Security Please

QUOTE OF THE DAY
If ignorance is bliss, why aren't there more happy people?
~Author Unknown

CURRENT LOCAL WEATHER
WTF? Snow will make a brief celebrity
appearance on last day of summer.
Mass confusion on all fronts.

CURRENTLY ON IPOD
Re: Stacks
Bon Iver

Dear Friends, Family, and my Family of Friends,

After the tragedies of Columbine (especially for the state of Colorado), 9.11, Oklahoma and more, our country beefed up our security to the nth degree. You can hardly buy a Big Mac without giving the last four addresses you've occupied and your Grandmother's Sister's Brother's Best Friend's Girlfriend's Stepfather's Ex-Godfather's Mother's Father's Cat's First Owner's mother's maiden name in order to enjoy it. And only then can you have one if your shoes are off and contained in a little baggie that's zipped up.

In all seriousness, these acts of terror have put us on our gaurd for good reason. We're working on our defenses now and have to be weary of anyone who may want to hurt us. We need to be protective of our freedoms. I was watching the harrowing movie, Slumdog Millionaire the other night and I kept thinking....no way, it's not REALLY like that over there...then I thought...wait, yes, yes it probably is. It gave me perspective, yet again, on why I am glad I'm here.

Where am I going with this?

Yesterday, I had to go to the local high school to speak with one of the teachers. I am going to speak with her high school choir about jazz in about a week and she wanted to see what part of my presentation was about to make sure it was appropriate for her level of students. Sure, no prob. especially since I live close to town. I was running late per my usual.

I finally found the place up the mountain side. Beautiful buildings, beautiful views! Stunning. I was actually very excited to be there. I walked into the school with my ID in my purse, a large black bag that contained my computer and other aides I would need like projector screen hook ups and flyers etc. The desk for visitors to sign in at wasn't real clear. There were a few folks standing around it. One lady in particular was blocking what looked to be a sign in sheet.

She was gabbing, on and on and on and on about something or other. Trust me when I say it was nothing that important. After standing there, making myself more late than I already was, for a few minutes, I said, Excuse me, I am here to see someone. She turned to look at me, gave me a look of disgust, and turned back around. The woman behind the desk repeated what she did. They both continued talking.

A few more minutes passed and I finally said, look, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I really need to get to the meeting with this woman. Can you please help me, I'm sure I need to sign in. The woman said, who do you want to see. I told her what this was about and she snapped and said, "Other building, either walk through or drive around." then she put her feet back up on the desk and went back to her chatting. Ten minutes later I found teh building (not self explanatory) and walked in. Another kid in the hall was just as rude.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE: I COULD HAVE HAD BOMBS, GUNS, ESPRESSO, PUPPIES, PORN MAGAZINES OR VIDEOS, CAMERAS, OR WORSE...TEACHING MATERIALS ON JAZZ HIDDEN IN MY BAG!!! READY TO ATTACK THE KIDS WITH AND NOT A SINGLE PERSON GAVE A DAMN.

I finally found the classroom and the teacher, who had told me it was a planning period, was in class, paid very little attention to me when she did sit down with me, even though I offered to come back at a different time and she said it was okay, didn't know the first thing about who I was and what I was doing even though she hired me and asked if I had knew what jazz was.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE: IF YOU'RE GOING TO HIRE SOMEONE TO COME SPEAK TO YOU'RE KIDS, KNOW WHO THEY ARE AND PREPARE YOURSELF!!!

I left bewildered, confused, upset (I sure am glad this wasn't a school I'm attending or teaching at for safety reasons and am worried for those kids) and sorry that I have to go back next week. I'll up date you more later with how it goes.

What are your thoughts? Should they have been more strict with me when I entered? I look innocent enough and of course, I wasn't going to hurt anyone...but most people look normal...

Yours in fear, fumbling around and funneling thoughts,

Cicily

REPEAT EPISODE: Doormats

Quote of the Week:
There are only two types of women-goddesses and doormats.
~Pablo Picasso

Local Weather:
Sunshine, despite the lack of warmth
most likely followed by showers of
undigested food particles in the late evening.

Currently on my IPOD:
People are Strange by: The Doors

Hello my dear friends,

I am home. And as Benjamin Franklin says, Fish and Relatives smell in three days. I have been gone for seven in Georgia. Deduce what you want from that statement. Although I must say I am not sure if they were the ones with the stench, I have the feeling it was me...

Regardless, this was not an uneventful week. First off, the plane ride over to Georgia from Denver is not a short one. Coming in at around 3 hours, there are times in which I wish the pilots would just speed it up to around Warp Speed and get us the duck out of fodge.

However....people on this day decided to travel with their children. I did learn that I have surprisingly poor super power abilities to make myself and the others around me invisible. I failed. Miserably failed. And guess what. The others who were traveling with children...they were seated to my left and then to the immediate rear of me.

