Best Gift Ever

My friend Marla got us one of these for Christmas. We've barely put it down since. Totally addicting.

I had to rush out and buy one for my son, the sports edition, and another for Mia, the zoo edition. My son looked dubious, at best, when he unwrapped it, but I told him, just you wait. You'll be hooked, too.

Really, a very simple concept that is so entertaining, appropriate for every age, and great for keeping kids or adults busy for hours.

Let Them Eat Pork

So we had our family Christmas Sunday with Margaret and Peter, my loveable in-laws, and my son, Dexter.

Inspired by my friend Marla's creative use of her crock pot to make a delicious beef roast, I made pork tenderloin in my crock pot. Two pork tenderloins, because I am Italian and it seems like I never can make a holiday meal without overcooking.

I put the tenderloins in the crock pot with marmalade, soy sauce, garlic cloves and fresh ground pepper, cooked them over 12 hours and they fell apart into wonderful juicy aromatic hunks of flesh.

As a result, we now have enough pork left over for a week of meals. Last night: Pork Fried Rice. Tonight: Instead of beef stroganoff, pork stroganoff. There is really nothing that can't be improved with sour cream, except maybe a Bloody Mary, which is what I am enjoying right now.

Nothing Says "Merry Christmas" Like A Pot Of Chili And A New Tattoo

Wow, does that ever sound white trashy.

Since Christmas falls on a Thursday this year, and Martin is the FNG at his job, he has to work on Friday. He is also on call, and believe it or not, some people are so dedicated that they actually work at home, over the holidays. I never did that, no siree Bob.

I'm making a big pot of chili for Christmas Day. Martin, Mia and I will celebrate in the morning and my friend Marla will be coming over in the late afternoon and we will hang out, eat chili, drink wine, and no doubt talk and laugh a lot. I haven't broken the news to Mia yet that Marla's 18 year old son Tyler isn't coming over. Mia, you see, has a crush on Tyler. That girl of mine, where does she get it from?

Martin got me a gift certificate and set up an appointment for a new tattoo. I've been talking about one for the longest time. I figure that since I no longer am any type of corporate drone, I should do what the hell what I want with my appearance, hence my big ass rock-n-roll hair with all the streaks. I want something small, quarter sized, on the inside of my right wrist. I already have ideas in mind.

That picture is The Brit and me at his boss's Christmas party.

Casey Anthony Case

With two of my Death Hag friends, I will be blogging the Casey Anthony trial. You can find the blog here:

The Trial Of Casey Anthony

I Hate Christmas Music

True confessions of a dark and dangerous mind. I hate Christmas music. I don't really know why. Maybe because it's so twee and jolly? I just dislike it intensely. Loathe. Detest.

Christmas music should be played Christmas Eve, while wrapping presents. It should be traditional Christmas music. Some good examples would be from That Bastard Bing Crosby (go to the directory and look under "C") or Perry Como (also there under "C"). Andy Williams, as well. He's okay. You can also play Christmas music on Christmas Day. Not every day between Thanksgiving and a week after New Year's Day.

It does not include anything by Mariah Carey, the Chipmunks or the songs "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" or "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus". Hello, therapy much? And people wonder why I hate clowns?!?

I am sure the Baby Christ Child would much rather, when he is shopping in Wal-Mart or Target, hear the strains of U2's "Mysterious Ways" on the Muzak, rather than their "Christmas (Baby Come Home)" rendition.

Or, you could just be like me and do your shopping online. You can stick your on headphones, crank up the Mp3 player in and listen to such uplifting Christmas jams like Mc5, who start a song by yelling, "Yo Motherfucker! Kick Out the JAMMMMS!"

Happy holidays, indeed!

