Surprise Surprise, Sergeant Carter!

There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.
~Diana Cortes

Oh yes I did. I used a sappy quote. Just like those FWD'd chain emails with a Rose of Friendship! or a Teddy Bear Hug for You! or some such sentimentality. So flog me. At least I didn't go for that whole Friendship Angel angle. That would've been pushing it too far.

But yes I did use a sappy quote, and yes, I stand by it. Get past the sappiness, people, strive to see the deeper meaning ... come on ... open your hearts.

Oh, that's right, you already did.

I will be writing longer and even sappier emails this evening, after these 2 meetings I have coming up, but know that I have had a sappy song in my heart, and those cartoon bluebirds fluttering around me all day. Seriously.


Batman's surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. Keep your fingers and paws crossed.

Starting Off With a Bang ...

... followed by a crash.

As previously mentioned, I spent New Year's Eve at home, with my dogs. The Offspring were off at various friends' houses or parties. My Seattle friend (aka My Bitch, the Cynical Sicilian, from past posts) came by, and we went out to rent movies. Wheee! Yeah, well, like I said, my suburb isn't exactly Funky Town. Anyway, we ran into one of the women from my parent advocacy group, doing the same thing. She came over as well - we didn't exactly have to twist her arm. I mean, come on, who could say no to partying babes and bitches in the suburbs?

Plus, we had liquor.

Boy did we.

I, it turns out, am sadly out of practice when it comes to anything beyond the powers of beer and wine. We had Absolut (currant and vanilla), Jose Cuervo (he is a friend of mine), rum (which we didn't drink), grenadine, sweet vermouth, and all kinds of mixers. Plus, we had a shitload of food. I invented a new drink, which sounds much better with my real life name, but which will be referred to here as the Cowbell Tingle. Doesn't have quite the same ring, but whatever. Some of you will be able to read between the lines. (I actually wanted to name it the Pom-Nilla, but my friends didn't think it was as witty and amusing as I did. The next day, I could see why. )

"Cowbell" Tingle

Absolute Vanilla (probably about 1/3 of the drink?)
Pomegranate 7-Up
Pomegranate/Cranberry juice
Ginger Ale

I can't give you exact amounts, because drink mixing has to come from the heart and soul. Plus, I can't really remember.

Anyway, with that, the aforementioned shitload of food, Monsta Jams in the CD player (can I get a woot-woot!), we were getting our party on. Whoo-eee, our little slice of suburb did turn into Funky Town for a few hours. At least in our minds. Mason kind of had a minor freakout at the stroke of midnight, what with the fireworks and all, and startled my friends, who were not expecting a crazed round of barking and banging around my tiny living room, but he calmed down. He's not a fireworks kind of dog. Now, My Bitch isn't much one for drinking. She's beyond lightweight. Like featherweight. Bantam weight. You get the idea. My other friend and I, however, were drinking our juicy tasting drinks, and of course, they didn't taste that strong, so we sort of forgot to take the usual precautions like checking one's bodily reactions for a while between drinks.

I think it was the shot of tequila that kicked things over the edge. Yeah. Jose is a dangerous lover, y'all.

Suffice it to say no one drove home. We all crashed, probably around 3 or 4am. So out of practice am I, that I forgot to drink a bucket of water with 2 Excedrin before crashing. The next morning, I woke up to find My Bitch gone, and my other friend feeling much the same as I did. Which is to say, basically like shit. When you wake up wondering what the hell crawled into your mouth and died, that means you screwed up.

It's never worth it the next day, people. Gawd.

But damn was that a good mini-party while it lasted. I think we've got plans for the next Federal Holiday, even though I'm pretty sure it's honoring the requisite Dead White Men. Presidents Day, isn't that the next day the working stiffs are off work? Given the current administration, it really puts a bad taste in my mouth to honor the presidents. But, no worse than the taste I woke up with on the first morning of 2008, so party on, Garth.

Next time, I'm pacing myself with those Tingles.

Happy Friggin' New Year, Take 2

OK, so I just read my New Year's post from last year, when I was a new baby blogger. You can tell I was a new baby blogger because my only 2 comments were from my Offspring. I didn't even know most of you yet. I was mortified yet not surprised to see that nothing's really changed since I wrote that post. Which is pathetic.


Same shit, different year, people. I don't even need to write a New Year's post -- just click the link. Substitute 2008 for 2007, you're good to go.


The only thing that has changed from the time that post was written is that the Offspring will not be ringing in the New Year here at home with their significant others. Teen Demon is attending a party, elsewhere, with her significant other. Male Offspring's SO is out of town, he will be spending the night at a friend's house. The Bohemian is going to a friend's house as well.

My Seattle friend (I've really got to come up with a permanent moniker for her) and I were going to head down to Capitol Hill for fun and hijinx, but now with Batman acting weird toward Mason, I really don't want to leave them alone together. So I'm going to be partying with my dogs. At home. Wheee. My friend may come over, if she's feeling motivated enough. My suburb isn't exactly funkytown, if you know what I mean.


I'll be glad to see 2008. I know a date on the calendar doesn't magically change a damn thing, but it's a psychological marker for us humans, who will hang on to anything we can, to get through. Maybe this year things will be better.

Famous last words.

One thing has changed since last year's post. All y'all, to be precise. I have, in the midst of all the 2007 fuckery, immensely enjoyed getting to know you, this deliciously eclectic bevy of bloggers. Seriously, I am so glad to have "met" you all.

In the words of a famous beer commercial, I love you, man.

Oh, and Happy Friggin' New Year.

