Back in the Saddle Again

Howdy, y'all! I am back from XMas vacation in Colorado. It was a supreme delight visiting with relatives. I'm still spinning a bit from excess sugar consumption and the yummy goodness of decent Mexican food.

I also had to cram in some kiddo visits at work on Friday and setting up everything for a new set of kiddos on my caseload. It was also fun to chew the fat with my coworkers about their break and discuss Holiday cheer. I received multiple stockings filled with various cavity-inducing, high-caloric units (i.e. candy). They stood ready and waiting on my desk Friday morning.

I received some info from my boss regarding the kitty of the previous post and how to proceed. She said she believed the kitty probably belonged to someone and was a barn cat that had taken to me. Since the cat didn't look like it was hungry, and it had a collar with a bell on it, it probably belonged to someone. However, I will still be on the lookout for kitty this winter. If it looks longingly at me to provide some shelter, I received some helpful info from an anonymous commenter on a no-kill shelter in the area.

The commenter's comments were--well--colorful, the information was appreciated. (But not enough to actually publish them. Thank you, Blogger for comment moderation.) This leads me to a second point. It's rather interesting, I've been blogging for almost a year, and I sometimes write about work. I have yet to receive a comment about someone out there being outraged about human children being abused, neglected, you name it, on a daily basis. Granted, I don't write specifically about my kiddos. (I am not going to write anecdotes from work to spice up my blog. Other than violating the confidentiality taboo, I don't want to use my kiddos' life stories as ways to make the online community boo-hoo and whatnot.) But I sometimes discuss my frustrations with helping kids in the system. Do you know how many irate comments I've received about what kind of bitch I am for pulling kiddos out of foster homes and making teens take drug tests? Not one.

I write a post discussing an encounter with a cat, and I am the devil. I had to moderate a few comments off my blog, mentioning I should be very ashamed of myself for not subjecting Hun to allergic shock for bringing a cuddly car-riding cat home and an outright hostile "Merry Christmas, Bitch" when I didn't bring the cat to a no-kill shelter at 8:00 at night. (Well, I didn't mention that in my last post, I guess.)

This was a bit eye-opening to me as our value for humanity as a society. It kind of reminds me of Michael Moore receiving a lot of flack about including footage of an impoverished woman killing and skinning a rabbit for meat in Roger & Me. Moore mentioned he never received any comments about the footage of a kid getting shot while playing in the street in the next scene. Both scenes are acts of violence. Granted, I was horrified when I saw the rabbit got skinned. But other animals get slaughtered for our tables every day. Why was it that no one was concerned about the kid getting shot?

I'm sorry, kitty lovers, but I'm a bigger fan of people.

The story did tug at the heart strings a bit. The encounter definitely provided a great deal of internal conflict for me. I love animals. But one thing doesn't keep me awake at night: the kids on my caseload go to bed at night with a full stomach in a nurturing home. There is more money donated to PETA and other humane societies then there are to children's charities. You could argue that people can communicate for help and animals can't. Well, I would also argue that most kids can't either--they don't know how, or they don't know of other ways of living other than the chaotic environment they may face day in and day out.

So, kitty lovers out there, call me a bitch. That's what keeps my kiddos safe in a system that give more of a shit about paperwork than people. As far as the car-riding kitty, I'm still keeping an eye out there for him. And thanks for the heads up for the no-kill shelter Anonymous, even though you thought I did the wrong thing.

Everyone out there, have an awesome new year. I plan on working on being a bit more kinder to my neighbors, and to myself. Hugs and kisses to you all. As much as I rant, I am super lucky to have great family, loyal friends, strong women, and most of all Hun in my life.

Anyone want a cute, cuddly kitty?

Most of my friends know how anti-glurge I am. You know those massive e-mails folks send out, discussing how a seemingly insignificant act of kindness saved some one's life. (I'm sure most of you got the one about the kid who picked up some books a nerdy student dropped. He walks the nerd home and they become friends. When the kids graduate high school, the nerd thanks the kid for picking up his books because the nerd planned to off himself that day and the kid helped him appreciate the joy of living. Whatever. It is an incredibly fake story. It didn't happen. But I digress.) I'm about to spread some glurge of my own.

I completed a visit tonight with one of my foster families, and I was outside, chatting with the foster parent. I spied a cat--quite a frequent visitor at this home--sitting just outside the door, cuddled by the house to absorb the heat.

The parent commented about how a neighborhood cat wouldn't leave the property since I made the mistake of petting it this fall. The foster parent then talked about how she believed it was a neighbor's cat, but the cat seemed to go through the trash and didn't really leave the property. She said she wondered if the owners abandoned the kitty, or if they were just negligent.

During the foster parent's monologue, I was scratching the kitty behind the ears, between the eyes, at the base of its tail. The cat responded in kind and purred and kneaded the fence he was laying on. The cat looked at me longingly. I picked it up, and the cat cuddled under my coat, purring even louder and rubbing its forehead under my chin.

"How sad," I sighed, "no one loves this kitty."

"Oh, I think someone does," the foster parent corrected and lifted her eyebrows.

"Hun would kill me." The cat snuggled closer and the purr grew louder. I am so dead.

I walked to my car, rationalizing that it would be only for a night or two. I could plaster the pic of the adorable creature and someone would snag it in a moment. Who cares if Hun is deathly allergic and I would have to take him in to the emergency room tonight because he stops breathing.

. . . That is, if I survived the car trip home. (Cats are notoriously bad for having major nervous freakdowns when confronted with a car ride. Most cat "owners" transport their feline companions in kennels if they need to take them anywhere.) I carried the cat to the car, and opened the door. I sat down with the cat in my lap and the door still open, to give the creature a chance to escape if it would be too much. The kitty stretched off my lap and explored the back seat. I turn the ignition. The cat looks at me, asking me with its eyes what the hell am I waiting for. I shrug my shoulders and assume it is fate. I close the door and head down the road.

The cat sits down and gets comfortable in the back seat. Doesn't make a sound, doesn't try to claw out my eyes. It just sits there, enjoying the ride. I can't believe it.

I drive along the road, and the cat pads over and takes its throne on the front passenger seat and snuggles next to my bag. I realize Hun and I are traveling on Saturday and won't be home for over a week. Who will take care of kitty, when the furry creature is moved to unfamiliar surroundings? We don't have any friends who can feed and love it while we're in Colorado for Decemberween. I scratch behind its ears as I ponder the moral dilemma.

Do I take a creature and bring it to a place it's unfamiliar to--knowing full well that I couldn't permanently keep it? A shelter wouldn't be open now. My boss might have a better idea of who could take the cat in. The cat didn't look like it was starving, and it seemed to be savvy enough to keep warm. It would be wrong to take it to our house with no one to care for it over the week. I really wanted it, though.

Shit.

I turned the car around and drove it back to its trolling grounds. I stopped the car and opened the door. The cat looked at me again, asking me what the hell I was doing. I paused, wondering if there were any loopholes I missed in this dilemma. Unable to think of any, I picked up the cat and brought it outside. The cat leisurely scampered away into the night.