The Tragic Case Of Dr. Deborah Iverson

It was a typical busy morning in the Doctors Iverson household on May 16, 1996. Dr. Robert left at 7 a.m. as the babysitter arrived. Dr. Deborah, his wife, a well-respected ophthalmologist and the director of the Eye Institute at Beaumont Hospital, dropped off her oldest son at school at 7:45 and told the babysitter she'd be back by 10, after her psychiatrist's appointment in Birmingham.

Across town in the suburb of Clawson, Anitra Coomer and McConnell Adams, Jr., were faced with a dilemma. The couple, both 21 years old, lived in an apartment with their two year old son. They'd received a notice from the building owner to pay their back rent within seven days or vacate. They owed $480 to their daycare provider. But the bank account was empty.

The idea was to snatch a purse.

Anitra and McConnell dropped off their son at daycare in Madison Heights at 9:30. They made the fifteen minute drive to Birmingham, one of the tonier Detroit suburbs, looking for a victim.

They spotted Dr. Iverson, getting into her $40,000 Land Cruiser, in a parking lot. McConnell used his BB gun, modified to look like a revolver, pushing it into Dr. Iverson's back and putting her into the back seat of the truck, where the child proof locks would prevent her from escaping.

Anitra and McConnell drove Dr. Iverson to two separate Michigan National Bank branches, forcing her to withdraw $1300; one check made out to cash for $1000 and one check for $300, also made out to cash.

At one point, stopping for cigarettes, McConnell addressed Anitra by name.

Eventually, Anitra took over at the wheel and McConnell asked her for the belt on her coat.

Back at the Iverson home, the oldest son's school had called. Why had no one picked him up? The babysitter picked up the boy and then called Dr. Robert. Dr. Robert called Dr. Deborah's cell phone and received no answer. After calling her office and finding out she hadn't been in or heard from, he called the police.

That evening, in a rural area in Macomb county near Stoney Creek Metro Park, a homeowner noticed a Land Rover parked on the side of the road. When it was still there the next day, he went over to take a look.

Inside in the back seat, was a body, face down.

Dr. Deborah Iverson had been strangled with a belt and died clutching a picture of her children. The autopsy indicated that it was likely a struggle had taken place and it was not a quick death.

Her coat and the truck's seats had strange white marks on them. From the bleach Anitra and McConnell had poured on them to disguise evidence.

Dr. Robert Iverson willingly took a polygraph and passed, but suspicious still swirled around him. He put up a large reward for any information.

The unsolved murder dominated the news.

Anitra had upon occasion mentioned to friends that "we did this" when a newscast recapped it. When the story first broke, McConnell turned up the volume to listen, then turned it off when the segment was done.

Apparently, no one they were around when this happened took it seriously. Or at least, not seriously enough to call the authorities, even with a $500,000 reward unclaimed.

In December, Anitra was at a friend's house and called another friend, Mark, to tell him about the latest beating she had received at the hands of McConnell. Mark persuaded her to go to the police. She claimed she had never reported the domestic assaults before because McConnell held the murder over her head.

After the police visited her, Anitra was arrested. McConnell was also arrested, driving a stolen car, for domestic assault.

The two were tried at the same time, before separate juries. They were convicted of first degree premeditated murder, first degree felony murder and kidnapping. They received life terms without parole for the murder and fifteen to sixty years for the kidnapping.

The Kresge Eye Institute at Wayne State University has a Dr. Deborah Iverson endowed lecture series in ophthalmology in her memory.

What's Going On

Last night, Martin took Mia and me to The Eagle's Nest for our annual family holiday dinner, which due to finances, we've skipped for a few years.

It was nice. I had the prime rib, which was pretty much a side of beef and yummy. Mia helped me with it. Martin had bleu cheese stuffed filet mignon. The view was lovely.

I've been sick this week. I'm better now, but really, I've been sick twice since we've moved to Indy. Is it all the churchiness in the air or what?

I owe the library over twenty dollars in overdue fees because my husband didn't return a Mozart CD. I don't even like classical music that much and I'm sure I never listened to this, but I'm pretty sure there is a wanted sign at the library that says to shoot me on sight.