Let’s address the issue of the children sitting behind me first. Two boys. Two boys around the ages of say...hmmm...7 & 5. One boy: Blonde, rowdy and into the whole hair pulling thing. The other one: Brunette, Pissed off and into the whole biting thing. I won’t distinguish which was which. The mother: Looked fairly normal. Now, I don’t have boys, but still. The second the plane boarded in its entirety, she handed them brownies or some kind of other Little Debbie Snack cake in a plastic wrapper. They finished the delicacy within the confines of processed foods and then the fighting started. Not the no I didn’t, yes you did, no I didn’t sort, it was more of ultimate fighting championship ala Airtran Airlines. My seat was bucking, going back and forth and the airline pilot was managing to keep the plane as steady as I had yet to experience.

Then the biting started. I think one of them drew blood from the other. At least it was beginning to smell like blood. Status on the mother: Silent, reading her book. I thought for a brief moment, good for her, ignoring them, letting them kill themselves without her help. And then it was time for the drink service. The hapless air waitresses came down our section of the flight, offering a bevy of plastic cups that aren’t recycled and a limited selection of drinks and snacks, most of which dehydrate you further while you are flying. (***Nurse Cicily says: Dehydration is a known problem during flying, next time you’re en route and enjoying the entertainment of those around you,choose the water and skip the pretzels and or peanuts. You can order vodka or gin..if you have the money, just make sure you follow it with water) I ordered my water, threw the peanuts into the carry on bag for a later date and thought that maybe the three ring circus behind me would settle in for a drink.

Yeah, fat chance.

No, they didn’t want the peanuts and yes, that’s all the ladies had to offer. The mother smacks the older kid upside the head and says, wadda ya want? at the top of her lungs. He screams back, Cherry Coke. Oh dear hell. Caffeinated, dehydrating fluids. My index like brain quickly ran over the side effects. Irritability, excessive venerability and possible death by bludgeoning from the unsuspecting quiet red head in the seat in front of him. The next boy...ordered the same. Then the two boys proceeded to scream that they didn’t want the healthy shit their mother was offering them. I peaked behind my seat and found them throwing the nutri-grain simulated nutritional bars she had just tossed their way, onto the floor. The younger one even ground the bar into the floor with his untied shoe.

The older kid was, at this point, grabbing his brother in the head lock he had promised him a few minutes previous to the beverage service and the drink spilled all over the floor. I was waiting for candid camera to pop up or my magical stun gun to appear in my hand. The mother finally turned to them, and through her gritted teeth mouth, said, if you don’t stop now, I’ll take away your M&M’s.

Yeah, stick it to em’. WTF?

I would have killed them and easily taken the jail sentence or corporal punishment. On the way out of the plane, they pushed, shoved and screamed their way out to the ramp. The mother, screamed back, wait, wait up. Helpless little kittens, oh, how they have lost their mittens. Right? The oldest boy turned around and said, I don’t have to listen to you anyway, you’re my step-mom.

BINGO! Doormat # 1, we have a winner.

So, as I ramble on and on, I come to the uncertain fate of the woman next to me and her seemingly angelic little girl. The girl had ringlets, yes, real ringlets, pouring down from her scalp to her shoulders. Her light and unblemished skin aged her to be around 2 or 3 at the very most. She had a pacifier in and for most of the ride. Nearing the end of my patience with the boys from hell behind me, she woke up, plucked her pacifier out of her mouth and threw it across the aisle. At me. I picked it up, offered the mother to go rinse it off and then the girl said NO! I want it now! The mom looked at me and smiled. I forked over the pacifier without saying a word. The little girl then looked at her mom and screamed, I WANT OUT OF HERE NOW!!!! Sure, most kids get frightened on their first flights and may get a little claustrophobic like the adults in the cabin who didn't have the five bucks to buy the 0.02 oz of vodka to go in their sprite or cran-apple juice...I digress. Then the little girl got up, ran around the aisles and started to scream at the adults.

This flight was not a late night flight. This was not a red-eye flight.

The mom just sat there and took it. Yeah, I wouldn’t have been so kind. Not that I am one to completely duct tape my children to the chair or anything, but come on! Be responsible and keep your kids under control.

Okay, enough about that. Sorry, my rant went on longer than I expected. And as for the last part of my weather forecast? Yeah, Saturday night went out with some friends and got the worst case of food poisoning in my life. I still have not stopped with the nausea or the product of nausea. I don’t think it’ll ever end. My stomach feels as though its been hole punched by some mutant bacteria.

I’m sure I’ll survive, but you better tune in next week to make sure I do...

Oh, and don’t forget to check out my retreat site: Writing Away Retreats. Would love to see you all there!

Yours in Fabulous Parenting, Food Fights and Fussing Over Nothing,

Cicily

*Repeating my oldies until the MS is done. If you'd like to guest blog on here, let me know, you're more than welcome to contribute until I get done! And don't forget, your registrations for Writing Away Retreats need to be filled out!*

Doormats

Quote of the Week:
There are only two types of women-goddesses and doormats.
~Pablo Picasso

Local Weather:
Sunshine, despite the lack of warmth
most likely followed by showers of
undigested food particles in the late evening.