If anyone knows of a good cat-loving home in the Albany area or the Upper Hudson Valley, I would greatly appreciate it. I know of a good cat that enjoys random car rides with strangers. (I would also love to know the names and numbers of any area shelters--but I can google that.) I'm sure I will see the creature again. I will be making a plan in my head in case I face the same moral dilemma.

If you are the owner of a car-loving cat in the Upper Hudson Valley, then shame on you for keeping it out in the cold! I almost catnapped you pet! What if I were someone with malicious intent, hmmm?!

I feel guilty and heartbroken for leaving that kitty. I feel like Scrooge by doing nothing. But next time . . . well, I don't know what I'll do yet. I just need to figure that one out. Would it be better to leave the cat there, or to take it to a shelter or give it to someone else?

All things being equal, I'd rather be in Philadelphia.

We returned with all our limbs from our weekend getaway to Phili. Hun and I geeked out on touring Independence Hall and the Mutter Museum.

I halfway (well, maybe) clobbered a 12-year-old for stealing the perfect picture of Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were signed. (Is that where the name came from? Duh!) I had the perfect shot, and I even kneeled down really low, so as not to obstruct anyone behind me, when this little girl popped right in front of me and took like twelve minutes to take her picture. But no bother, a little assertiveness and a forceful--but calm--"excuse me" went a long way. Hun had to hold me back a bit with my paparazzi aggressiveness (for which I am now thankful) and told me everyone would take turns. Suffice to say, I got the perfect shot. HAHAHA!!!

We hit the Mutter Museum of medical curiosities when the doors opened the next day. (We decided to cut our trip short due to the oncoming storm blanketing New York and New England.) Hun pulled me aside during certain exhibits, such as the elephantine colon (Hun calls it congenital megacolon or Hirshprung's Disease), to provide more colorful context to the yuckiness of human pathology. It was wicked cool.

We also toured around different sections of town, like the Old City, Washington Square, etc. I really enjoyed it. Philadelphia really reminds me of a European city. It's very walkable. Many of the streets are narrow. The architectural styles are a hodgepodge of Dutch Colonial, Brownstone walk-ups, and even Georgian.

We also found a killer used furniture store. They had stuff from Moderne to Art Deco to Arts and Crafts (yes, you heard me) for amazingly amazing prices. You could get a waterfall-top high boy for $30, give it a nice sanding and a coat of varnish and it's an heirloom. We even saw a mahogany sideboard for $250. (In Denver and Hudson, you couldn't find it for less than a thousand.)

Hun went back to class today, and I dug out my car (for two hours) and did a few work things from home. I will have no excuse of being negligent in shoveling our my car, so I will be heading into work in the morning.

The Snow Cometh

The snow is finally here! I did travel in it a bit today, and it was a bit skittish getting back home, but navigable. I have a compliment for NY State drivers finally: they do pretty well in the snow. The give you plenty of space, and they know when to speed up and when to slow down and when to get out of the way. That's pretty much the New York attitude in a crisis.

As for other driving traits when the weather is clear. . . well . . . I'm sure there are some good points I haven't noticed.

Hun and I plan to skid out of town on Saturday by train to Philadelphia to see all the historic sites. Wish us luck if we make it! No unique or interesting stories just yet. Will update with more later. Any good ideas?

Betty

Return of the Son of Wintry Mix

Woke up this morning with about an 1/8th of an inch of ice glommed onto all outdoor surface areas. The main surface areas I was concerned about today were (1) my car and (2) the road. I had a packed day of a morning meeting with some bioparents and an out-of-state transport in the afternoon.

I slipped and slid, grabbing onto any less-slick objects to steady my balance as I heated my car and hacked off the ice from my windshield. I periodically checked the school closings, basically concluding that Upstate New York was closed due to the delightful weather outside, to warm up and to debate whether or not I should even attempt to leave the house. I thought about the 4-hour trek back and forth this afternoon. I (thankfully) was able to reschedule the appointment for later in the week.

I continued to hack away at the ice on my car, while some drizzly substance iced over onto my coat and hat, and liberally applied sidewalk salt to pave the way from our front door to my war-weary car. (Norma Jean has seen better days. As my mother would say, she looks road hard and put up wet.)

I call the social-service office once it opens to find out if my partners in crime plan on rescheduling the meeting. It's definitively decided that all are grounded, and folks should not risk coming in.

I am currently drinking a mug of joe and enjoying the free time available. Perhaps I will watch Die Hard, or some other Christmas movie while wrapping presents for Hun. Perhaps I will cyberstalk my friends, family, (and some strangers) as well. Bwahahahah!

Although this all sound comforting, I wish I could have gotten my appointments out of the way--but not enough to brave the icy shit splattered outside. The weather forecasts more icy shit this afternoon and evening, tapering off and clearing out for "ball sucking" cold tomorrow morning.

All I Want for XMas:

Dear Santa,

I think I've been a very good girl this year. I only received one speeding ticket this year, and I have paid it off. (Not only that, but I was FRAMED, I tell ya!) I have made lots of apple crisp this year and bought countless of McDonald's Happy Meals to help increase cholesterol levels for displaced foster children in the Hudson Valley. I have a few things to ask for this year, Santa. The list is as follows:

(1) World Peace. This is always a good way to start off a Christmas list. It helps the list maker not appear as selfish as she really is. I also am quite fond of the idea of all the children of the world receiving proper nutrition and clean drinking water. That goes without saying.

(2) Jack Bauer's Fists of Determination. With a menacing glare and a raise of the pinkie finger, the world would bend to my will. This would decidedly help with my XMas wish #1, although 24's Jack Bauer is decidedly not a very peaceful person. This would also help me brave any bureaucratic red tape at work, as well as managing New York driving in general.

(3) A new car. I would dearly love a new car. However, I would not dearly love a new payment. Hence, I will need to have one of my loving friends or rich strangers to give one to me. An Audi TT would work nicely for transporting toddlers back and forth to medical appointments and I am certain the gas mileage is wonderful . . .

(4) The sour chocolate milk smell emanating from my backseat in my current car to disappear. If I have not been good enough this year to deserve an Audi TT, a super-heavy bottle of ultra Fabreeze will do. I suppose I will make do with my 10-year-old Saturn with crapped-out shocks if I need to . . . but I would be disappointed.

(5) My pirated video system to actually work. Although I can import media, such as music and pictures onto my non-linear editing system, I have issues capturing footage onto my system to edit. I tried to upgrade my system with some free downloads. Now the program won't even open up, saying there is now a systems error. So much for youtube superstardom for right now.

(6) A cease and desist order for "wintry mix" weather in Upstate New York. I friggin' hate the icy shit that falls from the sky. Upstaters are in some serious denial that "wintry mix" constitutes a "Winter Wonderland". There is nothing wonderful about it. It does prove, however, that Hell--indeed--does freeze over.

(7) Time with friends and family. I am very excited about heading back to Colorado for Christmas and seeing my friends and family. I really miss them. My coworkers are good company--they don't compare to my dear friends back in Colorado. As Dorthy said (or was it Nietze?), "There's no place like home."

