Intellect Protection Services

I’ve been reported to the Intellect Protection Services by my dusty reading list books. The complaint includes neglect and being held unlawfully on the dresser in my bedroom. Upon the IPS’s unscheduled home visit they found these:   

Call me paranoid but I think the blabbermouth Petrushka  doll has been the one ratting me out. The more I defend capitalism and the free market the bitchier she gets. Maybe I can appease her with some beluga caviar or a shot of Stoli. I would throw her in the next bonfire, but Pricess #1 brought her back from Russia, where she lived while studying abroad.

I explained to the Intellect Protection Service representative that I was still actually reading a lot, just more in short story form and that my Internet related activities really are expanding my knowledge base. Do they think mastering the world of blogging, twittering and facebooking is easy for a girl who went to college when computer hard drives took up a whole room in the lab and certainly didn’t fit on your lap?

I'll admit my rate of books read per month has decreased for the past year. If a book doesn't grab me right away it is far too easy to be distracted by the shiny object of stainless steel with the white apple on the cover. So what, I've went from being labeled a voracious reader to a computer slacker. I still have put in a respectable showing as far as books read recently.

One of my favorites this year was Quiver, by up and coming local author Peter Leonard. It packed in the trifecta for my soul: suspense, Michigan locations familiar to me and a sprinkling of NASCAR. I think they should make a movie of it along the lines of Get Shorty which was developed from a novel by Elmore Leonard (Peter’s famous daddy).

Bitter Is The New Black by Jen Lancaster is my bathtub reading buddy and I’m half way through it. But my blogging and twittering have also interfered with my bathtub time, leaning more towards quick showers these days. A book that should have taken me about 6 hours to read is taken me about 2 months so far.

I carry small books to keep me occupied while waiting for all the little things and people I wait for daily. I’m trying to expand my vocabulary with Diane Law’s Dictionary of Bullshit (lexicon of corporate speak) and a more appropriately titled book while waiting in public is David Sedaris’s Holidays On Ice, a cold weather favorite of mine.

I also bet that jealous Russian hussy didn’t produce any of my pictures from this year as I read my way through Charlaine Harris’s Sookie Stackhouse book series upon which the show True Blood are based on. There’s 9 in the series so far. What is more engaging than a story set in the deep South that includes vampires, shifters, werewolves and fairies? OK, so it’s not Tolstoy’s Anna Karina but it is highly entertaining and incredibly stimulating to the imagination.

My teenage daughters goaded me in to reading  Stephanie Myers books Twilight, New Moon and Breaking Dawn last year. I had resisted the whole movie craziness until I finished the first book. I was immediately drawn in by the vampire angle. Unlike the teenage fans I find Bella, the heroine of the saga quite annoying.

You had better believe I am counting down the days to the release of New Moon. I am captivated by the Quileute Indian legend that's featured so heavily in the sequels and I can't wait to see my favorite character Jacob shift into a powerful wolf mid stride.

Anyway I wore that pesky IPS lady out blathering on about wolves, Native Americans, rattlesnake hunting and the North Carolina connection of my family's Cherokee bloodline. Her eyes glazed over and she agreed to check her sources out more carefully in the future.

Where's My Yard Bitch?

Some people have garden gnomes or crafty painted wooden yard signs, I care for none of that. But I am sorely missing my yard bitch.

An actual yard bitch

Our yard has just not looked the same since my son moved away to pursue his career ambitions in the Windy City. My friends used to ask me why I wasn’t bothered when he moved home after college. Are you kidding me? The Prince among 5 sisters, he went to work, did his own laundry, cleans up his kitchen mess, likes to cook and when it came to the cars or yard, would do my bidding.

I have bore 6 children. As in any group dynamic, some are workers and some are not. Growing up with a husband who traveled extensively I was reliant on my minions to pitch in, a lot. Witty language and code words just tend to make the mundane more interesting, don’t you think?

Now when I delegate jobs I refer to them as my .......... bitch. Fill in the blank. If they are on kitchen duty they are the kitchen bitch, when on laundry duty they are the laundry bitch for the day.