Currently on my IPOD:
People are Strange by: The Doors

Hello my dear friends,

I am home. And as Benjamin Franklin says, Fish and Relatives smell in three days. I have been gone for seven in Georgia. Deduce what you want from that statement. Although I must say I am not sure if they were the ones with the stench, I have the feeling it was me...

Regardless, this was not an uneventful week. First off, the plane ride over to Georgia from Denver is not a short one. Coming in at around 3 hours, there are times in which I wish the pilots would just speed it up to around Warp Speed and get us the duck out of fodge. My children were angels for the flight. As a matter of fact, they slept 99.9% of the time of the flight, the only challenging thing was waking them up and making it all the way down the concourse with them in my arms along with our carry on luggage.

However....Other people on this day decided to travel with their children. I did learn that I have surprisingly poor super power abilities to make myself and the others around me invisible. I failed. Miserably failed. And guess what. The others who were traveling with children...they were seated to my left and then to the immediate rear of me.

Let’s address the issue of the children sitting behind me. Two boys. Two boys around the ages of say...hmmm...7 & 5. One boy: Blonde, rowdy and into the whole hair pulling thing. The other one: Brunette, Pissed off and into the whole biting thing. I won’t distinguish which was which. The mother: Looked fairly normal. Let me emphasize the word "looked" for you. Now, I don’t have boys, I have girls, but still. The second we sat down, she handed them brownies or some kind of other Little Debbie Snack cake in a plastic wrapper. They finished the delicacy within the confines of processed foods and then the fighting started. Not the no I didn’t, yes you did, no I didn’t sort, it was more of ultimate fighting championship ala Airtran Airlines. My seat was bucking, the girls, although asleep, were going back and forth in their seats and the airline pilot was managing to keep the plane as steady as I had yet to experience.

Then the biting started. I think one of them drew blood from the other. At least it was beginning to smell like blood. Status on the mother: Silent, reading her book. I thought for a brief moment, good for her, ignoring them, letting them kill themselves without her help. And then it was time for the drink service. The hapless air waitresses came down our section of the flight, offering a bevy of plastic cups that aren’t recycled and a limited selection of drinks and snacks, most of which dehydrate you further while you are flying. (***Nurse Cicily says: Dehydration is a known problem during flying, next time you’re en route and enjoying the entertainment of those around you,choose the water and skip the pretzels and or peanuts. You can order vodka or gin..if you have the money, just make sure you follow it with water) I ordered my water, threw the peanuts into the carry on bag for a later date and thought that maybe the three ring circus behind me would settle in for a drink.

Yeah, fat chance.

No, they didn’t want the peanuts and yes, that’s all the ladies had to offer. The mother smacks the older kid upside the head and says, wadda ya want? at the top of her lungs. He screams back, Cherry Coke. Oh dear hell. Caffinated, dehydrating fluids. My index like brain quickly ran over the side effects. Irritability, excessive hyperability and possible death by bludgeoning from the unsuspecting quiet red head in the seat in front of him. The next boy...ordered the same. Then the two boys proceeded to scream that they didn’t want the healthy shit their mother was offering them. I peaked behind my seat and found them throwing the nutri-grain simulated nutritional bars she had just tossed their way, onto the floor. The younger one even ground the bar into the floor with his untied shoe.

The older kid was, at this point, grabbing his brother in the head lock he had promised him a few minutes previous to the beverage service and the drink spilled all over the floor. I was waiting for candid camera to pop up. The mother finally turned to them, and through her gritted teeth mouth, said, if you don’t stop now, I’ll take away your M&M’s. Yeah, stick it to em’. WTF?

I would have killed them and easily taken the jail sentence or corporal punishment. On the way out of the plane, they pushed, shoved and screamed their way out to the ramp. The mother, screamed back, wait, wait up. Helpless little kittens, oh, how they have lost their mittens. Right? The oldest boy turned around and said, I don’t have to listen to you anyway, you’re my step-mom. BINGO! Doormat 1, we have a winner.

So, as I ramble on and on, I come to the uncertain fate of the woman next to me and her seemingly angelic little girl. The girl had ringlets, yes, real ringlets, pouring down from her scalp to her shoulders. Her light and unblemished skin aged her to be around 2 or 3 at the very most. She had a pacifier in and for most of the ride. Nearing the end of my patience with the boys from hell behind me, she woke up, plucked her pacifier out of her mouth and threw it across the aisle. At me. I picked it up, offered the mother to go rinse it off and then the girl said NO! I want it now! The mom looked at me and smiled. I forked over the pacifier without saying a word. The little girl then looked at her mom and screamed, I WANT OUT OF HERE NOW!!!! Sure, most kids get frightened on their first flights and may get a little claustrophobic like the adults in the cabin. But then the little girl got up, ran around the aisles and started to scream at the adults. This flight was not a late night flight. This was not a red-eye flight.