(8) An indoor swimming pool. Although, I think our landlord might be upset. (Dog would be in snake heaven.) I guess I need to settle for finding an indoor swimming pool after Christmas. (See future blog entry regarding a list of New Year's resolutions.)

(9) Sunlight. We don't get much sunlight here. It is mostly gray and threatening icy shit. It usually--like typical New Yorkers--doesn't carry out the promise. It does cast an atmosphere of gloom and general malaise. I used to look forward to cloudy days in Colorado because it meant a change in weather, and some much-needed moisture. Here, the cloudy weather just sucks one's soul dry. No wonder Upstaters are cranky. At least NYC has Times Square.

(10) The perfect job. I would like a job closer to where I live, so I don't have to commute over two hours a day. I would also like a balance of using my brains to solve problems, some multi-tasking so I don't get bored, and nice people who don't yell at me about things I cannot control. Any ideas are greatly appreciated. (Again, see future New Year's resolutions blog.)

This is all I ask for Santa. It's not too much. Give me a Holla when you roll down our chimney!

Betty

I am very ashamed . . .

. . . I forgot everyone's birthday this year. I royally suck as a friend and as a daughter. (Yes, this is true, I forgot the birthdays of BOTH MY PARENTS.) I also forgot my best friend's birthday on December 4. I have been remiss in keeping my phone charged as well.

I am such an asshole.

I wish I could even make an excuse that work has been crazy. But it always is crazy. There's no difference between past an present. Between crazy foster parents, crazy bio parents, crazy coworkers, it's all a big blob.

I suppose I can blame seasonal effective disorder--isn't that the one when you get more out of it when you are exposed to less light in the winter? We have very little light when it is technically considered "daytime", much less the stark blackness they call night in Upstate New York.

To any good friends and family out there, I've been trying to call--and bordering on stalking behavior--because I realize I've been a bit insensitive lately. Blame the bland uhgness that is my life.

I am really interested in how the kitchen is being remodeled, any baby firsts that I am missing, as well as buns currently in the oven . . . much more so than the problems Upstaters have no compunction but to unload on anyone in hopes of gaining some free ride or another . . . I have become more local, and I haven't realized it.

Someone shoot me now. But please call back so I know we are on speaking terms . . .

Betty

The Situation

Hey, folks, here is a youtube clip of The Slingerland Situation. I know I've been talking about it for some time. This clip pretty much tells it all. The show's content is a bunch of ladies in black, transporting kiwis around Albany.

Enjoy!

Thank You Very Much

Hun and I just returned from a short trip to visit the in-laws in the Land of Cleves, as my brother-in-law puts it, and we are now ten pounds heavier. We hit some weather on the way to Ohio and back. We enjoyed watching the last of the autumn leaves drop to the ground while driving to Ohio and the snow falling while eating out Thanksgiving dinner at Hun's aunt's and uncle's house. I visited with various in-laws and got to hold squiggly crawlers and discuss the fashion philosophies of Barbie to 4-year-olds. I also accepted that I am not nearly as cool as my sister-in-law when it comes to coloring, playing Barbies, or . . . well . . . anything and everything for that matter.

We are anxiously awaiting our trip to Denver to celebrate the Holidays and see actual mountains--rather than the hills they call mountains in New York. I don't know if I will get a chance to snowboard while in Colorado, considering the season hasn't started out well. At least they have snowboarding in New York. However, there is no comparison once you've ridden the champagne powder on the Colorado slopes. (Can I get more elitist?) But beggars can't be choosers. It's either snowboarding or starting smoking to catch some adrenaline rush. I hadn't hit the slopes once last year.

I also am remiss on updating my latest blogging project. I plan on making it more interactive, but have yet to figure out how to do it. People seem to be quite shy. I need to put it more out there. Perhaps I can film a vlog, capturing the opinions of Albany Christmas Shoppers about their first time being in love, or when they knew it was all over. Any suggestions are greatly appreciated. It's a work in progress. (Perhaps it's not as sexy as the mini-doc I did in grad school about the Vietnam War, but hey--I gotta start somewhere.)

I'm getting more random hits on this blog per day. I'm pretty sure all ten of them are my personal friends, and I'm upset they aren't more religious about checking my blog anytime I release my pearls of triviality to grace cyberspace. (I'm just kidding. You know who you all are, and you know I love you deeply. So quit frowning.)

It seems people have more of a penchant for personal tragedy--not too tragic, mind you. Something people can easily relate to an say, "Gee, that's a mega-heinous outfit/work story/cooking experiment. There but the grace of God go I, as I am intellectually superior/culturally savvy/street smart/really, really ridiculously good looking."

Another confession . . . I am super addicted to youtube superstar, William Sledd, of Ask a Gay Man. Some of his vlogs about his latest trip to NYC or drinking exploits on Halloween I could skip. But his hatred of painter pants and sweat pants is high-larious. You should check it out.

Hun and I finished watching Series 4 of 24, enjoying the Jack Bauer uber-manliness. I am very thankful of the series writers/producers for sequestering Jack's be-hated daughter, Kim, to Arizona to raise a family with the forgettable Chase. I'm a closet Chloe fan myself, personality disorder and all.

Wow. There is a whole lotta nothing going on with me. Umm . . . I'm done with Christmas shopping . . . I could talk about the mountain of work I need to do, but that isn't anything new or glamorous. I drove over 300 miles today for a work-related appointment. I have an adoption worker who is wanting me to make some serious custody decisions I know I have no authority making because she doesn't have the balls to make the tough call she knows she has to abide to for the betterment of the greater good and--oh ya--New York State child law.

Weehaw.

Betty

Strange, But True

Well, I've had quite a good week. I went with Hun to a conference in NYC. Hun conferred and I bought cheap stuff in Chinatown, to come to a Christmas stocking near you . . . I will not post pictures of my spoils, lest I ruin XMasses everywhere.

But I will post my "before" shot of my latest furniture project. I haven't done any sanding or staining, yet. But I will start sometime soon. I'm also very excited about this project, almost as excited at my youtube superstardom.

Hun and I got it at the Salvation Army a few weeks ago, on our way to Woodstock. I am quite fond of it already.


I am also posting some photos of Huns new foray in interior decoration. We rearranged the furniture on the same weekend we went to Woodstock, and our living room is much more spacious now. Interestingly enough, we couldn't find a place for our mantle clock that would sit in a convenient viewing location. That is, until Hun thought outside the box.



I've also learned another valuable lesson when I ordered sushi at a Chinese take-out last Friday. That lesson is never order sushi at a Chinese take-out. This is their version of "spicey tuna roll". I think the picture says it all. I have no idea what the crystaline crumbles garnishing the top of my "roll" slices, but it's not good. I suspect they were bits of recycled fiberglass they also put in menthol cigarettes.

Hello World!

Guess what, folks. I am now an official youtube superstar!

Goodies

I am the proud owner of a new, super-charged computer. Yeehaw!