We got my in-laws the coolest Christmas present. It's 7.5 inch digital photo frame that we loaded about 200 pictures on. Best of all, we can just add a memory card with more pictures. I know they're going to be so tickled.

Mia lost her first tooth. I can't decide who was more excited, Mia or Daddy. Martin actually went to three different gas station/convenience stores to find a gold dollar for her. He forgot to pick up my prescription, but he toured the Circle K and Seven Eleven to find a gold dollar for the tooth fairy.

Courtesy of my friend Marla, I read Survivor, by Chuck Palahniuk. It's the most effed up, crazy book I've ever read and it's bloody brilliant.

What's up with you?

Honoring Our Veterans and Service People

Sam and Martin on the day Martin and I got married. Sam is serving in the Middle East, his third tour. Thanks, Sam. Now, get your skinny ass home.

Speaking Of John Hughes Movies

Six Things

Holly tagged me a while back for this. I'm not much for memes but here ya go.

Six Things That Make Me Happy

1. Obama is president and the times, they are a changin'.
2. My family and friends
3. John Hughes movies
4. My dogs
5. A good book
6. Writing a good sentence that knocks my own socks off.

True Confessions: I Like This Song. A Lot.

Reminds me of my mispent youth and the summer between graduation and my freshman year of college. Plus, I miss having a boat. Were stripper poles even invented in 1989? No, I didn't think so.

Sea Change

To say I'm a little excited about the outcome of the election is a vast understatement.

I've never been ashamed to be an American, but I have been disappointed with the direction our country has taken. I felt hopeless, strangled, trapped on the hamster wheel.

What happened to the dreams my parents had for me? My life was supposed to better, more prosperous, with more opportunity, than the opportunites they had.

It didn't work out that way. At my age, I have a lot less than they had when they were ten years younger than I am.

Nothing is going to happen overnight, but we have a start. We have a new leader who inspries me, as I'm sure he does many others. He stressed unity, as in the UNITED States of America.

I'm so hopeful. I'm giddy. I've also been in a bit of a daze today.

Congratulations to Barack Obama, and to all of us, who have a reason to hope again.

Yes, We Can

Samsonite

Time to pack your shit, Dubya, and GET OUT!

Mia's Halloween

Mia won a $20 gift card in a costume contest here at our apartment complex. Luna went trick or treating as well. It's hard work when your your legs are that short.

The Great Sour Cream Collection

I got brave today and decided to clean out the fridge. I seem to have some sort of issue with sour cream. I pulled out 7 containers of sour cream. They ranged from nearly empty to never opened and dated back to August. I threw the lot of them away, but really, what was I thinking? That every time I go to the grocery store, I must buy sour cream? It's not like I use it every day.

There is a reason I take crazy pills, you know.

Bases Covered

We stopped at our local CVS this evening for wine (for me) and beer (for Martin). In the booze aisle, in hanging displays, they had hangover pills, breath mints, and decks of cards. Martin pointed them out to me and I said, "Wow, only other thing they need is some condoms."

A few steps away, in front of another wine display, was a rack of condoms.

Palin As President

http://www.palinaspresident.us/

Funny little game, updated daily.

Happy Birthday, Mary

Today would have been my Mom's 82nd birthday. She was born in 1926 and died in 1999.
When I was teasing my mom, or trying to piss her off, I'd call her Mary or Bloody Mary. My Mom was teeny tiny and feisty. She had that bright red hair you know. She used to tell me when in her younger days, construction workers or cops or guys in general would yell, "Hey Red, what color is your hair?" she would yell back, "Green, you color blind son of a bitch!" You have to understand, she was 97 pounds soaking wet with heels on and a big purse at that point. She used to call me Lisa B to piss me off or tease me. And yeah, it does creep me the hell out that Patsy Ramsey used to call JonBenet JonnieB.