The mom just sat there and took it. Yeah, I wouldn’t have been so kind. Not that I am one to completely duct tape my children to the chair or anything, but come on! Be responsible and keep your kids under control.

Okay, enough about that. Sorry, my rant went on longer than I expected. And as for the last part of my weather forecast? Yeah, Saturday night went out with some friends and got the worst case of food poisoning in my life. I still have not stopped with the nausea or the product of nausea. I don’t think it’ll ever end. My stomach feels as though its been hole punched by some mutant bacteria.

I’m sure I’ll survive, but you better tune in next week to make sure I do...

Oh, and don’t forget to check out my retreat site: Writing Away Retreats. Would love to see you all there!

Yours in Fabulous Parenting, Food Fights and Fussing Over Nothing,

Cicily

Why You Should ALWAYS Clean Out Your Car Before an Oil Change

Quote of the Week:
Creativity is the sudden cessation of stupidity.
~Edwin Land

Currently on my IPOD:
Get Out of my Dreams (and into my car)
~Billy Ocean

Local Weather:
Unexpected snow showers followed by
fits of unexplained, non-drug induced giddiness.

Dear Friends Egg Hunters and Easter Bunnies,

In light of the coming holiday, I must promote the Bunny Blogs (There’s murder! Mayhem and general Insanity all Around!) I saw a piece on the RAW site, (aka Random Acts of Writing) and since I didn’t live near the magazine, I couldn’t contribute or submit. Well, I submit to everywhere. This would be no exception. I decided to respond to the story on the blog where it was promoted. Next thing I know, the writer of the story replied, in character. We kept it going for months. At this point there are 52 threads to the story. It was all completely off the cuff, every thread was in response to the last. In my opinion this was some of the most fun I have ever had writing. PLEASE go check it out. I am not sure what happened to the editors of this cute site, but the blog and story thread are still up.

Moving on...This week has been interesting. I have started the total re-write of the MS. I am taking it from third person POV to first person. A challenge to say the least. But I have to agree with my readers, the story is much better in this voice. We’ll see if I can keep it up for the next several hundred pages.

As the title of my blog says, this is often times, a blog about you. I like to catch people in their embarassing moments or when they aren’t watching and observe, write it down and laugh later along with you. So, I decided to write about one of my most embarassing moments today. Life in Colorado Springs has been more dull than usual as far as observances. The story I have to tell you has two parts.

The week before this incident Ryan and I got married. Traditionally, after a wedding, the bridesmaids and groomsmen go out and decorate the get away car. Ryan and I rented a limo for after the wedding to take us to a hotel, The Ritz, to be exact...Was beautiful there. Three steps into the room, Ryan walked after me and stepped on the back of my dress, ripping the bustle out. Yeah, explaining that to my mother was difficult. She didn’t believe me. Anyway, we didn’t even get a chance to see the damage to our car, which we were driving to Michigan the next day, until the morning after the wedding. My poor father, had to drive the car for about twenty miles. So here’s this middle aged man, by himself in a decorated "just married" car. And of course there’s no gas...He stops at a gas station and the whole world was staring, at least that’s what he said it seemed like to him.

The next morning we stop for brunch with our families and then head up to Michigan. The car? Trashed. There is a gummy tongue stuck to the outside of the gas cap, a few billion condoms blown up all over the car, including the ones hanging from the antenna. Inside the car? Worse. Condom wrappers, bottles of lube in every compartment, I think there might have even been a book on sexual positions tucked away somewhere too. Front windshield had big circles drawn in paint saying bride and groom. The back, said: Just doing it since 10-28-2000.

Your friends are your life line, right? Yeah, I laughed, but then called them all later that week and said...Alright, next time...And we have an exact estimation of how many friends were in on the act. The photographer took a picture of everyone at the wedding afterwards and there were key guests that were missing. Uh-huh..Caught you with your hands in your pants, didn’t I.

Ryan and I survived the drive from Georgia to Michigan, including all the weird glances, stares and honks. And like all married couples, soon enough we settled into our lives.

About a week after the drive, I realized it was time to get my oil changed. Yes, we had the car cleaned out for the most part. The gummy tongue had been extracted (never stick gummy candy to the outside of someone’s car! Its damn near impossible to get off after a few hundred miles of driving with it on), the paint had been removed, and it started to look like a perfectly normal piece of shit car. (1996 Toyota Tercel) Before I started my new job as a nurse, I had to run a few errands, changing my name at the DMV, Social Security Office...and later that afternoon I had to get my oil changed.

I dropped it off to one of those Oil-O-Rama Drive through type places and then sat in the waiting room for about twenty minutes while the men worked. I was sitting right next to the glass window facing the oil bays and everyonce in a while, I got a curious look from some of the guys. Then one would point...and another guy would walk over etc.. This continued the whole time. Twenty minutes or so later a nice guy whose name I have forgotten walked into the smelly room and proceeded to tell me the car was ready. What was so weird? Well, couldn’t have been the shit-eating grin plastered around his face.