On a recent trip to Chicago my sister in law was sitting in the passenger seat. I announced that she would have to act as my toll bitch. At first she looked startled but after a minute started laughing and agreed to be in charge of having money for the tolls ready so we could sail through. If you don’t have an E-Z Pass it’s complicated to have the correct change for tolls ready, willing and able.

When I’m road tripping  the last thing I want to be is delayed at the toll booths because I’m for sure on a competitive arrival schedule. It’s difficult to do without the assistance of a toll bitch. I know this for a fact because my dear sister in law was too hung over and too out of it on the way home to attend to her duties.

Once we arrived for our girls weekend in Chicago I sought out my luggage bitch and my wine bitch. You see there’s no end to this game.

Back to the situation at hand and that is my yard full of leaves and wilted hostas. I’ve been nagging Raymondo for a couple weeks to attend to the situation. I don’t call him my yard bitch because he wouldn’t like that. He thinks it’s crass and doesn’t share my sense of humor. I actually enjoy raking leaves but my allergies have been so crazy this fall that I have avoided getting out there among all the angry spores.

I was inspired today though. I completed my work out with Fit TV,  Gilad’s Body Sculpting that included a concentration of weight lifting targeting the chest and shoulders today. It was sunny out and the yard was getting on my nerves so I got out there raking, carrying debris to the woods, yanking out dead vines.

After showering I headed to Starbucks to reward myself with a latte and some twittering before proceeding down to the imaging center for my annual mammogram. I have lost my grandmother, mother, 2 aunts and a cousin to breast cancer so I always dread the anxiety cloud that hangs over me in this regard. I get a mammogram done every year or so at the same facility so they can easily compare each years films for any suspicious changes.

The technician introduced me to their new mammogram machine. She told me they call it Diva because it’s cutting edge technology but very temperamental.  I’m calling it Clampy. Like a vice clamp. Somebody call the Pentagon, they can do away with water boarding as an enhanced interrogation technique. Just put the terror suspects body part into Clampy and depress the pedal that applies the pressure...they’ll cry for their mama in no time at all. Problem solved. Why didn’t they put me in charge of this in the first place?

I'm a Sexy Bitch

Between Gilad, the yard work and Clampy there is not one centimeter of my torso that is not sore tonight. Me and my best friend Motrin got into a hot bubble bath but my nipples feel like I’ve breast fed triplets today. That is weird in itself since they have pretty much been numb for the past 12 years and they have some how sprung back to life.

Looking out the window, I couldn’t help noticing it looks like there’s a swirling dervish of yard waste forming into a funnel cloud since the wind picked up. All the big piles of leaves I left for my husband to haul into the woods have been reduced by half and it’s not because he did any yard work today while I was being tortured.

My son called on his way home from work. He tends to call when he’s bored looking for me to entertain him. As he shared about his day I abruptly cut him off with the question, where is my yard bitch? The Yard Bitch then assured me he and his sisters would be home for Thanksgiving and promised to attend to the leaves if they were still bothering me.

In honor of Michigan hunting season

Yes, please go

Along Came A Jogger

I'm not quite sure what he was so mad about that he felt compelled to smack my  car in the ass as he strode behind me. Maybe his thinking was so deluded by the endorphins  circulating in his bloodstream that he thought he was moving at the speed of light. He was a good 20 feet away from the intersection when I pulled up to wait to turn left out of my neighborhood.Clearly, even with advanced age, men don't lose their egotistical belief that they should have the right of way in every situation.

Maybe it's something in the Michigan air today. It was sunny, in the low 50's and I noticed a lot of people trying to fit in jogs, dog walks and bike rides today before the weather turns frightful. Through my open sunroof I heard him say, "Stop sign, blondie" as he huffed by and hit the back of my car. It was at that point I definitely felt a surge of road rage. What is this geezer thinking? Isn't it obvious I'm a NASCAR fan? I barely controlled my urge to pull over the curb and drive my car down the bike path behind him to give him a piece of my bumper.

Good thing for him I'm not still driving my 4 wheel drive Yukon, there's no way I can take the low rider I have now off road. The weird thing is that this is not the first time I've been accosted by a spindly leg over the hill wind bag while in my car. Now, that might lead me to think, it must be me.But it doesn't. I'm a confident, sensible driver with a clean driving record. Sometimes I have a need for speed but not in a neighborhood.