Operation Cowbell

I know many of you have been looking for updates on my friend Betty, who was deployed to Iraq this fall. So many of you sent boxes and good wishes to Betty and her soldiers, through Operation Home-In-a-Box. I hadn't yet posted an update, because I didn't hear anything for a while, and, to tell you the truth, I didn't want to think about why I hadn't heard anything. Most of me knew that Betty is incredibly busy under even normal circumstances, and that right now she probably barely has time to spit, let alone write chatty emails on the latest goings-on in Iraq. (She is still taking classes and dealing with homework in the midst of all this!) But of course there was a tiny part of my brain, the "what if" part, that worried.

Anyway, I got an update just before Christmas, and wanted to let you all know how much your boxes and kind thoughts were appreciated by Betty's section over there. She asked me to relay their gratitude, and what a difference it has made to the guys and gals over there. She has - as I expected - made their space into a nice Christmasey spot in the midst of everything. Unfortunately, the news is not all good. They have lost a soldier already and have some wounded as well.

Some of it I'm directly cut and pasting from the email, other parts I'll just relay, as I'm not sure about pasting some of the info - better safe than sorry. I guess I'm still paranoid about security from my clearance days, ha.

I hope your holidays are as happy as mine, I have prepared a nice Christmas day for my section, the office is clean and decorated with such nice festive decorations and warm feelings of blessings. Thanks to you, and our new Cowbell family. God has been so good to the soldiers here at FOB Kalsu.

... we've lost a soldier in the last week, a number of wounded soldiers. But the soldiers keep performing to such high standards and staying motivated, they're definitely going the distance here in Iraq. Can you please post this for me. Must close, need to do homework, midterm...still in the University.

I can't even imagine how that has affected everyone there. Of course, there are morale issues, which is to be expected, but Betty is on top of that, as she always is with her soldiers. Also, an Iraqi General, whom Betty really respected, was killed, which had a big effect on folks from both sides.

... I don’t want to start this message out on a gloomy note, but I have to let you know the truth. Last Sunday, we had a meeting with one of the Iraqi Generals and as he departed FOB Kalsu, within the hour he was killed, this week was a bit of a disappointment for both sides, because he was the actual glue that held each side together, which allowed both sides to continue to merge into one.

One of Betty's very close friends there is an Iraqi translator - "one with such a great heart and love for both countries". She had legally immigrated to the US, her husband passed away a few years ago, which is when she made the decision to become a translator with our forces. She apparently translated for several of the Generals, including the General who was recently killed. I'm sure that was very difficult for everyone.

The packages you all sent were so appreciated. Apparently they can feel isolated there, in their section's particular situation, so things from home make a big difference.

We have had quite a few black outs of [location code] for either deaths or wounded soldiers (KIAs os WIAs). When this operation runs throughout the FOB, Forward Operating Base; this means that we have no connection outside of this Base, beyond the T-Walls that encloses the Base itself.

... I have received quite a few care packages from quite a few generous people, and to let you know, I let one of the soldiers within the section open a care package when it came their turn…they were allowed to pick from the package first and then we shared the rest with the other soldiers in the section.

I’ve had one soldier (male….approximately 35 yrs old) who has received only one letter and it was from his mother. This individual is having a difficult time concentrating on mission, because he had to leave prior to the completion of a divorce, or reconciling with his spouse/family. If you would like to send a kind word to this person, he and I would definitely appreciate it. You can address this letter/package to Mr. Vil in C/O MSG Betty PerryBoehm; same address, I would see to it getting to him.

To my old friends and newly acquired friends via Operation Cowbell, I want to thank all of you for being so generous and kind hearted in a time such as this military operation. I know most of you are the general population of the American society, the part of society who has an opinion, but or fed information through the media channels…..listen to all and decipher what sounds right to you; I will tell you, a lot of good things or happening here to keep the Terrorists at bay and allow the continued freedom to the American people.

I will write to all of the participants in a separate letter, if it’s OK! I want to let the people of the Cowbell Operation know that it’s not necessary to send a package; you can just keep the letters coming, mainly with words of encouragements. If you continue to feel generous to my group of soldiers, please send warm socks (male and females) towels, washcloths, shower gels, lotions and Noxzema pads to keep the facial pores clean and free of the dirt and sand storms we endure here in the desert. These items will sure to be used and appreciated.

(Also, Betty wanted to let you know that the soldier she mentioned, Mr. Vil, is a warrant officer, so it's customary to address them as Mr./Ms. which is why it's written that way rather than with rank. Just address it in care of Betty, it will be sure to get to him.)

Again, I can't begin to imagine what they are experiencing over there, and I can't begin to imagine how important it is to feel support from home when a person is in that situation. I know people have a lot of opinions on the war, and in particular the way our current administration (G-Dubya and minions) is handling things, but the one thing easy to agree on is supporting and respecting the individual soldiers who are over there, far from home, doing their best in the face of everything. I, for one, am proud of them, and have the highest respect for them. I wish for them all to come home soon, and safely.

I can tell in Betty's letter, and in other soldiers' writings I've seen out on the net, that it is a concern, what the folks back home are hearing, believing, and thinking about what's going on there. What's happening on the ground is a whole different thing than what's happening in the hallowed halls of the Big House White House, and from what I see, most if not all of the folks who stop in regularly to my site are fully aware of that. From what I see, most folks wish that those walking the hallowed halls would give more thought to the soldiers than to what's on their own agendas.

So Betty, dear friend, the folks back home are rooting hard for you all, and care more than you can know. You all just keep on keeping on, take care of each other, watch your buddies' backs, and please come home safe.