I also have a new refinishing project fresh from the thrift store! I will post some before and after pictures later.

I have hot apple cider fresh from Golden Harvest Farms, and I also bought some cider doughnuts today.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

The Joys of Modern Technology

Sorry for the dearth of posts, but I have been curtailed at the prospect of youtube video stardom. Hun offered to download some nonlinear editing freeware off the internet. As a result, he also downloaded some kind of virus. I am fortunate to have such a great husband who is willing to waste hours of valuable study time so I can have my artistic dream. Unfortunately, the virus is quite, well, virulent and we can't seem to shake it off Hun's computer.

My campaign for a new computer continues, but it has been dampened a bit. Hun and I got trapped when his truck got towed by one the more virulent parasites haunting Albany. We parked in the McDonald's lot off of Pearl Street to go to dinner across the street. A tow company in town hire scouts to post at various locations to wait for people to park there, and then get their car towed a few minutes later. The scout gets a kickback from the tow and storage fees. We were in the restaurant for a half hour. I so fucking love this town.

That, combined with a speeding ticket I received about a month ago, and us registering our driving license to NY State, it set us back a pretty penny, and Christmas is around the corner. Therefore, we will be adults and delay some gratification for a couple of months.

Once Hun's computer is back on line, I will abscond with it when the weather turns crummy and I'm stuck at home working through a Nor'Easter.

More postings later . . .

Betty

Call me bored

I just started another blog, titled "What is the nature of true love?"

I've pondered this question for some time, and even made a mini-documentary about it. I won't publish it on youtube any time soon, since . . . well . . . some of my friends might not appreciate it.

However, have a gander, and please contribute!

I even have a poll.

you can check it out at www.whatisthenatureoftruelove.blogspot.com

I hope the blog name is long enough . . .

Betty

Happy Hallow-versary

I love Halloween. It's my favorite holiday. I could skip some of the more daggy holidays, like
Valentine's Day and St. Patrick's Day and celebrate Halloween a couple more times a year.

Hun and I started dating around Valentine's Day. We were at a party at a mutual friend's, and the party headed to the Mercury Cafe in LoDo to see a band perform. I was working it pretty hard to get Hun to moderately acknowledge my existence, as another guy--not nearly as cute and mysterious as Hun--kept on dropping liberal hints that he dug me. I was trying as hard as possible to avoid the not-as-cute guy for complex political reasons, hoping his attempts at flirtation were just in my head and halfway succeeding at my self-delusion.

At the end of the evening, Hun asked me if I had any plans for Valentine's Day. I told him I had none and went on a tirade about the suckiness of V-Day and the corporate exploitation of the masses. I told Hun I much rather celebrate Halloween. So much for putting the nail in that coffin--pun intended.

My friend who hosted the party then extorted me into hitting on Hun the next day (V-Day), saying he seemed to like me. I said I didn't think so, and he was too young for me anyway--like three years younger than me. She kept on picking at me to do something, for Christ's sake, for the rest of single humanity that didn't have an opportunity. I harumphed and acquiesced to her demands--but on my terms. I sent Hun a Halloween e-card, with two gross-out eyes rolling around a monster's hand, singing I Only Have Eyes for You.

Most guys would have freaked out about some strange chick sending a creepy card and petition for a restraining order. Hun didn't. He laughed, called me up, and asked me to watch Halloween with him for our date. I brought over a pizza and the movie and we sat and talked through the entire John Carpenter masterpiece.

When Hun and I were talking about getting hitched, our original plan was to get married today instead of July. (It's a good thing we changed our mind, since we got a nice vacation out of the deal and got to see friends and family with us instead of standing in front of a judge. It's also a good thing because I have some anal-Exorcist thing going on today.)

We celebrated our 1-year dating anniversary by going to the Stanley Hotel of Shining fame as well. We got the most out of our stay, Hun being the industrious sort he is. We ran around the hotel after dinner that night, taking pictures of anything looking remotely spooky. Hun got a shot of some guy in a white baseball cap with mojo camera equipment without a flash. It looked quite ghostly and he was prodigiously proud. We encountered a gaggle of young women who were also running around with their own cameras, freaking each other out as well. Hun was hungry to show his "ghost" photo to see how they would react. Another guy was nearby, attempting to attract some kind of positive attention from them. He was saying he was a ghost hunter--the ladies were not impressed, and were pleading for Hun to save the day.

"Don't show the picture," I whispered. "They'll flip a gasket."

He didn't, and the girls and the ghost hunter went their merry way.

The next morning, we went on a ghost tour the Stanley offered. We thought it would be free as a guest. We guessed wrong. It was a good tour, talking about all the history of the place, and the tour guide even mentioned that the Ghost Hunters from the TV show were running around with mojo camera equipment, tracking down the supernatural bumps and creaks. Hun and I looked at each other, thinking about that damn "ghost" picture of the guy with the mojo camera and the baseball cap and the "ghost hunter" hitting on the ladies the night before. They were the Ghost Hunters. We brushed against minor celebrity and didn't even shudder at the sudden chill in the air.

Hun also saw the opportunity for hauntingly glowing irony. "Don't show the picture," I warned him again. "Don't do it!" That image of the cameraman walking down the staircase in blurry and spectral spookiness was burning a hole in his camera. He had to show someone. I hid behind a plant while he was showing his handiwork to the tour guide.

Needless to say, the tour guide was impressed and we didn't pay a dime.

Local Hauntings

Those who know me well know how much I dearly love the fall and Halloween. Last weekend, I went to a roadside cemetery near my home. I see these small cemeteries frequently on my travels through Upstate New York--on the way to work, apple picking, and Sam's Club.

It isn't kept up well. (The latest resident died in the 1980s.) All the same, the noble dilapidation of the thick grass and overgrown vines ads a sense of peace, as if the cemetery is being reclaimed by nature.

Some people do care for those buried here, even if they died over 100 years ago. I saw a few small flags adorning the graves of Civil War veterans and a few silk flowers near some of the newer graves. While walking through the stones, I didn't really considered death as much as the lives of the residents laying underneath. Who did they love? What were their passions? Who morned their passing?

I returned to our abode and looked up the cemetery online. I searched for about an hour, but came back with no mention. I'm sure there is information out there, but I wasn't searching in the right place.

Perhaps it's for the best. The place itself seems to enjoy its anonymity--remaining undisturbed for squirrels to secret their winter storage, vines to twine and leaves to fall to the ground.

Midnight Confessions

I can't believe I spent all day reading fan fiction.

I just finished An Assembly Such as This, the first in a--believe it or not--trilogy based on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Talk about a marketing strategy.

All the while, I have Moby Dick, Katherine Graham's A Personal History, and A Passage to India gathering dust on my bookshelf. They sit patiently, waiting for me to crack open their pages. Some books on hold creased pages that mark their abandonment--my eyes never gracing their end matter.

I also have a collection of dogeared romance novels and sci fi next to my bed and Martha Stewart's Living magazines stashed in the bathroom.

You won't tell anyone . . . will you?