Her favorite cocktail was a gin & tonic, so tonight Mary, I raise my glass and remember you.

I miss her, every single day. I miss the goofy things we used to laugh over, trading books, our fights over my hair. (According to my mother, I had approximately two good hair days in my life.) I miss our movie dates and going shopping because she was a bit of a control freak with personal belongings and how the house looked and man, one ratty towel in my bathroom and the bathroom was getting new towels, shower curtain, etc. She used to take me to Meijer's for this because she told me I didn't take good enough care of my linens to deserve nicer ones. I thought the Meijer's towels were just fine. I miss her gasps when I was driving. These gasps could range from her finding a stick of gum in her purse to seeing a girl wearing a tacky outfit or too short skirt to a UPS truck almost creaming me.

Mostly, I miss getting to see Mary watch her grandchildren grow up. She loved Dexter so much. She would have been over the moon with Mia. I miss her seeing my friends all grown up with children. She always welcomed my friends and liked them.

Mary did a good job with me. I know it must have been hard, her own mother died when she was a young teen. Mary had some really tough years and it could have hardened her or she could have chosen a path of destruction. Instead she decided that the only person she could depend on was herself and she was going to make what she wanted happen.

She got a couple breaks because she worked her ass off to make her goals attainable and sometimes, there are good people in the world who reward that sort of thing. Mary always told me, "If you have a strong back and can work hard, no matter what, you can survive." My dad, alternatively, told me I should learn to play golf and cards, so I wasn't lonely when I got old.
Mary made me strong without being bitter and taught me the right way to dress and set a table and be a good hostess and how important it is to have an education and job skills.

Happy 82nd anniversary of my Mom's Natal Day.
I miss you and I love you, Mary and I know you loved me so much.

Note: Recylcled from the old blog, but no less heartfelt.

Cacophony

How did I come up with the name for this blog?

I wanted something that would not be so easy to google and find me. I also wanted a title that meant something. Toad Hollow is my favorite vintner and I love the labels. In fact, Martin and I liked the Amplexus champagne label so much, we used it, with Toad Hollow's permission, for our wedding invitations.

Cacophony is their Zinfandel wine. I haven't had it in quite a while, but I remember it as magnificent.

I'm also outspoken and can create a cacophony if given a chance.

So, there you go!

Bucca di Beppa

The Peasants Are Uneasy, Milord!

My husband plays the video game Stronghold. It's some sort of medievel battle game. Some of the better phrases in the game:

Milord, the wolves are about and the peasants are uneasy!

Oh! A command, okay! Oh yes! Let's get working! (Sounds almost sexual in voice inflection.)

Recruits are needed, Sire!

We are prepared! The men are in good spirits!

All said in this Ringo Starr sort of voice.

The Great Debate

So my friend Marla came over Friday evening and we watched the debate.

Side note: What does it mean about you when on a Friday night, you plan on staying home and watching the presidential debates with a few adult cocktails and a friend and you are just as enthusiastic about that as you were long ago about standing in line over night to get Cure tickets?

I didn't really look at the debate as educating me about either candidate; I've already read lots about them and made up my mind long ago. I looked at is more like entertainment.

I think the debate between Joe Biden and Sarah Palin is going to be hilarious. Even though she's at debate boot camp, I'm hoping for a bloodbath. Did the neo-cons really think we were going to switch to the McCain/Palin ticket, just because she had a womb?

Have You Found Her

Once in a while, you read a book that is so compelling and so engaging, you end up carrying it around with you, hoping to read a quick paragraph here and there.

Have You Found Her by Janice Erlbaum is one of those books. It's about trying to save someone from themselves and the demons that haunt that person. It's about loving someone in a family way and nearly losing that person to an untimely death and then finding out it was all a lie, from the very beginning, from a very sick person, you also just happen to love in spite of it all.

It's a Bee

So Lonely

For the most part, this move has been good. We have income! I have a job writing! I get paid for writing! Granted, it's a pittance, but it's a paid writing gig.