I love you, friend. Stay strong, stay safe.

Like Prince Loves Purple

I like purple. Which pretty much means I could be descended from royalty, because purple was once worn only by royalty. I also have O-neg blood, which, according to some theories, is common to the descendents of some advanced alien beings. Hey, we all need to feel special, ok?


Anyway, I am a purple appreciater. I like purple things, like

Purple phones,


Purple velvet bags of lavender,


purple wallets,



purple stained glass lamp shades,

and purple sweatshirts.
And I really, really like ...

... funky purple Merino wool SCARVES, made by a funky and fabulous Boston friend by the name of Evil Ganome!

Oh yes he did! And this in spite of the fact that for an accomplished knitter such as himself, knitting scarves is apparently so boring as to cause said knitter to entertain thoughts of jabbing the knitting needles repeatedly into an eye, just to escape the boredom. I guess once you've moved onto complicated cableknit sweaters and *ahem* toasty basket warmers, the long uninterrupted length of a simple scarf no longer gives him a yarn woody. But knit it he did, which makes me love it even more, being a labor of love and head-banging boredom. I love me some Evil-G!

And I love love love my scarf!

To make it a little more interesting, he employed something called a seed stitch. I, of course, had no idea what that was, but promptly headed for The Googles, and found it is the reason behind the wonderful nubbly texture. I can't stop touching it. I guess it looks like a bunch of seeds, thus the name. There are other stitches where the origin of the name is a bit more ambiguous, as I recently learned at Tater's site, where he's been working on a piece using the Van Dyke Faggoting method. And that's the extent of my knowledge on knitting stitches.

He got the color just right too, decoding my vague statement that I like purple, but it's got to be the the bluey purples, not the pinky purples, you know what I mean? He did. He also remembered other preferences from a previous conversation, where I'd told him, You know I like 'em thick and long, honey. I'm not sure we were talking about scarves that day, but no matter; this purple wrap is a whopping 7 feet long, so I can wrap it 'til it works. Hell yeah. And the seed stitch assures the thickness factor.

I just love it when a man takes care of your needs, don't you?

Here's Bed Bear, above, my current sleeping partner, modeling it for you. Isn't he cute? (Yes, as a matter of fact, I do sleep with a teddy bear. He doesn't kick or snore - let alone fart - doesn't care if I shave my legs or wear knee socks to bed, and he never tries to get some in the night when I'm sleeping. On the other hand, he's pretty passive, and he never tries to get some in the night when I'm sleeping.)

I took these pics last night, close to midnight, so I was in no state of mind to do a full frontal facial shot. I tried to be creative and show off the scarf without showing off my dark circles and newly forming zit as well, but unfortunately most of the shots came out looking rather Burqaesque, as seen here.

Anyway, my scarf is gorgeous, I love it. Love it! Thank you Tony -- you're my boy!

Operation Home-In-a-Box

Thanks to RG for the title. Many of you have emailed/commented asking how to send items to Iraq for my friend's soldiers. Thank you -- I am very touched by that. I'm concerned about the length of the tour; in her original email, she said this tour will keep them away from home for TWO Christmases. (I've asked her to let me know more about that.) Anyway, she has given the OK to publish her name/addy on the Internets.

Betty Perry-Boehm
HHC 4TH BCT 3ID (S-4)
Unit # 40620
FOB KALSU
APO, AE 09312

So if you'd like to Support the Troops with more than a yellow ribbon magnet on the back of your car, these men and women would surely appreciate anything you could send over their way. Betty's idea is to put together Christmas stockings and have some nice surprises for the soldiers above and beyond the regular care items to make being away from home during the holidays a little easier. Here's a list of some suggestions to get you started, with some specific requests from the soldiers or my friend:

• Magazines (US, Cosmo, Psychology Today, Ebony, Muscle Mags, etc.)
• gummi bears
• hot tamales candy (for me)
• jelly bellies
• sour worms
• Ferrero rocher
• Mon Cheri
• almonds, cashews, other nuts
• other nice "stocking stuffer" type snacks/treats
• Jolly Ranchers, lemon drops, life savers, other hard candies
• AA, AAA, C batteries
• books! all kinds (incl. vampire books, Chicken soup books)
• crossword puzzles, word games, activity books
• 2008 Calendars
• modern music CDs; even Xmas music
• DVDs
• coffee, creamers, cider, hot chocolate packets
• small bottles of hand-sanitizer
• lotions, shower gels, or something nice for the ladies in the Bath & Body Works style (there are 10 females in my friend's group)

She'd like everyone to know they'll be happy about whatever folks wish to send, "even just Xmas cards". I know from just regular overseas military experience that a package at mail call is worth its weight in gold -- I'm sure that's even more true in Iraq.

Feel free to branch out from the list; if every person sends a big box of sour worms, it loses a bit of the appeal. It's good to pack items in Zip-lock bags, as the soldiers always use the bags.

I looked at some of the care package web sites and found these suggestions, if you want to include some regular care package items as well, or send something at a later date:

• board games and other "boredom busters"
• handheld electronic/travel games
• facial cleansing wipes (Oxy, Sea Breeze, Noxema, etc)
• eye drops
• wet wipes (baby wipes)
• foot powder
• hair elastics/barrettes
• dried fruit (healthy snacks are hard to find there)
• instant oatmeal packs
• pop-top canned fruit
• Pringles (they don't break)
• cookies
• powdered Gatorade drink mix
• Granola bars, trail mix
• microwave popcorn, soup cups, add-water foods like mac-n-cheese
• tuna/chicken sealed t0-go packets, Vienna sausage
• nail files
• Venus/Mach3 disposable razors
• Chapstick
• Neosporin/bandaids
• Dr. Scholl shoe inserts

Oh, and for you naughty types out there, these items are prohibited:
-anything depicting nude/semi-nude people
-"obscenity" or porn of any type
-any pork products
-alcohol

Unfortunately, the mailing deadlines for soldiers in Iraq are earlier than the deadlines for other overseas locations -- wish I'd known about the deployment earlier. The Parcel Post and Space Available deadlines have already passed, and the deadline for Iraq deployments (APO zips starting with 093__) is DECEMBER 1st.