This is the view from behind the stop sign.There is no way to safely pull out unless you proceed to wait in front of the cross walk.

This is the same position my car was in, waiting to turn left out of my subdivision. Notice there is also a stop sign for the pedestrians?

Does being blond, short and driving a Ford Flex automatically equate with being as docile a bunny? An automatic target for bullies, even elderly ones? I'll warn you now that it wouldn't be wise to fall for stereotypes and underestimate me. While I am typically composed and controlled I have inherited quite a temper.Usually held tightly under lock and key, once sprung it is not a pretty thing.

And I'm not above using a weapon (you are going to want to see this). Years ago when I worked odd shifts and took call I often traveled with hammer under my seat and a baseball bat a quick reach away.Even now it's not unusual for me to have my handy 12 in 1 tool in my glove compartment that includes a small pocket knife sharp enough to perform a on the spot prostate biopsy (a little too much Dexter maybe).

Don't mess with The Mayor.

I Want A New Drug

Allergies are  in charge of my head right now and sleep alludes me....

After an hour of trying this morning I finally did fall into a deep sleep. I had the most delicious dream involving Ashton Kutcher of all people. We all know I'm crazed about my boy Justin Timberlake. Well, I may have to change my loyalties because my dream took "that loving feeling" to a whole different level. Maybe deep down I knew Ashton appreciates a more mature woman? As much as I truly hate napping, I did not want to wake up from this one.

Fall colors are bursting around here, along with the mold levels the decaying leaves giving me a non-stop headache. Left untreated my head throbs, my entire face hurts and my left ear aches and feels full. Since I totally believe in better life through pharmacology I break out my Allegra (antihistamine) and eat more Motrin than is medically appropriate.

When that is not enough I break out the Sudafed, with which I have a love-hate relationship. Oh, it unclogs me. The 12 hour extended release tab works the best, but if I take enough to do the job it makes me not sleep. Even if I just take one in the morning. So, now I'll switch back to the short acting little red guys and put up with the headache that's sure to be upon me by evening.

I want a new drug, one that won't make me sick, one that won't make me crash my car, or make me feel 3 feet thick. I want a new drug, one that won't go away, one that won't keep me up all night, one that won't make me sleep all day....

Who would have thought I could get so much mileage out of that Huey Lewis song, "I Want A New Drug". Go ahead, click and listen, I'll wait.

I've had a totally unproductiveve week due to a lack of solid sleep. Not getting my stuff done makes me crazy. It's hard to complete all my tasks, fit in a workout and be a reasonable person because I'm whackadoo. I stink at napping.

So my wasted time this week at least left me with some lingering good memories. I was, however being quite serious when I said I Want A New Drug. Obtaining Sudafed is beginning to make me feel like a criminal. Those posers they've left out on the pharmacy shelves do not work. No, you have to go to the pharmacist and ask her for the real deal behind the counter. You had better have ID and be willing for them to enter you into some drug data base in the sky.

You want to stock up because you have more than one allergy sufferer at home? Too bad. They can only sell you 3.6 grams of those little red devils on any given day. The law varies state by state, in some states they limit how many times you can buy pseudoephed products in a month's time.

They say they need to control who is buying the drug because it can easily be turned into the dangerous street drug Crystal Meth, aka Ice, Tina, Nazi Crank (it's rumored Adolph Hitler injected it daily). It's cheap, and has versatile modes of ingestion. It can be smoked, snorted, swallowed or injected and it is one of the most addictive substances ever created. Prescribed for ailments like narcolepsy, post encephalitic Parkinsons and obesity in the 1950's, illegal production began in homes in the 1960's. $1000 worth of Crystal Meth can produced from $80 worth of readily available products.

It's a drug that will make you look like you have been "rode hard and put up wet" as the saying goes. It accelerates aging, deteriorates tooth enamel (meth mouth), eliminates appetite leading to sudden and extreme weight loss.Users often experience intense itching (speed bugs) that leads to open sores on their skin. Sounds lovely doesn't it?