I'm not homesick for Michigan. I like this area. I am, however, used to having lots of people around that I know. That I have known, forever.

I don't have a lot of friends here. Thank God for Crystal, Marla and Jodie. And The Broads, even though they aren't so geographically close, they can make my day. So do my Find A Death friends. Thank God for my Misfit friends I can chat with anytime and sometimes, they visit! (Love you, Ronni!) Thank you, Al Gore, for inventing the internet.


I'm not bored. I was raised as an only child. I am very capable of amusing myself. It takes a lot to bore me.

I'm just lonely.

I love having dinner parties. We're having one this week-end. I don't do it enough. My friend Marla is next on the list.

I want to go to an adult Halloween party and dress up. We don't know anyone to go to one.

I miss my in-laws. I miss my daily chats with my friend Loretta because I've gotten busy here. I miss knowing the area, knowing the gossip, knowing the players.

I'm happy here. I just get lonely.

Southern Gothic 2007

I warned you I was going to recycle some things from the old blog. Don't act all surprised.

I can hear Stephen banging on the inside trunk lid. It’s annoying, so I turn up the stereo. The Dixie Chicks sing, "Earl had to die."
I have loved Stephen since we were both 14 years old, freshman at Hoyt High School in Hoyt, Mississippi. His locker was three down from mine. Already boy crazy, I thought he was the best looking guy I’d ever seen, with that black curly hair and those bright blue eyes.
It took Stephen a while to notice me. Since he was the new guy, he got a lot of attention and I decided to bide my time. Hoyt is a small town and most of us had known each other since diapers, so new kids always were popular right away. It didn’t hurt that he played football and played it well enough to make the Hoyt Highlanders’ normally dismal seasons a little brighter. I don’t remember the cheerleaders crying at the end of games after Stephen joined the team, at least.
Stephen’s daddy had taken over old Doc Smythe’s practice. It was not a moment too soon, since everyone knew Doc Smythe had been on the moonshine for years and years and his brain was pretty near cottage cheese. Being the son of the town doctor helped Stephen’s popularity, too, of course.
I still remember what I wore on my first date with Stephen. A pair of pressed Gloria Vanderbilt jeans with loafers and no socks, a pink button down shirt and my Add-A-Bead necklace. Pure Southern Prep, circa 1982. It’s a peculiar trait among the women in my family; we can always remember what we wore during important moments such as first dates, divorce court, or a particularly good argument with our loved ones.
"Damn him," I think. The pounding in the trunk is on my last nerve. I swerve the big Cadillac over to the side of the road and leap out, running to the back of the car.
"Stephen. Knock it off. Asshole! You are not getting out anytime soon. Why don’t you take a moment and pray to God cause I am not letting you out and maybe He will! It’ll be a Goddamn miracle!" I yell at the trunk and pound on it a few times myself for good measure.
Getting back into the car, I take a few deep breaths and light a ciggie. I exchange the Dixie Chicks for Sheryl Crow. I can’t bear the thought of listening to a man singing right now. Sheryl sings, "A change will do you good." Damn straight, sister.
I put the Caddie into drive and pull back onto the road, spraying gravel and punching the go pedal. I have it up to sixty when it dawns on me that I have my ex-husband tied up in the trunk and it might not be a good idea to invite a visit from a Mississippi State Trooper, not known for their good humor under the best of circumstances.
I didn’t start out knowing what I was going to do with Stephen once I put him in the trunk. After two hours of hard driving, I know. We’re going to my family’s old camp. Certain hard truths are going to be spoken. Best of all, Stephen can’t pull any of his lying lawyer bullshit on me, because I’ve duct taped his mouth.
Swigging from my Dr Pepper, I cry a little bit. We used to be The Couple Everyone Wanted To Be. All through high school, all through Ole Miss, we were golden. When Stephen got his law degree and we moved back to Hoyt, I’d resisted. I wanted to go somewhere bigger, somewhere with culture and good restaurants and movie theatres, somewhere I could buy decent shoes without ordering from a catalog. Stephen wore me down, though. When we went back to Hoyt it was just like high school again, except we could drink and smoke and have sex without getting grounded.
The trouble started at Ole Miss. Stephen had always been a flirt, but Hoyt was too small for him to run around on me in high school and me not find out. At Ole Miss, he had a lot of opportunity. I couldn’t keep track of him every single second and he knew it. My sorority sisters had a name for their boyfriends chasing other girls to sleep with: The Strange. They were all looking for something new and strange.
The first one after we moved back to Hoyt was Della Raines. What a slut she was. Always wearing those short shorts, all that make-up even during the day and never wearing a bra. She hung around out at Charlie’s, the pool hall, with all the shiftless hillbillies. I’d never been in Charlie’s in all my twenty-six years until the time I was out looking for Stephen at midnight one Friday and saw his car parked outside. There was Stephen, with Della Raines draped all over him like a clearance rack suit.