If you can't get yours in the mail by that date, please don't let that stop you --- anything you send will still be much appreciated. (and if you just miss it by a day or two, it may still arrive in time.) But if there's any way you can get something mailed off to these guys by December 1st, that would be wonderful for them to have those stockings on Christmas.

When mailing, you'll need to fill out a customs form with a description of the contents. There's a place on the form where they'll ask for where to send it if not able to deliver to that individual. Just put "First Sergeant" and fill in the rest of the unit address in that space.


Again, a huge thank you to all of you who are willing to do this -- it will mean so much to my friend and her soldiers.

The War Just Got a Little More Personal

In other news...

I recently received a voice mail on my phone from one of my dearest friends. Most of my dear friends, the ones who are really in there, are far away. This particular friend and I met in Hungary. She was the First Sergeant for the post where I worked. She ran those soldiers, helped them grow up, and handled a clueless Post Commander brought in from the Reserves. She was tough, fair, and didn't take any bullshit. She also loved those young soldiers like they were her own kids, and went all out for them. She returned to Germany after her tour, came back to Hungary to visit, and came out to Seattle for a visit a couple of years back.

She did a tour as a Drill Sergeant before I met her. It amused me to no end to see her one minute, laughing over some girl talk, and the next minute, noticing some young soldier in need of "guidance", she'd pop into Drill Sergeant mode on a dime. You'd best lock it up, sol-DIER! Talking to that female is not part of your mission for tonight, now is it? Then you'd best get back to it, before I think of my own mission for you. Then that smile would be back, as if nothing had happened.

She's the type of person who takes in children of soldiers sent to Iraq or Korea. She adopted a teenager from Africa before we met, who has since made her a proud grandmother to twin girls. She has taken in so many kids over her lifetime, and really made a difference in those young lives, I am in awe of her. She also went back to school after her return to Germany. She earned her bachelor's degree in Psychology while raising up kids, training up soldiers, and doing her own job as an active duty soldier.

Her voice mail told me she is now in Iraq.

I felt like those words punched the air out of me.

I got an email from her yesterday. She talked about getting off the helicopter in the middle of the night - less of a target that way. She is trying to set up a decent Christmas for her soldiers there. She plans to put together stockings for them, asking people to send things from the States, so her soldiers can have things from home, a bit of tradition, something to open on Christmas. She sent me the address, not so I could write her, but to help fill soldier's stockings.

Typical - she's separated from her own family and friends, but thinking of her soldiers. She could've taken retirement the last couple of years, but now she's in Iraq.

Goddamn it, girl, why couldn't you just fucking retire?

I know she will do everything in her power to bring her soldiers safely home. Please just remember to take care of yourself as well, friend. Stay safe.

Smile! The Alternative is Everyone Thinks You're a Bitch!

Isn't that how that saying goes? Something like that, anyway.

So blogbuddy extraordinaire, the Slingster, got hisself a right Shiny New Thing in the way of a You Make Me Smile award. Absolutely fitting because I think I speak for all of us (I've always wanted to say that, and have it be true) when I say he makes everyone smile. A Lot. Sometimes LOL like teenagers, even. He's a friggin' cheer-bringer, can I get a hell-yeah?


Anyway, Sling has made me smile extra today, because he saw fit to bestow this smiley award on yours truly. Shiny New Things make anyone happy, but what made me smile more than anything was the awesome compliment he bestowed along with it:

More Cowbell makes me smile because she calls 'em like she sees 'em. From home repair, to the not-so-subtle bigotry that somehow still exists in this world, if you fuck up, you can bet yer ass you'll get called on the carpet.

Hell yeah, calling it like I sees it, that's about the best thing you could say. Well, that and "My, your ass is really small," but let's face it, that ain't happening. The other part of his compliment was a bit more disturbing, as it let me know that others are, in fact, finding perverse pleasure in my home repair saga. Yeah, laugh it up guys, very funny. What am I, a home improvement clown, here for your entertainment? Fine, give me a month - it might seem funny then.


So, now I need to bestow said Shiny New Thing on 3 more cheer-bringers.

Crap, that's always the downside of these things -- first you're all happy, and you feel all special, but then the other shoe falls, and you realize, "Crap, now I have to pick people". And you have to do that thing everyone does where you talk about how you'd like to pick everyone you read (which, basically, is true, because if you didn't like reading their shit, you wouldn't be reading their shit.) and how will you ever choose (which, basically, is true, because it's like choosing between Mexican food and Indian food ... both kick ass in different ways.)

OK, so, narrow down to 3 bloggers who make me smile.

Evilganome, also known by his street name, Evil-G -- 'cause he's so street -- is funny and surprisingly functional. Whether furiously knitting a fancyass fisherman sweater, threatening to blow up a sports stadium, or cyberly holding my purse, he brings a deliciously demented smile to my day, balanced out by the occasional Deep Thoughts post. Love this guy. Plus, I'm pretty sure he's going to knit me that scarf for reals now.