Ode to my Mother and Father

I have a confession . . . I'm an introvert.

I know, it's shocking.

How can someone, who's idea of a good evening is drinking a good glass of Kentucky bourbon and watching bad horror and sci-fi flicks and blogging to all five readers, consider herself an introvert?

My mother definitely didn't raise me that way. My mother can connect with people as easily as breathing. All she has to do is sit on a park bench and random strangers sit next to her and sing their lives to her.

My folks visited me and Hun last week and New Yorkers fell in love with my mother. At the end of a dinner in an Italian restaurant in Albany, she made bosom friends with the waiter and finding out all the best eateries in The City. All she has to do is ask the score of the Rockies game. (My father giggled and pointed with me when we were abandoned at our table by my mother to find out the score. Hun joined her later, and bent the ear of the waiter as well.)

It was practically a repeat performance the following evening at Avenue A with neighboring diners looking over our dishes and vice-versa. My mother's attitude: it doesn't hurt to ask or comment, and you get to hear really interesting things that you wouldn't have heard about before.

The City couldn't be more friendly in the Fall. Two women approached us unsolicited about the hidden beauties of Brooklyn as we exited the subway station. They told us the local history. How a neighbor painted signs directing visitors to the footpath to the Brooklyn Bridge before The City replaced them out of embarrassment. How a couple of blocks down was a breathtaking view of Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty (we checked it out--it was). How Prizzi's Honor was shot in the neighborhood and we could see the house if we walked a little farther down the promenade, and a couple of great places to eat besides . . .

Our waitress at breakfast discussed the best in the City was the Polish section of town, where people were friendly and all the Polish immigrants lived. She practically hugged Hun (who's half Polish) and my mother on the way out the door.

Is it the Fall, or is it my mother? My money is on the latter. The woman is charming, she can tickle a conversation out of almost anyone. People trust her and tell her secrets, seek solace, and share jokes.

My dad comments on my mom's charisma, but Hun follows every word my father says and they talk heatedly about physics and research projects. My dad watches people and shares his observations: foreign tourist's awe at seeing The City and compares it to their trip to Europe, a grandmother teaching her granddaughter to rollerblade. He is more quiet, but just as much of the party as my boisterous mother.

When growing up, my friends seemed to gravitate to my mother and father as second parents, a home away from home. They felt safe and assured. Sometimes I got jealous I wasn't the main reason why my friends spent sleepovers at my house. I didn't have cool video games or toys--all I had to entice them over was the warmth of my parents. Now I realize--especially with my job--how blessed I was.

I know this post sounds a bit glurgey, but I can't help it. My parents were awesome--they still are.

I love you, Mom and Dad.

The Situation

From a narrow twisted alley on a planet much like our own . . .

. . . comes the Glenn Slingerland Situation, a local television show that airs every Sunday

There's a local television show that airs every Sunday night at 11:00 pm. The show features women dressed in black, passing kiwis to each other in various unexotic locales. All the while, light jazz is playing in the background.

It's random, it's weird, it's a hoot.

Check it out.

h

The Zen of Jack Bauer

I have a little confession . . .

Hun and I are addicted to 24. We buy all the DVDs of the past seasons. It's great escapism on the surface. But if you look closely enough, you can see a deeper philosophy we can all aspire to--the Zen of Jack Bauer . . .

Jack Bauer Teaching #1: Whenever asking a question, you are more likely to get honest answers by maintaining strong eye contact--through the scope of your your firearm.

Jack Bauer Teaching #2: In many societies, a task is assigned to a youth as a sacred right to adulthood. At CTU, it's getting tortured or killing a terrorist. That's how you get your balls to drop.

Jack Bauer Teaching #3: High-ranking members of the U.S. Presidential Cabinet have executive powers. For instance, Secretary of Defense James Heller need not aim his gun when he shoots. The bullets track the terrorists and pierce their cold, evil hearts.

Jack Bauer Teaching #4: Only allow yourself to be captured if there is no hope of escape, and if terrorists plan on torturing you until you die. That way, when you are resuscitated from the brink of death, you will have them right where you want them--crying like babies and spilling their guts (both literally and figuratively).

Jack Bauer Teaching #5: Like Buddhist monks being forbidden to touch women, Jack Bauer must not maintain eye contact while speaking to women. Bauer's masculinity is such a powerful force, he can impregnate them with a probing glance.

Jack Bauer Teaching #6: Throughout the ages, each epic hero has his sacred prayer he repeats to summon his strength from his Divine Mother. Jack Bauer's is "Damn it!" and "Son of a bitch!". Any time he repeats his sacred oath, y'all better clear out 'cause a big ol' can of whoop-ass is headed your way. As an aside: Jack Bauer has no mortal mother. He clawed his way out of the depths of the Earth.

Jack Bauer Teaching #7: Age teaches wisdom and a sense of duty. When Jack Bauer was a youth, he was the head of a vampiric motorcycle gang and feasted on the blood of his enemies. Now, he is the head of a gang of anti-terrorists and feasts on the blood of the enemies of the United States.

This is an incomplete list of teachings. Perhaps you can share some of the lessons learned through Zen Master Jack Bauer.

Cinamon Rolls and Black Coffee

It's the first day of fall--my favorite season. I have all my sweaters thrown around the apartment, and I decide I am tired of them all. I found a decent thrift store yesterday and I bought two sweaters and some matching hand-painted teacups and saucers. I noticed a decent piece of furniture to refinish, and art-deco dresser and mirror, but the asking price is too steep for the bother of hauling it home and baptizing it in stripper, sand paper, and varnish.

I show off my finds to Hun. He looks unimpressed with them all. He asks me if I plan on washing the sweaters before I wear them. He reminds me we have plenty of teacups and mugs bursting forth from our cabinets. I explain I plan to decorate with them, not drink with them.

I make birthday lasagna for Hun in the kitchen. He comes to kiss me and investigate my progress.

While the lasagna is baking, I wallop Hun at backgammon. Thunder crashes and rain pours down from the sky.

We rush outside and test Hun's new rain gear. He is in awe of the GorTex contraption, playing with all the little gadgets. He is in heaven.

Although my jacket keeps my torso relatively dry, my jeans are soaked.

We return to our apartment. Hun still praises the virtues of his new raincoat. I peel off my soaked jeans. Hun points out the only dry spot on my jeans is the area around my butt. He snickers and I roll my eyes--but I smile anyway.

Hun takes out the lasagna to cool. He wallops me at backgammon.

We eat lasagna and watch Jack Bauer save the world yet again on 24.

I make cinnamon rolls and black coffee this morning . . . mmmm . . . I love fall.

The Joys of SOCMOB

"I was just standin' on the corna, mindin' my own bizness, when I . . ."

. . . get knifed in the chest, accosted by two gentlemen who shove crack cocaine in my pockets, impregnate a woman just by looking at her, get struck by lightning. Take your pick. I have a kid on my caseload whose life is a Madlib set of excuses.

Yeehaw.

I also have two files to be audited tomorrow. I found out this morning.

Yeehaw.

