0000 zenithmax http://zenithmax.wordpress.com/2009/11/25/is-loving-adam-lambert-a-hate-crime/

J. Grant Swank, Jr.

Don’t you just love Adam?

After all, who lately has made such an adieu about cuddle this and kissing that? A pinch here, a fondle there.

Now that America is under hate crime watch, is loving Adam Lambert a hate crime? I was pondering that this evening when reading all about ABC zapping him for their “Good Morning America” bit.

The whole problem is this: So you love Adam Lambert. Does that mean that you hate God?

Adam Lambert is telecasting that he is an out-o-the-closet kind of person. And he proves it on stage by kissing an onstage male entertainer—impromptu, so who can judge him for doing what his drives tell him what to do?

More than that, he leads around stage fellow males on leashes. Now if that’s not anti-Petticoat Junction, I don’t know what is.

But the quandary is this: Adam Lambert does this kind of mix-up and gets cancelled on one major network while picked up on another. He’s got thousands of Americans phoning in to television execs complaining about his capers. He’s got interviews with reporters, whining he’s sorry if his lifestyle stuffs it in people’s faces.

Then he persists in romping around while screaming out a screech and smashing a male’s head in his crotch.

Now is loving Adam Lambert a hate crime? Because I read in the Bible that doing that kind of thing as a male to male is repulsive to biblical deity. And so if it is that basic a madness, then perhaps Adam Lambert is putting his signature to a hate crime.

I mean by that that God hates his display because it is sin.

Of course, everyone who knows a smidgen about the Bible knows that the God of the Book forgives a genuinely repentant soul. So if Adam Lambert sincerely confessed his whatevers to God, God would bestow mercy. Note: it would have to be sincere; that is, to “go and sin no more,” as Jesus told the woman caught in adultery.

However, of course, I am not at all leaning in the direction of Adam Lambert running to the confessional for at this juncture in his young life he is making a lot of money and fuss over his carnal flips. He’s got a lot of people yakking pro and con. That makes for a star slot in some individuals’ opinions.

But back to the main point: Is loving Adam Lambert a hate crime? That is, is loving Adam Lambert equal to his committing a hate crime. Maybe I should have put it that way at the outset.

In any case, it is a serious matter. For if one Adam Lambert is committing a hate crime in God’s estimation then it would behoove him to weigh his present spotlight in nastiness with what lays ahead eternally.

What say you?

Whenever my leg/foot swells up like last night, the veins pop out in my foot. Yuck. Anybody know why? Is it from the pressure of the swelling?

This is not to be confused with when my foot turns purple. That happens to all my toes and the toe half of my foot. I think it looks kinda cool, and best of all…it DOESN”T hurt to be cold and purple

My upper leg gets veins popping out, too, from swelling. The dent hurts REALLY bad It stings and has sharp pains. Luc kept telling me I had to go to the ER and he was taking me. I told him I’m too big to forcibly move! The fluorescent lights in the ER make me so sick that I have to be feeling like I’m going to die before willingly going.

Perhaps later I will take one of my Vicodins. Tears keep sneaking out because it hurts so much I can feel every muscle in my body tensed up. What a wimp…

Still having gut distress. At this point docs could do a colonoscopy without bothering to clean me out first. Ugh. It HAS to be the Clindamycin.

The boy is confused. Not like a meant to go left, went right kind of confused, but more of a I have night and day confused. “So when it is dark is when I am awake, right?” I don’t know what it is but ever since the time change our little sleep like a log baby has now digressed into play time is at two AM baby. Last night he squealed and played over the monitor for a good two hours in his crib. Now good to know he can entertain himself but, I was more entertained with the idea of sleep. Maybe he thinks since it gets dark at 4:30, that is when the evening starts. Whatever it may be we HAVE GOT TO FIX IT!!!!

On a lighter note, lets talk about spit up for a second. Have you ever sat in a puddle of spit up? Not by choice, or even accident, but really because you had no choice. 4-5 ounces of milk into the boy then, 4-5 ounces of spit up in your lap. You then my friend are instantly sitting in it. And with no warning what so ever, no time to dodge the disaster, no time to redirect the disaster, no time to grab a poncho or umbrella. I have had to change the sheets three times in the past week, on OUR bed. Yeah, he does fine when he is in his bed, but put him in our bed and here comes the thunder!!!So, again our child is facing confusion on whether or not the food actually stays in the body or if you just enjoy it and then spit it back up.

The newest happening with him has become his drooling. Though not always “funny”to most, his drooling does have a profound ability to make Abbi and I laugh. The other day he was sitting in his Bumbo seat and some how was able to accomplish a full drool line from mouth to lap. The other great one is when he is now up on your shoulder, looking backwards and you bring him to the front to look at him, you are now attached. Attached by this ”string” of drool that runs from baby to a large puddle on the sleeve of your shirt. We no longer have to give him baths, because he is able to now clean his chest area in drool. (Just kidding- Even more reason for a bath, I know, I know)

 And everything is better with a picture so….