RG actually deserves a "You Crack My Ass UP" award, but whatever, close enough. I've got to find out what sign he is or something, because I have a special affinity for his particular brand of humor. It's kind of irresistible. The man is twisted with a finely honed sarcastic wit. Always a plus. Plus he's hot. Always a plus. Love your ass, you skinny bitch.

Red7Eric always makes me smile. He often makes me say, "hell yeah!" too. (not in that way, you freaks, it's a totally non-sexual crush, sheesh.) He's always got some interesting shit to say, and he'll throw in funny bits that make me laugh in the middle of it. I guess it's all part of his Big Gay Life. Hi, he's a cheer-bringer.

JP - fuckit, I'm going for 4, because I'm rebellious like that, and let's face it, JP makes everybody laugh. In that enchantingly bitter way. All the damn time. Plus, he makes Fran unsmile, and that's just priceless.


Love my boys. Not to leave the gals out, though. I have a confession. I'm a slacker. It's true. I know you think I'm over here busy with furnaces and meetings and offspring, which is true, but I still find time to blog, and I have been a blogslacker. For instance, Gina memed me some time back, that whole middle name thing, and I still haven't gotten around to that. I can't get past the first letter. The first thing that came to mind was "B ... boobs! My breasts are only big when I'm fat, which is a fucked up trade off." So yeah, I kind of stalled there.

The other blogslacker thing is that some time back, Melody the Crazed Sewer (also cracking my ass up with that name) awarded me the Rockin' Girl Blogger award, which is awesome, because every girl likes to be a rockin' girl, right? Implies you're not a lameass girl, right? Melody is rockin' because the girl sews like a friggin' supernatural being. I mean, she seriously intimidates me, as I got nothing in the way of craft genes. Plus, she's cute, and wears the hell out of her cute clothes that she makes herself.

Anyway, Rockin' Girl Bloggers: the first who came to mind were Whim and Monica, but they've both already got that award, because hello, they're rockin' girl bloggers.

First, I'm saying to hell with the Ex finding me through the linkage thing, and give it to the Radical Bohemian, because she is the most rockin' girl blogger I know. And I should know, I've got the stretchmarks. (just don't mention me over at her site, ha! I comment over there as kolomp.) This chick seriously rocks - I'm so friggin' proud of her, and that's only partly because I'm her mother. She takes a stand, educates herself, and gives back. And talk about calling it like she sees it? Understatement. I admire the hell out of her. Plus, she might take care of me in my old age.

Elizabeth, I dub thee a Rockin' Girl Blogger. Check out her site - she's another calls-it-like-she-sees-it blogger. I appreciate her varied experiences, and like reading about things from her vantage point.

The Hat. Need I explain more? I didn't think so. Hello, she rocks. Period. Again, I think I speak for everyone when I say we all have a totally non-sexual crush on her.


Whew! Now for that meme: B ...

Mad Hattery

So I know you all are all stalking my blog like a bunch of vultures in breathless anticipation of details from my trip to Hatland.

Hello?

[chirp, chirp]

Guys? Anybody out there?

Fine. It's not like I was blog-stalking either, when Lorraine went to Chi-town, or when the Hat came to Seattle. Please. I have a life, you know. Hmph.

So, what to say? How do I put it to words? The Hat has become Real. Like the Velveteen Rabbit.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you."

Well, The Hat certainly didn't have a stick-out handle, but after a certain number of tasty drinks, she may have had things buzzing inside her. Regardless, she is now Real, with a face and a voice and a fetchingly contagious smile.

I have to tell you all, I was amazed that she'd only been in her charming abode for little more than a month. From the gorgeously curvy (and oh so fitting) chaise lounge with funky pillows, to her Princess bed, to the flowers on her hat box end table, to the pictures on the walls - it was neat as a pin and looked like she'd been there for years. Lorraine would be proud.

I've been in my house for nearly a year. Ain't shit on my walls.
And yes, she actually does have an end table made of hat boxes. See for yourselves. Perfect? I think so.

Also, she had this hostess business down, y'all. I arrived to find a fancy spread of shrimp cocktail, mussels on ice, veggies, spinach dip (in bread bowl, of course), dill dip, 3 different cheeses, kalamata olives, and petite quiche.
Oh hell yes. The Hat rocked the kitchen.

She prepared some refreshing Iced Tea, perfect after my long and arduous journey. This tea was zippy and left me strangely giddy, yet able to grasp all the mysteries of the universe. It's some sort of Italian tea blend a la Lorraine. I liked it so much I snagged the recipe.
(Disclaimer: Italian Ice Tea not intended for those under the age of 21.)

The Hat's hostessing skillz really came to light with her change of attire for every course. The evening began with a flowy skirt and blouse ensemble, went to a frilly summer frock, then to basic black. She rounded up the evening with silky PJs in the color scheme of her chaise lounge, bedecked with flowers and a snappy trim. Impressive. I suspect she may have Superman phone booth skillz to boot, as I never actually saw this happen.

I brought a fine Chilean wine, based on my intimate knowledge of funky wine labels. You wine aficionados out there may recognize this particular blend as Voluptuous Beauty. Exactly. I really had no choice but to bring it, did I? Perfect for an evening at the Voluptuary. It didn't suck. I was proud. You can't tell so much in the cropped shot, but the backdrop for this shot was, in fact, beauteously voluptuous.
Sadly, there isn't as much photographic evidence as we'd planned. But really, who has time to snap pics when you're busy quaffing tea and untangling the mysteries of the universe? Anyway, here are a few of the pics. See, not too incriminating.