I must say that my wedding ring wasn’t on, I believe I either had to have it sized or something of that nature. But for whatever reason, it wasn’t on that day. He then started making small talk. All I wanted to do was get out of there and on with my life. So, where you from? What’s your name? You new around here? Hold on, my buddy Fred (or whatever his name was) wants to meet you. Yeah, we go down to the bar on Fridays...etc...

I quickly paid and despite their overly friendly nature, I left without offering any information. I had never really been to Holland Michigan before, and I thought that maybe these people were just really nice. I had heard the mid-west could be very accommodating.....Shaking it off as just some young guys hitting on a young gal, I got into the car and didn’t think another thing about it until...

The mats in the front driver side seat were kind of jostled around. I went to straighten them up and what do I find? Condom wrappers. EMPTY CONDOM WRAPPERS...AND LOTS OF THEM. Oh-no. Double oh-no. I continue to look around the car. There are wrappers under every single car mat.

I’m sure these guys were under the impression that I was the one woman red-light district in Holland. Fantastic. As I pulled out of the oil change station, mortified, ALL of the men working that day, stopped what they were doing and waved. Very politely, they smiled and I can only imagine what was going through their heads.

Lesson to be learned: ALWAYS CLEAN YOUR CAR OUT BEFORE AN OIL CHANGE OR ANY OTHER SERVICE IS DONE ON IT. Oh, and wear clean undies at all times in case you are in an accident and have to be stripped naked at the side of the road. I’ll give you the reason for that piece of advice next week. Stay Tuned for more Weird Car Tales from Cicily...

Have a great week and an even better Easter. Start thawing out your ham’s now my friends. Anyone that wants my Bourbon Pecan Tart or Key Lime Pound Cake Recipe for Easter dessert, feel free to email me.

Yours in Condoms, Condoning Dirty Cars and Covering My Face in Light of Utter Humiliation,

Cicily

Life is What You Make of It

Current mood: amused
Category: Life

Currently on my IPOD: Sunray by: Rosie Brown (if you haven't heard of her, you need to. She has the voice of an angel.)

Quote of the week: Friendship is constant in all other things save in the office and affairs of love . . .

Much Ado About Nothing

~W. Shakespeare

Dear Friends, Valentiners and Weirdo's...

Weather today...Sunny, and for Colorado, quite balmy at 40 degrees. Snow expected tonight. Actual Cicily weather outlook? Cool, calm and collected in my mind, and almost to the end. The end of my novel. I can't friggin believe it. But ya know...It's been almost a year and a month or two or three since I started this draft. And of course its not really done, its just the first time I get to write the words, THE END....After this, the weather is likely to change to a slight bit of trepidation with an afternoon shower or two of frustration lingering into the morning hours. Almost time to start the heinous process of re-writes, revisions and rewhateverittakestomakeitbetter process....

So, what is Cicily going to talk about today. I'm going to sway a little bit off the topic of writing and write on topic of the title of my blog. Yep, caught another person in the act. Writing about you when you're not paying attention...

This little incident happened to take place at the LA airport. As a mother, I know that there are days when you want or absolutely need to pull your hair out. The kids are everywhere, screaming, shouting, wrestling and generally causing premature graying on my part. Those days infiltrate my dreams, my writing(generally, I have a day like this and you can bet someone's getting killed in a story or my book...Really I am a nice person...) Maybe this is why I keep having this dream where all of my teeth are falling out (Which is something I generally fear like some people fear heights, I fear losing teeth...Haven't lost one yet, I am meticulous about dental hygeine) anyway..., and after I pick them up off the floor, my hair starts to fall out...I have it at least once a week. Anyone interpreting dreams out there? What the hell does that mean? Personally, I think its stress.

ON with it Cicily...

Okay, so I am in the airport with an unexpected extended layover of two hours. And btw...LAX has the best security checks, took me less than two minutes to make it through their security. I take my seat in the appropriate terminal after buying my obligatory bottle of water and just as I am about to slip my headphones on my head and relax, I see this family coming my way. FOUR kids, two parents and a crap-load of bags and paraphenalia from Disneyland.

The stroller was full, the kids had at least two noise-making dolls or whatever's in their hands and the mother was carrying balloons, candy, and a plethora of Mickey Mouse ears. The father...carrying nothing but his laptop bag. And a small one at that. But of course, what do they do next? They sit right...next...to...me! Literally, not even leaving a seat between us. And there were PLENTY of seats around.

Argggghhh...

I smiled politely and placed my IPOD in my ears and turned it up to full volume. The world was full of Maynard Ferguson and Miles Davis instead of their cries for a moment. But then I thought, this might make a great blog. So I turned the music off, but left my headphones in and observed some finer points of parenting from this anonymous family.

The kids sat obediently on their chairs, playing with their respective toys. My guess is that one was around 9, the others between the ages of 3-7. The oldest: boy, the other three, 2 boys and a girl. The mother, completely ignoring the father, who by this time had his lap top opened and in the middle of some game that he should have had headphones for, went to the oldest child and in a very stern voice said, NO MONKEY BUSINESS. And then she walked off.