I cringe at hearing about a former friend wishing her life were more glam and rich in a letter to herself.

Yeehaw.

I wish I had time to watch T.V.

Get over it.

Will write more later, while I'm working this weekend.

Betty

The Simple Life

This morning I woke up and made cinnamon rolls for breakfast.

I drove around town to find a "huge yard sale" by Santa Maria College. It was a huge disappointment instead--the yard sale was across the street.

I'm at Hun's school, pirating computer time because my ancient PC decided not to turn on yesterday morning. I guess I should donate her to the Met as an archaeological artifact.

Now we are debating about getting a new-ish computer to replace my old one. Hun looked up Palm Trios that have as much juice as my now-dead computer had in its prime.

I have yet to write one thank-you note for wedding gifts, etc. I will be doing that Sunday, since it is a day of thanks and rest, I guess.

Last weekend, Hun taped back on my side mirror. I need to desperately get an oil change, and have a mechanic peek under the hood to tell me how much I will need to invest in Norma Jean (my car) to pass a NY safety inspection.

A Touch of Fall

It's 11 pm and it finally started to rain. The weather has been threatening all day.

This morning started with the humidity pressing against me as I woke up with my on-call cell blaring the cha-cha, alerting my ass to get out of bed. It was a foster parent, demanding to know why the office was locked up when a CPR class was scheduled this morning. I tell her the class doesn't start in an hour and her overzealous desire for the world conform to her schedule doesn't constitute an on-call emergency. Peachy crazy.

I brew a pot of coffee. Hun pours half the pot as he runs out the door to study in the air-conditioned school. He has a big test next week and wants to do well.

I stare at the television and sip my coffee. I ponder at the idea of straitening the living room, but my telekinesis skills are a little rusty. My skin is coated with a layer of sweat. My hair drips. I fondly recall wearing a sweater to work on Monday.

I gather enough motivation to walk three steps and turn on the television. I pop in Ghost Ship and work a couple of sudoku puzzles. I lie on the couch and concentrate on napping but it's too hot. Instead, I obsess about the great work what-ifs and related crapola.

To say I had a tough week is putting it mildly. It's been one of those times I'm sorely tempted to sell my soul to the Devil of Capitalism. Screw fighting the good fight--good things rarely come from it. But those rare, good things keep my job worthwhile. My boss and my coworkers have been very supportive.

Sweat drips off my nose and I've had enough. I throw my saline-crusted hair in a bun and head to the mall for some cool relief. When I open the door to Border's, I sigh. My pores close and my glasses fog. What a joy central air can be.

I roam from store to store, just enjoying the air, not looking at anything in particular. My hair is a frizzy knot on top of my head, and I can't stand it anymore. I look on the mall directory, and I find a hair salon. I give them a picture I've been carrying around for the occasion of a short, sassy hairstyle. A half hour later, I am wearing a bob. It's fine on me--but not what I wanted.

I pick up Hun from school on the way back. He looks surprised at my new look. I melt down. I look heinous, I am having my period, I am sweaty, and I had a shitty week at work. We have sandwiches. We watch an episode of 24. I cry some. He hugs me and says he still finds me attractive. I calm down and tell him he needs to study again.

He leaves. Lightning flashes. It rains.

Relief.

The Final Countdown

Hey, Folks!

As most of y'all already know, Hun and I are getting hitched soon--like next week! Both of us are very excited, and we are in the process of getting ready for the trip to Jamaica and then back to the Centennial State (Colorado) for a couple of weeks. We look forward to seeing friends and family, eating decent Mexican food, and a pilgrimage to REI.

Both of us are busy as bees to tidy things up for work and research projects, and we are making some headway. Foster parents are in a state of spazz right now, due to the start of summer vacation. I'm a bit frustrated myself, since they have no idea what it's like to nurture truly high-needs children.

Well, three days and counting!

Betty

Oooff! I'm tuckered!

Only 30 more days and counting until Hun and I are off to Jamaica to get hitched. Quite a few friends and family are coming to see the show and enjoy some well-earned R&R time. Hun and I just finished some spring cleaning today. I took the day off, since I came into work on Memorial Day.

Tomorrow we are off to the city. We will be spending a night in a student hotel in Midtown, famous for its tapas bar and the European would-be models who bunk there. Hun is excited at the prospect of seeing the Museum of Natural History and rubbing shoulders with models. I am looking forward browsing some of the neighborhoods and knowing I'll be the one with the biggest rack sleeping in our hotel (compared to all the flat-chested models--unless some Ambercrombie pectorals are under the same roof).

I plan on taking a shower, watching some bad horror movies, and painting my toes.

Toodles!

Betty

On Memorial Day Weekend, I . . .

(1) ate good sushi with Hun. We also enjoyed the miracle innovation of air conditioning. The National Weather Service issued a "Stagnation Warning"--whatever that means. When I heard about it, I though it was a warning that people had to mill about, lest a cloud of CO2 accumulates around your head and suffocates you. Later, I realized it was a politically correct term to describe "muggier than Hell". (See my explanation of "wintry mix" vs. "icy shit".)

(2) surfed youtube while Hun took a post-gluttony nap. I decide I have found my new creative outlet. Although refinishing furniture is highly meditative and therapeutic, it takes a lot of noxious chemicals and a sheltered--yet well-ventilated--location. Something my Albany abode lacks. I also have an expensive video camera gathering dust in our bedroom. (While in grad school, I had visions of socially-provocative documentaries dancing in my head.)

(3) woke up early with great intentions of going to the laundromat. I have all our laundry sorted, and even intend to wash all my winter sweaters to put them into storage. The closest I get to the laundromat is placing all the bins and hampers by the door. I surf youtube instead.

(4) Hun has a mojo headache. He moans, takes a shower. I make him coffee and toast. Then I launch into him while he is vulnerable . . .

(4) I discuss with Hun the joys of buying a new computer and installing a hot-shot nonlinear editing system. He suggest getting something a little less pricey installed on our new computer. We go back and forth. I remind him of my strong need to get a new car and how I already compromised heavily to get it sent to the shop and have it revamped. I also mentioned to him he was willing for us to buy a new computer as a compromise. I was now cashing in. This debate turns into a State of the Union discussion. I tell him I want to quit my job after a year and become a secretary to invest more time in my new virtual career as a youtube superstar. He thinks it's fine to quite my job since I work with crazy people, and its worth the cut in pay and it would be nice knowing I wouldn't be driving so much and I would be happier overall. He then reminds me of the investment in potted plants sitting on our porch for the sheer purpose of putting a smile to my face. He also reminds me I am a bit flip in my decisions to devote my life/hobby/whatever in something. (Okay, so I'm flaky.) We talk about our future and how to best compromise with each other. We talk about how much we are glad to have each other in our lives. Hun still has a headache. I feel much better.

(5) Hun and I procrastinate. He procrastinates in his studies. I procrastinate in completing paperwork for my job. I continue to have youtube superstardom delusions. I decide we need to eat soon.