Below you'll see her Hatness chatting up one of her Real friends. We both had Real friends checking up via telephone, in case either of us turned out to be an axe murderer. We had to use code words and everything. Doesn't actually do much good though, when you tell the potential axe murderer about your code word.

(It does pay to be careful though, as this Australian farmer recently found out. He was kidnapped during an Internet meeting gone wrong. Of course, his visit did involve marriage and a dowry of gold bars, but whatever. It happens. Be careful out there.)

"So, things are going WELL ... yes, I said WELL."
(hello, adorable! Can we get a cyber wolf whistle here?)

"Wait! You should wear a hat!"
"Right! And pull it down over one eye like in the movies!
Do I look like a princess detective?"

"My! He really is a Dirty Rotten Kitty!"*

Frivolity abounded in direct proportion to the amount of "Iced Tea" consumed. And it really was just her chaise lounge that squeaked when she reached for her wine glass that time. I ended up crashing on the Hat's lovely chaise lounge, as we realized at one point it was 3:30 am. Oops.

Frivolity aside, I'm so glad to have met her. I never would've thought that this blogging business would lead to connections like this. I know there are people who don't see any difference between a blogging addiction and an online gaming or TV addiction.

The difference is the connection.

Meeting the Hat validated my feeling that these are, in fact, real connections. That these keyboard people with unknown faces, cyberly tied by the wisp of a broadband connection, are friends. As I got into this whole blogging thing more and more, I'd sometimes question myself. Okay, Cowbell, what's up -- is this online stuff isolating me from connections in the real world? Am I deluding myself that these are connections at all?

No. This online stuff is about building connections, and these folks are very much in the real world.

What I think about blogging is that it strips away all the things people normally connect over. Looks, age, gender, employment, location, orientation, education, income level, hot-factor, whether you're married or single, whether you have kids or not -- all of that is gone. Out of the equation. What's left is our insides, the core. Our beliefs, feelings, fears, humor, interests. The things that matter.

What is more real, connections based on those surface things, or a connection based on our insides? I'm thinking that a friendship based on shared beliefs is a lot more real than a friendship based on someone's hotness factor or income level.

If you take the step to meet a cyberbuddy in real life, you have already discovered shared beliefs, interests and humor. You have weeded through dozens of other blog sites before finding one that you connect with, and when you do connect, it's because there's something there beyond surface cosmetics. Well, unless someone has a really kickass template, that is.

I'm thinking this blogging thing is a pretty damn efficient way to meet Real Friends.

If you're wondering, yes, I did actually call her The Hat. No, there were no awkward silences. No "holy shit, what the hell am I doing here?"  We were not strangers. It was effortless. Okay, commenting over at The Club wasn't exactly effortless, but that was because of all the "Iced Tea" we'd consumed at that point. The rest of it though, was effortless. We talked about stuff way below the surface. Which didn't seem odd at all.

The Hat is every bit as lovely as I'd imagined. As I've already fawned over her pics at Lorraines, you know I think she is more delicious than a Daiquiri Shake (don't ask). And hello, the neighbor guy's comment? Well, let's just say, don't be too hard on him. Poor guy. The pressure was just too much. So yeah, the sparkly captivating hotness that comes through on her blog? Her. And yes, her smile really is that sunny.

*That last one is a long story. I stole Dirty Rotten Kitty from a friend on the East Coast a few years back, before her dog could destroy him. (He's actually a dog toy, but like the Velveteen Rabbit, is quite Real, and had to be rescued.) Since then he's kind of become like the world renowned Traveling Garden Gnome. He's been spotted in many places, and has much photographic evidence in his travel logs. He now has a new friend.

Hats Off!

OK kids, this is just a quickie. Oh do not even give me that attitude -- everyone needs a good quickie now and again. In fact, I am long overdue for one.

Anyway, I don't have much time, and there's a reason for that. Three guesses where I'm going today. No, I am not going to Honey's on 99. Sheesh. OK, here's a hint:

photo credit: Corsets and Crinolines

No, I am not going to High Tea with the Queen. Forget her, I am going to pay a visit to The Hat. I'm aflutter with excitement. Of course, I am a bit worried about seeming out of place. The only hat I have is my Seahawks ball cap. Well, no matter. What it lacks in feathers, it certainly makes up for in spirit. And, I have procured the perfect wine. Well, okay, the wine might suck ass, who knows, but it's all about the bottle. Just ask Lorraine. She got a fish vase out of the deal. I do not have a piscine bottle, but I think this will fit the bill.

And Hat, I have a confession to make. Better it come out now, than on your doorstep. I know I told you that I really do look like that blue tile Goddess in my profile pic, that it really was my picture. Okay, that was sort of a lie. I'm sorry. But to prove that I did once have a suitable hat, and so I won't be a complete and utter stranger, here is a pic. I'm the one on the left of the bar, holding the whip. (Just add about 40 pounds, and there you go.



So, I must away -- I still have to wear the canines out at the park before I leave, run to the store, shower so as not to offend, print out my map, and tend to the rabbit. Now where's that whip ...

Karaoke Kevin Strikes Out

So last Friday night, to celebrate the end of Hell Week at work, some friends and I decide to go get our par-tay on. Hell week left me too beat to actually drive into The City, as Seattle proper is called 'round these here parts. Plus, we needed to party hardy locally because alcohol.

This meant karaoke night at our local Mexican chain restaurant.