The father...still playing the game, hadn't even looked up to see that she had gone. The oldest boy then looked at the others and said...YOU HEARD HER...Don't you dare do anything until she gets back. The father...still playing. I don't know, maybe he is half blind and deaf, but I doubt it. After a few minutes, I thought...Hmmm, these kids are so well behaved its ridiculous. I was waiting for the explosion. I got it.

The girl picked up Buzz Light Year from the smallest child and threw it on the ground, screaming...You leave the hair on Cinderella alone. The youngest then pulled her hair, the next to oldest boy then got up, took some kind of toy airplane, walked into the aisle of the concourse and started throwing it around, the older child went to run after the airplane thrower. Meanwhile, the two kids who had Cinderella and Buzz Light Year in a debacle, were full out wrestling on the ground. Rosy cheeks, pulling hair, breathing heavily and almost killing eachother.

Status on the father: Sitting, playing games on his computer.

Finally, the older kid returns to his seat, I pick up Buzz Light Year off the floor, reattach his arm, give it to the youngest boy, who is now sobbing because his Buzz Light Year had not only been decapitated, but had also become a mute, and a parapalegic due to the batteries dying inside. I tried to console the kid, the little girl was crying too. Her cinderella had most of its hair missing. I wonder how much money these obviously well-made toys had cost the parents. The kids finally settle down in their seats and guess what...The older boy stands up and starts walking, pacing back and forth in front of them, the other three, all have their heads down and aren't even looking. He turns to face them and says...What were you thinking? Santa Clause is watching.

Uh? Its the last week of January. Around this time, the mother returns with four happy meals, another bag that appears to be full of cheeseburgers, a liter of Coke and a sweater that says Los Angeles with bright pink palm trees next to the words. She looks at all of them and says, were you good for your father? You know, Santa's watching.

Yeah..and someone else too. Me...

The father? Still playing his game but eating a double cheeseburger too.

Not a peep. I am not writing this to bash fathers. Not at all. I just think that this man truly had the line of Life is What You Make it, going through his head the whole time. Yes, he could have been yelling at them to get settled down or even involving them in this game or finding a kid appropriate game to play with them. But that is him. Not all father's are like this. My dad? He would have probably been helping me make that paper airplane fly through the terminal, laughing at the businessman having to duck and dodge the plane as it came close to their gelled hair.

So how does this story end? First off, the true characterization and scene of this family as golden, I will probably turn it into a story one day, or you can feel free too as well. But you know, someone is always watching you. The oldest child, obviously in line to be the next leader of the free world, at least in his mind, sta down, slipped on an IPOD, ate his processed nuggets and soda and fell asleep. The others weren't so exhausted, but they were tame. As we started to board the plane, the girl turned to the youngest boy and said, you got your magic undies on? And he replied, Yesssss, no accidents today for me!

The mother and father? She was toting all the stuff from the stroller in her arms, the stroller was checked at the gate and the father, had only his laptop across his shoulders. The youngest kid began to cry, full out screaming and the father finally spoke...Kids who wear magic undies don't cry. They got on the plane and as I walked past them to go sit in the very back, all of the kids were fast asleep.

Maybe the father is right, life is what you make it. For me, I make it into stories, stressed days and careful observations to see what works and what doesn't.

But, be careful, someone is always watching. Go put your magic undies on and get over it, live the life you want to live and dont worry about what others are doing. Right?

Right.

I'm signing off now so I can go get some more writing done today. I hope your days are sunny and spring springs up sometime soon for you.

Yours in Life, Living and Loving,

Cicily

Pissy Moods

Current mood: bitchy
Category: Life

Currently on my IPOD: Wake Up Call: Maroon 5

Good Evening.
Today was another crack-pot day in my life. So, I thought I would share something with you.

I wrote this after a few glasses of wine and I happened to get a rise out of a friend, whose opinion I highly value...And then had to write her saying it was all tongue-in-cheek fun. Isn't most of my writing that way?
Please don't take me seriously. Ever. Except with the novel writing.
Anywho, here is my diddy, and like always, let me know what you think.


The Bother of the Uncultured


I am absolutely failing at my life. I have been trying to save the world, but it is no longer worth the bother. The wounded and insane have nothing on me. After all, I can't even get my cats to take their Prozac. Who the hell do you think you are? I, the crazy lady down the street, have no purpose, no stated life, and no exercise in futility to keep my mind contained within the streets of the living, right? Wrong. I have plenty to think about. Television proves it.

Every day I see them. They walk up and down the aisles of our local discount mart, they take orders through the processed food-o-rama drive throughs, they live their lives just to have the beer with no label greet their digestive systems with pure, simulated nutrition bombing on a Friday evening. Theirs is the whole subculture of uncultured beings. I am plagued by their stupidity, by their inane ability to ignore everything that is given to them through sight, taste, smell and touch. Their sight should be taken away for they do not even understand even the most basic instruction on how to use it.