Ready to Run with Mom

My leg looks even worse than this Just in the last hour it started swelling up. The dent is a cavern. There are new big lumps and bumps. It itches like crazy. I’m breaking into hives again. I burst into tears and want to hide. I do not want to go back to the ER. The very first time I ever had a real DVT clot in my leg was Thanksgiving day 1984.

My leg hurts really bad….and more by the second. I just got up. My leg is hot and swollen tight all the way up my leg. I moved to the bed and am lying flat. Geeeeeeeeze…it hurts

If I close my eyes will it all go away?

"Roissy in DC" author: James C. Weidmann

Jimmy-The-Jew:  ”Roissy in DC”

Now, let me just say this.  I have never felt the need to dedicate a post to Roissy because we all know (in his many pathetic, repeated blog posts dedicated to me) that is exactly what he wants.  He wants to be the “dark villain” and the “dangerous man”.  Sadly, most women can see upon reading a few words of his that he is not a dangerous nor scary man.  He’s a sad, lonely, 40’s-something guy…..stuck in a big city…..where he just can’t keep up with the competition  (please refer to what he looks like and what he WEARS as a man his age to see what I am referring to).

*I am interested to see if Roissy “takes it like a man” or shrieks like a schoolgirl and demand it be removed.  ( I say this because Roissy has felt free to find and post photos of me, my family, my personal info, and anything else he can find to “call me out”).  I wonder if the “dishee” can also take it.*

Desperation drips from his false online persona like a broken rusty rain gutter that everyone gave up on fixing long ago……

If you are NOT familiar with blogger, “Roissy in DC“……I’d suggest you click and read a bit of his blog (you’re welcome, Roissy).

This is a man who claims to be a Master of Seduction, a Jesus-Like Savior of (wimpy) men, a Colossus of Gaming, and of course an all around “Ladies Man”.

He extols the virtues of dodging child support payments, physically intimidating your wives & girlfriends to “keep them in line”, and even encourages men to “raw-dog” it and have as much unprotected sex as you possibly can (gross….can you say STD’s and MORE babies in foster care???).

Unfortunately, the men he is preying upon don’t realize that he is NOT out to help them, NOT out “offer advice”, but out ONLY to reassure himself in his aging, middle-aged, desperation…..that ANYONE still wants to hear what he has to say.

You all know the expression “Well….if I’m going down….I’m taking everyone with me.”  THAT is exactly what Roissy’s “Game” advice to men is.  It’s like the crack under a recovering crack-heads nose…….the “miracle diet pill” to the lifetime Anorexic……and the walking, talking ENABLER of the further decline of modern men in today’s society.  He encourages men to go back to the “id”…..the caveman inside themselves…….and care about nothing but eating, sleeping, and fucking.

Every step that man has taken forward in the world, Roissy helps them to take a step back.  For every man who DOES have discipline and character (and self-control)……Roissy helps to enable 10 more NOT to be.

The chauvinism, arrogance, and cock-obsessed points aside……Roissy is a living breathing example of the stereotype that many men have been trying to not be a part of:  drooling, horny, pussy-obsessed, “cocks-on-wheels” with not a thought in their head except finding a warm-hole.  (Pardon the nasty expression, but that is the main thought process of men like these).

Anyway…..I received an email directly from a mysterious (and generous) Miss X.  This is evidently a woman who feels much the same way that I do and is tired of witnessing this sort of degradation in our society as whole.

*NOTE:  I will remove tidbits from the email that could/would give away the identity of “Miss X” and how she may be “familiar” with Roissy.  I will also mark my own comments with *asterisks* and Italics so there is no confusion.*

Dear Lady Raine,

I’ve been a longtime admirer of your contributions to the debate at Roissy’s. However, his recent smugness has exceeded even my tolerance, and I thought I might offer a little birthday present to you to offset the bile you’ve received from him:

I believe I know Roissy’s real name.

I know that you like investigation…. take a look at James (Jim) C. Wiedmann, employed by FINRA (a private finance regulatory body in D.C.). Also interviewed in the Mail and Globe article “When Players Turn Into Boyfriends.” See if this rings any bells:

The pickup artist’s message for wannabe players and boyfriends alike is essentially “don’t be a wuss,” says J. Wiedmann, a Washington-based white-collar-crime investigator. Mr. Wiedmann, who did not want his full name used, launched his “reality-based seduction” blog, “Roissy in DC: Where Pretty Lies Perish,” last year. Reviled and beloved, the blog is full of devilish relationship strategies.


“I’ve written about the importance of instilling dread in your girlfriend by turning off your phone twice a week, or calling her from a busy place where women are laughing in the background … despite her protestations to the contrary, a little bit of uncertainty goes a long way to keeping her aroused for you,” Mr. Wiedmann said in an interview.