I guess I should give some background on the whole going out deal. Before returning to the land of fast food and NASCAR, I went out all the damn time. We had community overseas, and someone was always up for fun. You could go out by yourself, and within five minutes, you'd hear someone else speaking English, and -bam- automatic connection. Before long, there'd be a group, and multiple languages, and you'd be making the rounds. Plus, the ex and I were still friends at that time, so we each had a free babysitter whenever one or the other of us was feeling all Saturday Night Fever.

Here, everybody speaks English. (And English only, bygod. This here's 'Murka! ) There's no connection. You go up and start talking to someone, they think you're a freak. Or that you want a hookup. Also, my friends are scattered all over. A night out with the girls isn't quite the same when you only have one girl.

I've got one close friend here. One. I met her because her brother was my boyfriend. She stayed with us for a while after an extended trip to Europe. Anyway, I ended up giving her brother the boot, but she stayed on for a few months. This led to a rumor that she'd stolen me away from her own brother with her nefarious bisexual ass. This rumor made it all the way to the brother, to my ex-husband in the Middle East, the brother's ex-wife in Jersey, and the brother's friend in Texas. We thought that shit was funny as hell, seeing as how I, apparently, am "nowhere near butch enough" for her. Those subtleties, however, are lost on most straight guys. That whole gay agenda thing.  They have to take their fantasies where they can get them, I guess.

Sometimes I still call her My Bitch just for old times sake.

Anyway, My Bitch and I used to go out in The City my first year or two back in 'Murka. We had to compromise when it came to our party establishments, as her ass is stuck in the 70s, musically. She also gets annoyed at "straight clubs", because men "don't know how to respect women,". Compromise was in order.

She is all about some 70s soul. It's great music. Love it. But it ain't the only show in town. Just sayin'. Anyway, my favorite place to go was Larry's, which was known around these parts as The Hip Hop Club, or The R&B Club. Which are just politically correct ways of saying The Black Club by people who "don't see color". I liked Larry's because it wasn't uptight and the music was good. (If you ignored any lyrics which happened to be misogynistic.) My Bitch maintained that it was all about men "getting all up in your ass", but when E'rbody in the Club's Gettin' Tipsy came on, her ass was the first to step out.

My Bitch, who tends toward the cynical when it comes to US race relations, told me often that Larry's was not long for this city, because "Whenever there's a black club in Seattle, they shut that shit down. Too many black folks in one place at the same time, folks here get nervous. They're going to shut that shit down."

I believe she even used the phrase "Mark my words," with an air of superiority thrown in for good measure. I blew it off. Larry's was doing the business. Seattle is all about diversity (in theory, if not in the flesh). This is a laid-back town. Larry's would be fine.

Of course, they shut that shit down about a year later, which did wonders for My Bitch's air of superiority.

Anyway, in the spirit of compromise, we'd hit Larry's sometimes and we'd hit Neighbors sometimes, which was a mixed-orientation club tending toward the techno tunes. I'd had enough of techno in Hungary to last me a lifetime, but the crowd was fun. We hit a few other places too, in search of a 70s soul music, and would go out about every couple of weeks or so.

The last year and a half, two years, I've been passing on the party more and more. This has a lot to do with the whole Seasonal Affective Psychosis I'm pretty sure I've developed here, and my ass going from phat to fat in the space of three years. And Larry's being shut down. There's that. Anyway, we've kind of turned into first rate duds.

Which pretty much horrifies me.

Goodgoddamn, but I do digress.

Okay, karaoke night at our local Mexican chain restaurant: we actually had a group, actually a foursome -- a veritable crowd for me and My Bitch. The other two ladies and I had been there twice before, after our fledgling advocacy group's first meetings. We were so charming that we are already "regulars" for our favorite waitperson, a feisty Brazilian hottie, and the manager -- also a hottie of the male persuasion -- who keeps us happy by bending the musical selections to our desires. Feisty hooks us up with the right booth, titillating conversation, and fast service, and MixMaster keeps the tunes flowing, much to My Bitch's delight.

Would that MixMaster was not quite so young. Or my ass not quite so fat. Anyway...

Karaoke was interesting. Whole lotta country going on. But there was one chick who did a few non-country songs. We were liking her. One lady did The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. Now I love me some Roberta, y'all, but don't sing that slow shit on karaoke night.  About that time, our two compatriots decided to call it a night. There was one petite white girl who did The Humpty Dance. Girl did a great job. She also did Rapper's Delight. You just never know. Her boyfriend did a country number. He was real twangy, now. You just never know. She told us to gear up for Ice Ice Baby, and we decided to order a shot while waiting for that great American classic.

Hey, you takes what you can get. If it's Vanilla Ice or Conway Twitty, my ass is all about some Ice.

Now My Bitch isn't much for drinking. When she does, nursing a Lemon Drop is her thing. But every great once in a while, she'll do a shot. Last Friday it was a Pink Pussy. Which turned out to be sickeningly sweet, and sat neglected on our table. Now, it's not like My Bitch to neglect a Pink Pussy, but I guess the shot is nothing like its namesake. I went for a Blow Job.

We're still talking shots here, people.

As many of you may know, you don't just pick up a Blow Job like any old shot. That wouldn't be in the spirit of the drink. You have to go down on it. My Bitch was making all kinds of noise about how big and heavy the shot glass was, and how maybe she's safer on the Pink side of the fence, when I knocked it back, hands free. My Bitch was suitably impressed and was about to take notes, when some dude suddenly appeared at our booth.

I mean, really, the shot glass hadn't been back on the table a full minute. Show some restraint, man.

First time a guy's flirted in 20 or 30 lbs -- gee, ladies, I guess a good blow job really does cancel out the poundage. Bastards.