Next, it was Bobbi Cutler. That was a surprise. Bobbi was one of my friends. She taught second grade and I never imagined a second grade teacher would bend over the couch in my husband’s law office and beg him to put it in, hard. I was lucky. Even though she needed six stitches and I broke her nose, she didn’t press charges. She did lose her job, that pesky moral fitness clause.
Stephen and I finally got divorced after twelve years of marriage because I just couldn’t take it anymore. The final straw came when some woman kept calling the house asking for him. When I’d say he wasn’t home, she’d say, "Well, hon, give him a message. He’s going to be a daddy." It was all a lie, of course, but it riled me up so much I couldn’t get past it and filed for divorce.
This being Hoyt, of course, I ran into Stephen all the time. We started talking again. We dated again. I fell in love all over. I was head over heels.
Until this afternoon.
Thinking I would surprise him, I went to his office with a pitcher of fresh brewed ice tea and homemade lemon cookies. I went up the back steps, avoiding Myra, his two hundred-year-old bad tempered secretary, and opened his office door. And there was Kasey Lewis, a town cop, with her face buried in Stephen’s crotch and his hands tangled in her tacky bleached blonde hair.
Instead of freaking out, I slipped off my sandals and tiptoed over to where her gun belt was thrown on the floor. I took her gun out of the holster. I pointed directly at Stephen’s head and cleared my throat.
They didn’t hear. I cleared my throat again and said, "You have the right to remain silent," in my sweetest voice.
Kasey whipped her head around so fast, I thought she was going to bite it right off.
"You. Stand up," I told her.
"Miss Lizbeth, it’s not…" she started to say.
"Shut up. Get out," I said. I started shoving her out the door and down the front stairs, still naked, lipstick smeared all over her chin. Let her explain that to Myra.
"Lizbeth," Stephen said. "I’m so sorry. Let me explain"
Still pointing the gun at Stephen, I thumbed the safety off.
"You’re not talking," I told him. "You’re listening. And you’re coming with me." I gestured toward the back stairs and he stumbled down them with his pants still undone and halfway down.
When we got to the car, he made as if to get in on the passengers side.
"Nope," I said cheerfully. I popped the trunk. "Get in, lover boy."
Stephen looked at me blankly. Still pointing the gun at his head, I opened the tool kit in the trunk and took out a piece of rope and the duct tape.
Now, two hours later, I was at the camp. I unlocked the chain and drove the Caddie slowly up the rutted two track. Stephen had stopped banging a while back.
Before I open the trunk, I go into the camp and turn on the lights. I open a bottle of the fine red wine my daddy stores in the cellar. After a deeply satisfying glass, I go out to the car and pop the trunk. Stephen blinks at the flashlight I’m pointing at his face. I notice he has been crying. This doesn’t move me since I figured out years ago that Stephen could cry on demand if he thought it would help his cause. This was effective with juries, but not with a pissed-off ex-wife who was wise to his theatrics.
I point the gun at his head again.
"I’m going to untie your legs so you can walk in. Don’t try to run. I’ll chase you down like a bug and shoot your ass to kingdom come. All right? Nod if you understand."
He nods and I undo the ropes on his legs. I heave him out of the trunk with pure adrenaline and he falls onto the hard gravel. I prod him a little with the heel of my sandal. It feels good to see him wince. I keep the gun pointed at his head as he walks down the path to the camp door.
Once inside, I motion him into the tatty chair next to the fireplace. I sit on the couch, the bottle of wine next to me on the end table. I pour another glass and sniff it.
"Daddy has such good taste in wine," I say. I walk over to Stephen and stick the glass under his nose so he can smell it. He fancies himself a connoisseur. Actually, he couldn’t tell Bordeaux from Beaujolais.
"Why do you cheat, Stephen? Why? I’m a pretty lady. I was a perfect girlfriend to you. I have been a perfect wife to you. There is not one thing you are missing in your life. And you still cheat."
I light a ciggie and watch his face. His eyes are large and pleading but like his crying, it doesn’t move me.
I pat the gun on the cushion next to me. "I ought to just shoot your ass. Get a jury of twelve women and I wouldn’t spend one day in prison. All I wanted was for you to love me and for us to get out of Hoyt the shithole. You convinced me to move back, so we did. I put up with all your cheating. I forgave you. I believed you. I thought you were going to change. I thought we were going to get married again and instead, I’ve just lived a Goddamn honky tonk country song."
I realize I’m crying again so I stop looking at Stephen and sip my wine. I look at my perfectly manicured fingers holding the wineglass and they’re trembling. I finish the wine, stub out my cigarette and pick up the gun.
The blast is deafening in the small confines of the cabin, but I’ve never in my life felt so relieved.