Aside from the usual fawning and vitriolic responses to his posts, Mr. Wiedmann has been seeing more pleas for relationship advice in his inbox lately. “Most of my male readers ask for advice on how to win that ‘one girl’ over. They’re struggling to get out of the discount bin of the sexual market,” he says.

(http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/article714983.ece)

Roissy published a blog entry entitled “I Am In the Globe and Mail,” but has recently deleted it.
(http://roissy.wordpress.com/2008/12/19/i-am-in-the-globe-and-mail/).

He is 41. His birth day and month are the same as listed in this profile, but he lies about the year. This is what he looks like.
(http://www.puaconnect.com/roissy/)

If you’d like any further confirmation, try a Google search for “Roissy’s real name.”

He loves to brag about his exploits, but abuses women while hiding under a cloak of secrecy. And now he is making it a personal crusade to attack all the women on his blog who are still willing to stick around. Please be careful — some of the men at his site are very angry and seem a few minutes away from snapping.

From one woman to another,
Miss X

*I also received this in my comments section from another one of my readers*

You should send Roissy a nice thank you card:

Jim Wiedmann
1778 Lanier Pl NW #9C
Washington, DC 20009

 

*OH, JIM…….LOL…..what does one even say about this?  Other than the fact that a 41 year old “finance-nerd” who dresses like he’s a 21 year old emo-prep college-boy.  The fact that he constantly berates women and evidently LIES about his age even to his own readership is really rather funny.  I recall so many articles talking about how “young hot women just LOVE old, pasty gross men” and now I know why he’s so desperate to get other men to believe this kind of thing.

You would think that JUST the fact that he’s a middle-aged, pasty-white finance-Jew posing as a playboy would be reason enough for people to disregard his opinions and advice (like most people already do)…..but there are and always will be looking for their “own personal jesus” to tell them it’s okay to hate women, hate life, hate responsibility, hate morals, hate “hard work”, and hate ANYONE AND EVERYONE that you can possibly think of to blame for being  what they have become.

This falls into my “Why People Are Assholes” post.  Roissy may not be a big-name who is going to influence anyone who actually matters……but he’s certainly known enough to be influencing men who otherwise may have turned to look at THEMSELVES (yes I know introspection is a crazy concept for guys like him) for their failures/shortcomings in life.

It’s a dangerous world we live in when there is a “miracle pill”, a quick fix, and a (insert random group) to blame for everything a person DOESN’T do to be responsible for their own lives.

Our good friend Jimmy-The-Jew, here is just one of them.*

Yes, Gentlemen....THIS is the man you are asking for advice on picking up ladies.....(Note: The....errr..."artwork" done to this pic wasn't done by me. This is the way the photo was when I saved it, lol)

*Yes, Ladies I know…..it’s hard to control yourself in the presence of such an Adonis, but please try to remain calm for the sake of our female dignity.*

Update:  Much like I expected….some of Roissy’s shrieking henchman came here telling me I have “stepped over the line”.  For a bit on the “history”….this is the first time I have published a “post about Roissy” on my blog.  Roissy has published at least 6 or more posts specifically about me.  Containing personal photos of me AND MY son….which is “unsavory” in the first place.  But he then continued over the past 6 months to try to slander me, give out personal info (like mentioning the town I live in as often as he can) and worst of all posts porno videos and says that it is ME in the video (and isn’t.)  He has publicly posted lies on his blog accusing me of prostitution AND pornography and attached my photos to the (complete lies) he is telling.

I never really bothered posting about it here on my blog, because anyone who knows me in real life knows those things aren’t true and are ridiculous…..but that doesn’t change the fact that Roissy likes to go and play in people’s lives and slander innocent people for his own amusement and to up his blog stats without remorse and without even having  a good motive to do it.  Just because it gets him attention.

Well I think it’s high time someone finally fixed his little red wagon, and I’m certainly the woman for the job

*Update:  November 25*

Here is another address that is identical except for a different Apartment number…..ooops guess it WAS a residential address….silly old me with my tiny female brain…..

Wiedmann, James C

Age:40-44

1778 Lanier Pl NW, Apt 8B

Washington, DC 20009-2190

*This is dedicated RIGHT to Roissy for the post back in June where he posted my son’s name, age, and photo without my permission (and involving kids is the lowest you can go anyhow):*

Address History

• 2 in Washington, DC
• 1 in Chevy Chase, MD
• 1 in Somerville, NJ
• 1 in Ventnor City, NJ
• 1 in Atlantic City, NJ

Aliases

• James Wiedmann
• Jim Wiedmann
• James Charles Weidman

Relatives

• L Wiedmann
• Catherine R Wiedmann
• Lisa A Wiedmann

*Ouuuuuuuuuuuch, Jimmy*