Kevin was drunk. That was his first mistake. Hook-up tip: slurring your words, not attractive. Kevin also veiled his baldness with a Kangolesque hat that looks sexyhot on some people, but looked like my grandpa's on him. That was his second mistake, trying to hide the bald with a hat.

In fact, let's stop and talk about bald, because it needs to said:

Men --especially straight men: bald is sexy. It's true. We like it. If you're upset over that receding hairline or that donut ring, shave the shit off. Sex-say. Hot.  Just shave the shit off and call it a day. A field of lonely hairs waving over your dome is not fooling us. We can see your scalp. Patrick Stewart? Sexy. Sexier than a guy 20 years younger who thinks he's fooling me with his lonely hairs or sloppy donut ring. A comb-over is a definite no-go. You can just stop reading if you think a comb-over is a viable option for thinning hair. If my man had a comb-over, I'd lop that shit off while he slept. Growing it long in the back and making a ponytail out of it? Well, I won't say it can't work, but if you choose this option, make sure you can carry that shit off. You'd best be one sexy motherfucker to go with the balding ponytail option. The hat? This is the male version of wearing falsies. Someday that shit is going to come to light. You're not fooling anyone, honey, and you may well piss a woman off with that little ruse. Now a hat can be hot, and I'm not saying you can't do the hat AND the bald. Just don't wear the hat specifically to hide the bald. It does not work.
Moving on. So, Kevin:

"Hello Ladies ... may I interest you in some conversation?"

Blank stares.

Kevin would not be dissuaded. Now I'm sorry, but when two women hesitate, look at each other, and come back with, "Um, we're actually leaving before too long, but thanks," they're really not that into you. I won't even go into how many times he asked if he could sit down. Again, guys: if the answer is not a definitive YES, assume that means NO. I decided, fine, you want to push yourself on us, let's have some fun. I'm fucking with you, Kev, and not in a good way.

I asked, "So, Kevin, what brings you over to our table?" Knowing full well it was the now-empty shot glass with whipped cream lingering on the rim. Kevin stammered and stared and finally came back with some lameass shit about true conversation and connections. Right.

"So, ladies ... what's your story? I'm a bit of a philosopher. Why are you here? Ah you're friends. Of course. The question should be, 'Why are we friends?' (ha ha ha) Are you married? Out with the girls? May I sit down?"

We did not scoot over.

We gave fake names. I was Shania, in honor of the karaoke pouring through the speakers. Kevin didn't make the connection. My Bitch was Jasmine, which apparently is some sort of street name she'd had back in the day. I believe it was actually "Sweet Jasmine", but Kevin didn't need any encouragement.

We asked Kevin about his philosophy. His philosophy was "true connections" and "real people". Right. Like I've never heard that before. At least be original, dude. I'm surprised he didn't whip out the always-impressive I Like Walks on the Beach deal. He did, however, drop the fact that he takes care of his sick father, and that he's pretty much solvent, as he's got some sort of business selling windbreakers, which allows him to pursue his passions. Including philosophy.

I told Kevin that we'd actually met through My Bitch's brother, and she caught on and chimed in that she had stolen me away from him. Kevin was looking a bit uncertain at this point. I let him know that My Bitch tended to get pretty jealous, so ...

Kevin blinked. He responded smartly with, "She does? Tha's okay ... I'm drunk too!"

Me: "No. JEAL-OUS, not drunk. I said jealous."

Kevin blinked some more. He raised himself half way out of his chair, rubbed his face, eyes darting nervously around the room. Good, I thought. That freaked him out -- he's so out of here. I underestimated the power of testosterone. (Fool!) Kevin sat back down. "I like it!" he confessed, breathlessly. "I've got to hear about this!"

Typical. I am out of practice. When has the possibility of lesbians ever freaked a guy out enough to get rid of him? What am I, a rookie?

Kevin eyed us with new interest and respect. Whatever. Like that whole "I'm so down with lesbians" bit is any kind of original.

"Do you ladies like Faith Hill? Tim McGraw?" he asked, whipping out his cell phone.

"Um... NO," in stereo.

"Oh." he shrugged, slipping the phone back in his pocket. "Then there's no point in it..."

We didn't take the bait. Kevin held out for about 10 seconds. "Oh, I just have to show you this ... I'm not trying to intrude, but when you ladies see ..." he flips open the phone and proudly reveals a picture of some chick's back on a stage with a bunch of lights. "That's Faith Hill!" He reverently confides.

"Oh. Mm-hmm." (again with the stereophonics)

At this point, Kevin gets a bit emotional. His barefaced desperation is clutching at our sleeves. "No, ladies ... I met her. Faith Hill. I was on stage with her. I gave her my windbreaker. We were all together -- everyone -- this was after 2001, after 9/11." Kevin shuts his eyes tightly and takes a moment. "9/11, ladies ... it was ... we were all there," Well shit. Now he's whipped out 9/11 on our asses. What is he, George Bush? Fuck. "To this day, she still has my windbreaker. I gave it to her."

My Bitch and I exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. Mainly, "This motherfucker is just too damn pathetic to mess with. Let's blow this pop stand." I told Kevin I needed to get home to my kids. I was tempted to tell him I had nine kids, but this shit wasn't even entertaining. Plus, that probably wouldn't have fazed him.

Kevin was just on this side of tears. Goddamn. "But ... I'm real! I'm true! I showed this to you," waving the phone. Yeah. About that...

We were out of there. On the way out, I told Li'l Humpty that we were sorry to be missing her rendition of Ice Ice Baby after all.

She understood.