(6) I go to the supermarket and buy some veggies to grill kabobs. I come back and proceed to marinade and cut things while waiting for the coals to be ready. The end result: my kabobs aren't the greatest success. I believe I need to marinade the meat overnight.

(7) Hun studies. I still procrastinate. I notice someone has requested me as a friend in my facebook account. He lives in Brooklyn and is involved in a relationship. He wants to know what a NY newbie thinks of the place. He also mysteriously looks like a young George Clooney. I think to myself, "George wants to be my friend! Well, I'm pretty special!" Then I think, "Wait, he looks an awful lot like George Clooney--he is George Clooney!" I think about the desperate guy on the other end of the facebook account who puts and old picture of a celebrity to get points from the ladies. Perhaps he is a benign cyberfan who enjoys my notes, blogs, etc. I've attempted contact on other blogs before. (Please see "cyberstalking".) Perhaps he really looks a lot like George Clooney. I still change my privacy settings.

(9) I finally sit down and blog before launching into paperwork. Perhaps I need to learn how to be a blog-star before being a youtube guru. After all, story is everything.

Cheers,

Betty

A Beautimous Day

Hey, Gang:

I had a good day today! Things are blooming and children are playing. I've sat outside a few times on the patio, drinking alcoholic beverages and eating dinner. I have three plants outside, struggling to survive, since they got a bit frosty over the freak Nor'Easter a few weeks ago.

This is all a bonus since the last month has been sheer Heck at work. It was like all my FPs held a conference and decided they would brake NY State mandates for foster care and see if I would notice . . . just to keep me on my toes. Then, when I find out, I hyperventilate, call my boss, squeal, hyperventilate, and figure out how to proceed with recovery efforts the next day. EEEK!!

Well, thinks seem on an even keel this week, but it's only Tuesday. Who knows what kind of bomb tomorrow may bring. At the same time, I am taking the time out to enjoy a glass of wine and bask in the calm before another storm brews on the horizon, or unexpectedly dumps from the heavens.

If the weather keeps up, I'll definitely buy a shitload of plants to throw onto our deck. Wish me luck. I LOOOVE this weather!

Hellish Things in the North Country

I've discovered something more diabolical than New York drivers--New York State tax forms. I just spend an hour and a half filling out my state income tax (including the oh-so confusing "Clothing and Foot Apparel Tax Declaration" sub-form) to discover I get a whopping $12 return in state taxes. The only problem is, I need to file another income form because New York won't accept a W-2.

Fuck it.

Let the bureaucrats put me away in the joint.

There is something to be said about the Tabor Amendment.

Holy Cripes, I sound just like a Republican . . . shudder . . .

Since it is snowing "wintry mix" here, I thought I should mention that as well.

Betty

Not Much Green, Lots o' Blarney

Hey, y'all, and Happy St. Patty's Day!! This year, the state of New York is celebrating the Green Season with lots of white. Yup, you guessed it, a Nor'easter blew (pun intended) into town last night. It took me three hours to drive home, thus validating my fortitude in finding another job located in the Capital Region to decrease my commute and mileage on my car, Norma Jean.

Norma has seen better days. Currently she is parked on the street, buried in about two feet of "wintry mix" (we all know what that means), littered inside with McD bags, kid dirt, and UFOs (Unidentified Floor Objects). I put at least 100 miles per day on her, not including kid transports, etc.

A clarification on the previous post. Hun mentioned to me I made him look like a buffoon on my story about the raiding of the kitchen. I didn't want him to be perceived as a clodding doof, uncaring about my kitchen accoutrement. I wanted to demonstrate, through the subtle use of voice, that I was the clodding buffoon who was overly protective and controlling of her kitchen domain and Hun was a sensitive guy trying to lighten my load a bit and give me some evening R&R time. Hun is a sooper swell fella. He has been great lately, considering I've been trying to be less behind on work. 'Nuff said?

I'm excited about the Parental Units coming down in a few days. We will be spending a few days hanging in Albany and scooting out to the City on Saturday. More than anything, it will be great to see my folks.

Anything new to report? Not really. Like I said, I've been working a lot, not much of a life. Hun has been swell, although I have been going a bit batty with working about 60 hours a week, juggling crises and keeping cases on course.

I am missing the mountains and people who can drive in the snow. Adiose, amigos. Until next time . . .

Betty

Kitchendom Under Siege

Hun and I went on our monthly Sam's trek to stock up with all our food items of for the month. Hun recently became more invested in our diet, so pondered and calculated nutrition-information labels on the back of Cup o' Soups and instant macaroni boxes. He expressed great chagrin at the amount of sodium and sugar infused into precooked and over-processed products. I gently reminded him in order to have a low-sodium diet, it helped to process our own food--i.e. cook.

He also requested to buy more salmon, which I recently learned how to bake. This leads me to the second point. Every weekend or so, I like to cook mass quantities of food, such as green chili, red chili, spaghetti sauce, etc.--all easy to let simmer over the stove and to store in the freezer. That way, I don't get stuck cooking and chopping things at 8:30 at night after I come home from work. Luckily, the salmon is pretty easy to prepare. Other things, requested for the sake of more variety, are a bit more time intensive and not so convenient to cook and freeze on the weekends.

This leads me to my third point: yours truly not only the primary bacon provider in the household, she is the one usually frying it up in a pan. If I do not cook, we often will have a hearty meal of PB&J and cereal. I made mention of the fact that expanding our food repertoire and the drive to eat more healthy is good. However, the burden of cooking all these healthy meals often lands on me.

This leads me to my fourth point: be careful what you wish for. Hun acknowledged it was unfair to push for a more healthy diet without pitching in meal preps. As a result of being the Renaissance Alan Alda-type guy that he is, Hun rolled up his shirt sleeves this evening and started chopping and boiling. He wanted to make lasagna--in my Le Creuset pot. Hun went into all this thermodynamic stuff about why it would be a better dish to cook lasagna than the other five casserole dishes sitting in the cabinets. My thought was, Chip the porcelain coating on my Creuset, you won't live long enough to marry me in Jamaica this summer.

I used the big guns, I called my mom, asking her if he could actually cook a lasagna successfully in my pot. She said of course he could, but didn't we have a casserole dish? Hun went on about thermodynamics as I was on the phone with her and mom giggled in response. Not much help there.

He then proceeded to tell me how he would make the lasagna. I continued to squirm, that wouldn't be how I would do it. I asked him why he didn't do it my more superior way, and he asked for reasoning why my way was better. Although I did hammer a few points in, I didn't have any other reasons except that was just how things were done. He looked at me as if I were insane.

At that point, I made a tactical retreat to the living room to cover myself in my blanket, and pretend to watch Independence Day. All the while, I was obsessing about what the heck he was doing in my kitchen, with my pots and pans and my food.

CLANKATY-CLANKATY-CLANG . . .

. . . oops, he he, I guess you wonder if an elephant is cooking here. Don't worry, Betty, it might sound like I'm breaking all your dishes, but I'm not . . . he he!

I stew--no pun intended--in silence, trying to focus on alien invaders burning down New York City and D.C., rather than the domestic invader currently burning down my kitchen.