Here in suburbimania I thought, how common is that really? Is the government just trying to make my life harder by any method they can come up with? Then during my travels this summer I had a chance to witness the craziness surrounding the people who use and produce this up close. In the midst of rural beauty I was up close and personal with a relatives problem neighbor.

This drug den, well known to everyone in the neighborhood. Notice the multiple huge garbage cans out in front of a home occupied by 2 people. Fencing was stolen from a local Home Depot and installed haphazardly along roadside.

Meth lab and drug storage out in back, clearly visable from neighbors properties.

Suspects vehicle parked without permission on a neighbors property after the commission of a crime involving a handgun. Even though the suspect was considered "armed and dangerous" it took local authorities hours to respond to calls from the homeowner reporting vehicle.

Arrest scene 3 miles from suspected Drug Den, made only after local neighbors called and reported seeing suspect get into pictured van and leave his home. This picture does not show the 20 emergency vehicles involved in this arrest.

Even more frustrating is that even though 2 men were arrested with a handgun and marijuana in the vehicle they were both out of jail before sunset. The one who aided the suspect in his attempted escape was not charged with a single thing. The suspected drug maker, with a long standing history of mental illness, criminal record including violent crimes is back in his drug den as I write this, doing business as usual. He continues to terrorize his neighbors with his erratic and violent behavior, disrupting an otherwise quiet rural area populated by hardworking families.

It's obvious I watch way too much CSI and NCIS ( I can't help it, have you ever seen how hunky those guys on NCIS are?) because I was SHOCKED that the local police NEVER EVEN SEARCHED THIS SUSPECTS HOME during the 24 hours they were "looking" for him after he attempted to kill someone (who allegedly owed him money) by shooting at them. Are you telling me they couldn't get a search warrant for a suspect's home who is considered armed and dangerous?

I realize there is a big divide between tv shows and real life law enforcement and that there are different responses to reported crimes in any given locality. In the city of Detroit you need to have committed an extremely violent crime in order to garner police attention. Twenty miles away in my hood, it could be as simple as throwing a tissue out of your car window. You can refresh your memory of my run in with the law by reading Can I Still Blog From Jail?

Could someone alert  Pfizer, Johnson and Johnson, Merke, Novartis, Eli Lilly that we need a new drug? A fantastic decongestant that can't be easily turned into Crystal Meth. While they are at it if they could alter it so it won't keep me up all night or make me sleep all day, that would be appreciated.

Random Design

I really embrace things that are cleverly designed. My nice friend over at Unmitigated made this mini banner for me using my online banner design. She's offered to do one for others for a very fair price so check it out. I paired the mini banner with my mini-moo design blogging business cards. These cards really catch people's eyes when I shrewdly slip them out, I absolutely love them.These trendy little cards are only $20 for a set of 100, they come in a cool plastic box and you can have them printed on both sides at MOO.com

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The first thing my 13 year old daughter said to me when I picked her up from her friends house at 7:30 p.m. was, “you’re right mom, most people don’t eat like we do.” Wow, stop the presses, hang on one cotton picking minute.You see I’m the bomb when it comes to cooking, when I am in the mood (click on that and get up to speed). After toiling over salad dressing made from scratch, a perfect red wine reduction for a filet mignon that’s been seared on the cook top and finished in a 500 F oven, I often say, “you know most people don’t eat like this”. This is the same child who rolls her eyes whenever I utter that phrase, which is frequently.

“Please explain,” I prompt my sweet child. “Well, his mom invited us to eat Pot Roast, but I could barely chew it and the sauce was gross”. That made me curious and I asked if he or his dad seemed to like the food. She said after dinner they went downstairs to play pool and they were all laughing about how tough the meat was. Something inside me bubbled up and I sprung to the bad cook mom’s defense. I reminded my daughter that her friend’s mother worked in  the hospital all day, and it can be mighty challenging to come home tired and have to put a meal on the table.

After all, when I’m not in the mood to cook for whatever reason (meeting ran late, too much shopping, traffic) we order pizza or Chinese. If I was working 9-5 Monday through Friday I doubt I do much cooking either. But , I have to admit it was good to hear my luscious fashionista express her appreciation of my talents.