Art is wasted on them, instead, hanging from their walls are velvet prints of dead-obese swinging hip singing Elvis. Looming in their pantries are processed Velveeta with Cocoa Puffs and overly salted generic potato chips whose flavor has been so far removed that the sadness of the chips is apparent through the crumbles they leave behind in the grease pit at the bottom of the bag. An intellectual conversation is something of foreign ground lending itself to the ho-hums of boredom and insanity that will inevitably follow the intelligence out of the room merely leading to a certain death after it jumps off of the roof. And to taste something savory, oh lets call it a taco cheesy melt with extra seasoning, meaning of course, MSG, from exquisite dining experience of a place also known in some social circles as Taco Hell.

Education is for the rich, the snobs, the ones who keep their teeth in tact and their waist line in check, right? Of course. If you lived among this extremist culture of non-culture, you would start to think this too. Literature is something the doctor gives you when he has to teach you about Gallbladder stones and Bladder infections. A factory of mass producing harlequin writers might as well be the Pulitzer winners. As a matter of fact, the fate of the world lies in the hands of Sammy. If she finally gets back with Lucas and Billy and Bo find out, then the whole three-some they had the night before the last episode will be null and selling their Days-of-Our-Lives souls will be a sell out to the devil. Stay tuned and see what happens next.

But what happens next is not pretty, intellectual or surprising. For we all know what the end of the story is. They live and they die, producing mass numbers of off-spring in their place at the ripe age of fourteen and find out that government help isn't so bad after all and the cheese is just as good as any other cheese you buy with money, only this is the free stuff. The food stamp righteous, the free hand out while you have two good legs and fifteen children by the age of 22, isn't that bad of a life. God-forbid, that this sub-species continue to thrive among the progression the rest of the world is making. The progression the rest of us are striving to continue, the advancement of intelligence and the retraction of stupidity.

Yet, I just sit on my porch, shot gun in hand, watching the fat girl across the street talk with a drawl thicker than Jimmy Carter's and a third tire form around her waste as she eats her chips and "ready made" dip in the jar as fast as she can, talking on her cell phone completely ignoring my pleas for the world to suddenly be right. Maybe it is the village idiot from Texas on the phone, speaking of his war in Iraq and how he promises to get her man back home alive. Never mind the fact that he may have post-traumatic stress disorder, or missing a limb or part of his face, for we are fighting for their freedom, right? We are fighting for the same things they are fighting for…Control over the world. Who's the biggest terrorist now? Terrorizing the minds of others while telling them that it is the truth and the only way out of their life? Terrorism is not selective about who it takes under its wings.

My requests go unanswered and I expect nothing less, nothing more. What else would I have to do if it weren't for the mind-boggling lack of IQ among my neighbors? What would you do? We would sit around and talk about the books, the arts, the music being made by and between the silences during conversations with friends. We could smell the roses and understand why they give their scent. We could live out our lives with the most stimulating thoughts and fine chocolates offered.

But, it takes a village; a village idiot and a plan to make the world cease its progress towards the betterment of man kind. Only this time, I am not going to be the one who bothers with the thought of this uncultured idiocy which lies in abundance all around me. Instead, I will be the freak, the eccentric, the unaccepted social butterfly who sits in her cocoon spinning wings of which I can fly away from this place to a more accepting culture.


Yours in Bothersome Pieces of Fiction, Burdening your Friends with Terrible Writing and Blowing Smoke Out My A*s,

Cicily

How To Go To Hell: A One Step Process

Current mood: aggravated
Category: Life

On my IPOD: Bless the Broken Road: Rascal Flatts

I was driving home yesterday evening when I flipped over to one of the many Christian radio stations, actually I was blindly flipping through everyone of the radio stations trying to get away from the Akon song, Hmmm I don't remember the name of it, but it goes something like this: Yes we gonna fight, I believe we gonna fight, fight for our right to love...This has got to be one of the more annoying songs I have ever heard.

Anyway, I was desperately trying to get away from it, as lately it seems to play on every station I have programmed in the car every other ten minutes or so. Well, except for NPR. And even NPR didn't have anything on last night while I was driving home. I must have missed Prairie Home Companion.

Instead I landed on a Christian Radio Station, I will reserve the name of it for obvious reasons. The preacher on the other side of the radio was screaming to some unknown audience:

And they will all go to hell! The Buddhists, The Islams, The Terrorists, The Aetheists, The Anarchists, The non-believers...If you don't get them to believe in the POWER OF JESUS! Lets pray for all of those who are lost, those who have no way other than the wrong way, lets pray for those who are stupid in their choice or lack of choice in faith.


I am sure you are thinking the same thing I am thinking right now. WTH? I listened on in curiosity. Maybe this was a joke. NO. This was serious. This was a talk show in which a well-known preacher was giving his views on American's now and how their faith or lack there of could or would damage our country even more than it already is.