Hey Hun, (Yes, he calls me Hun, too.) I set the oven for about 350, right?

Damnit.

Yes, that's right.

Well, that was easy, the man has an M.S. in Chemistry for goodness sake. Any buffoon could have guessed 350. However, he did cook a damn fine lasagna in my dutch oven. Perhaps, one day, I'll forgive him for storming the kitchen. It will be nice to come home and stare at my toes a few nights a week instead of cooking dinner. He also can cook a mean spaghetti sauce. All I need for him to do now is learn how to cook brisket. But he better not dare attempt green chili--I get dibs.

It's a Blizzard at Procrastination Central

Well, Folks:

Mother Nature helped me with a whoppin' excuse for not imputing my paperwork on the NYS CONNX system, a database tracking families involved with DSS. She finally blessed us with one of her famed Nor'easter' storms. The Capital Region has been upgraded to a "Blizzard Warning" from a "Winter Storm Warning". This means, we will simply have snow and wind, as opposed to the "Wintry Mix" dumping south of Albany.

To those of you who never encountered the euphemistic term "Wintry Mix", it is the politically correct phrase for "icy shit". I guess icy shit--I mean, wintry mix--has feelings too. This is an odd phrase to me because, as a general rule, Upstaters and NYC urbanites aren't a politically correct bunch. Their driving is evidence they don't give a rat's ass what others might think of them or anything else.

I had a couple of phone calls today from foster folks, and I spent a couple of hours checking in with families yesterday via phone. I have a few work-related things to do today, but not much.

After completing this blog, my plans are: sweeping off the deck before it gets too deep and/or collapses, completing some paperwork poodoo, fixin' a pot of green chili, folding lotsa laundry, and--last but not least--sweeping the off the deck again before it gets too deep and/or collapses.

I LOVE snow days! It makes me feel a little less homesick. All I need is a cat to curl up in my lap, but I guess Hun's ball python will have to do.

Betty

Blargh!

I hate my job . . . well . . . I don't hate it. But I should be paid twice as much money for the work I do. Perhaps I can be a romance novelist . . . hmmm . . .

It's snowing . . .

. . . thank friggin' God.

I was getting a bit weather crazy. It's been really cold and gray the past week, and I am so relieved the heavy clouds do something more than spit icy shit all over my car and the roads.

I'm working at home today, catching up on some paper crud. I found out I didn't have training today, and I crammed in a week's worth of work in two days. Now I have a day to catch up.

Also on my agenda for today:

(1) Schedule a dental/physical

(2) Gather some dates for Hun and my Island Exploitation WeddingMoon.

(3) Get another license since I lost my wallet last week--such a pain in the arse.

Well, enough procrastinating! Take care, y'all.

Betty

Ice Storm

Yeehaw, Albany is being hit with an ice storm--not a rain storm, a thunder storm, or even the rare and ethereal snow storm--but sheets of cold wetness morphing into ice when hitting something solid like pavement or my nose.

All I can say is I'm glad I have the day off because, damn, I ain't goin' out there unless demons from heck decide to take a retreat to my abode.

Betty

The Joys of Cyberstalking

Hmmm . . .

I've been researching all-inclusive resorts to exploit banana republics for our looming honeymoon/wedding, and I've also been piecing together a new facebook group and blog site to keep wedding info up to date.

In between all this research and composition, I've gone on a cybersurfing expedition, slumming around other profiles of facebook friends, clicking onto "view next blog" to see what comes up. I got very excited when the other Nugget Handler joined facebook and commented on his profile picture, I viewed a blog of an ex-friend to keep informed of her comings and goings at a safe distance, I 'poked' various friends and family, and I even wrote a fanspam to a random blogpage I encountered.

It's odd how we all can keep up with friends and strangers so far away, but have little--if any--knowledge about the next-door neighbor.

I got a frantic, "who is this?" reply to my fanspam. I then realized, "Oh, dear, I'm officially a cyberstalker!" I can't say as I blame any leery questioning. Writing random replies to blogs is the equivalent on knocking on a strange door at 2am. It's unsure whether the intentions are benign.

A couple of months ago, I kept on getting 'poked' on my facebook account by some Vietnam veteran with a penchant for mobiles. I finally blocked the guy from my profile, reporting to the site he seemed harmless enough, but I didn't know him and he kept bugging me.

I also have kept photos on the site to a minimum, and try to have minimal identifiers for myself and other friends I write about in my blog. I don't want anyone to figure out where I live and steal Hun and/or my collections of tea mugs away.

Anywho, I guess I should figure out what is cybercourtesy, how to write fanspam in a nonthreatening manner, or perhaps--horror of horrors--get out in the real world and actually interact with my fellow human beings . . .

. . . naaah

Betty

Cooking

It's raining outside and Hun and I worked out this morning. Once properly motivated, I'll head to the kitchen and start cooking a brisket, marinating a chicken for some pesto-pasta stuff, and putting away clothes--all agenda items I've been procrastinating for the past week.

Date night was last night with Hun and me. He's currently studying in his . . . well . . . study. Dog, our friendly ball python who shares our home and heater, is resting from a recent gorging of white mice.

This week, I conversed with a foster parent while he was butchering a deer he killed earlier that morning. He got me to hold out a plastic bag while he dropped a skinned haunch in. (His hands were covered with blood and would mess up the cardboard box holding the remaining bags.) The deer's tongue was dangling out to the side, and the face showed an expression of surprise. A bucket of blood and guts sloshed around the concrete floor as he quickly worked.

Once I left the home, I realized I was a bit peckish, so I sauntered over the McDonald's drive-in and grabbed a Grade E cheeseburger of unknown protein origins. I scarfed it down on the drive back home without regard of the disembowelment I just witnessed.

Good times.

I told Hun all about it and he couldn't have been prouder.

The Year of the Psycho-Toddler

Well folks, another year has flown by and another has begun. I am still having adventures at my current job, more details to come . . .

My year has already been filled with ups and downs. Hun introduced him to some friends and sig others at a New Years party. We played Cranium and it was a decent amount of fun. Although, most folks talked about TV and video games, instead of places to hike. Oh well, but here's to networking!

As far as this week went, I had a runaway, a pending runaway, and a past-threatening runaway now-come community-college enrollee. (Lots of ups and downs to say the least.) I also am stuck with taking a TCI course (aka How To Wrestle Children Safely and Successfully) for the next few weeks, cutting the time I actually can get work done to about half. Oh well, t'is life.

I signed up for some meetup groups in Albany, mostly wanna-be writers' groups for myself and even some outdoors enthusiasts' groups. Wish me luck!

Well, my friends in Colorado are missed. But Hun and I are doing fine and have gotten a chance to enjoy the cooler weather this week. We were wondering if everyone around here was full of bullshit when talking about "you haven't experienced a real winter until you've experienced a Northeast winter." We even got our first cumulative snowfall for the season a couple of days ago. I'm glad it's been a bit more chilly.

Anywho, as they say here, We'll tawlk aboutit lata.

Betty