Who does this man think he is? God? He went on to say that anyone who does not follow the good word to the letter is going to hell. He kept repeating this over and over. The man on the other side of the interview tried to persuade him to open his thinking. But he wouldn't have it. And then he said this:

If they aren't Christian, they might as well be a terrorist. Damaging the minds of those around them, terrorizing the children.

My conclusion is this. I guess I am going to hell. I consider myself a Christian. I am not this type of Christian at all. But, I have friends who are of every religion, of every denomination and of every walk of life. I guess we are all going to hell and I might as well call up the Dept. of Homeland Security and turn myself in for being a terrorist.

As a matter of fact, all of my friends and I should turn ourselves in. We must be terrorizing the children of this great country because we like to converse about our differing opinions on religion, read books by the great philosophers, go to services of other religions just to try to get a taste of what our co-habitants of this great planet believe in and why. And to really damage the children, we sometimes even talk about it in front of them! OMG.....Come with the wagon now boys, take me away to maximum security federal prison so I can become some man-woman's slave...

Here is my other point. If a large number of Christians are listening to this barage of slanted opinions slandering itself over the air waves, what are they thinking? I know there are people out there who think like this guy, as you can see it by finding out the numbers of people who listen to his talk show. Hundreds of Thousands.

I am not subscribing to this point of view. NEVER EVER! I would hope that most Christians would turn this shit off when they heard those words coming out of his mouth. Just because you are not a Christian, maybe you study Islam, maybe you study Buddhism, maybe you are an agnostic, doesn't mean that you are a terrorist or out to damage children. And it most certainly doesn't mean that you are going to hell. Besides most of the people who have studied some world religions would know that Hell doesn't even exist for some religions.

All I can say to the man on the radio is: shut your mouth, open your eyes and realize the damage you are doing to yourself.


This is exactly the type of person who argues for argument sake, the kind of person who wants to start something in the name of religion thinking that he is doing some good for Jesus. I think Jesus would have a heart attack hearing these words come out of someone's mouth.

I wanted to call in and ask the man if he had ever read the bible, or at least one that was not translated specifically for his warped empire.

Sheeesshh.

How about this: If you hear this man on the radio or anyone like it, call in and let them know how much you hate this kind of talk. How damning it is to anyone. And I promise to do the same. Maybe one at a time, the opinions will get across their thick skulls and stop them from going to hell too.

Yours in thick skulls, taking a leisurely trip to Hell and trying to shut up the idiots of the world,

Cicily

Did You Ever Hear the One About the Girl that Killed Her Car?

I Shall start from the beginning and work my way through the ones I feel deserve reposting. For a complete catalog of bull from my mind click on the link to my blog
Current mood: aggravated
Category: Automotive

Playing on my IPOD: Fast Car by Tracey Chapman

Okay, and with more emotion this time.... I just hit cancel instead of post so now I am really angry at myself.

Have you ever tried to take public transit in your city? Well, unless you live in Atlanta, London, Vienna, DC, New York, or Chicago, you are out of luck here in good old America. Most small towns have really crappy public transit. Case in point: If I wanted to get to work, as a nurse, at 6 am(actually at 545am) when the shift starts, I have to either walk in the dark for about 6 miles, or have my husband get up at 5am, schlep the children out of bed so he can drop me off or take the public transit system and subsequently get fired as I would reach the doors to the hospital around 646am.

Maybe if all of the shiny happy people who live in Colorado Springs and other smallish-big cities across the US would start to take public transportation on a regular basis, the bus would lose it's stigma (which by the way, no one in New York seems to think that only the poor or downtrodden take the bus) and the government would have to get off of it's ass and change some things for the better.

Which brings me to my next point: I hate cars. If you have read some of my previous blogs, you would know that not only is hating cars a problem for me, but it is also one of my phobias. Cars crash, roll over and make the people inside play dead, burn up, blow tires,cost people money that they don't have, pollute the earth, break down etc etc etc.

Just last month we took our relatively good condition saturn wagon into the dealer. The next afternoon we walked out about 1500$ poorer. During a regularly scheduled maintenance exam they happened to find a few "things". Tonight, our Ford(fix or repair daily) blew out a tire, actually it blew the belt in the tire, and then proceeded to break down. The battery is not at fault, the gauges went dead and someone has told me that this is probably the alternator. Alternator? What the hell does the alternator do? How's this, I think that the alternator is another word for money sucking terminator...Or alternating cars that suck our money out of us.

So here is the question: Do I spend how much ever money they want to have this fixed and then pay more money just to have the stupid thing cost me more money next month just as I have paid off the bill for this excursion to the dealer? Or do I go into more debt to buy a car that will cost us upwards of 20,000, which will cost me approx. 400-600 dollars a month for the next six years?

To break down or not to break down is the question...Well, this girl is going to break down into fits of rage that are taken out on her car in the form of physical and verbal abuse.

Maybe I should increase my anxiety meds this month. When it rains it pours.

Yours in piece of sh__ cars, population overload, and polluted streets,

Cicily