Klutz

I've never claimed to be graceful. Sometimes, I amaze myself at how clumsy I am.

I am also reckless with electronics. I think that comes from being married to an IT whiz. I break it, he fixes it. That's mostly why I married him, that and the fact that I hate pumping my own gas and grilling.

I have a bad habit of plugging in my laptop while it's sitting on the dining room table. The cord is stretched precariously to the plug, right in the main traffic path. I've been warned many times that it's not a good idea and everyone, dogs and humans alike, have tripped over it at least once.

Yesterday, Mia tripped over it hard enough to send my laptop crashing onto the floor. I thought the only thing damaged was the port my mouse plugs into. Martin dismantled the entire laptop and got it up and running, but the alternative mouse port is also funky. My speakers appear to have gone the way of the blue suede shoe, as well. I can deal with no speakers, but I'm missing my mouse. I'm hoping the computer whiz can patch it together enough that I don't have to continue using the silly touch pad, which I hate.

Fashionista

I used to be stylish. Now I'm rather boring. All I want now are clothes that look nice, fit comfortably, wear well, and are machine washable with a minimum of ironing.

I read in an article somewhere, about Lauren Hutton or Diane Keaton, I think, that she only wears white and black because she's tired of clothes. I'm not tired of clothes, but I am tired of figuring out what to wear with what, so I've modified my approach. I wear black and white and blue jeans and occasionally, a bright solid color.

I like the leggings and long tunics because they're as relaxed as sweats, but you can dress them up easily. The tunic must cover the butt and hips, though. MC Hammer pants were on the runways during Fashion Week in New York. I'd wear them. They hide a multitude of body sins.

Of course, I must buy a designer track suit to wear grocery shopping with expensive sneakers or athletic sandals, or for the more sexed up Fishers moms, high heeled sandals. Yowsa.

More On The New Blog and What's Going On

I tried to send an email to everyone that I was in contact with through my old blog. I'm sure some of you have been wondering what I've been up to.

We are living in Fishers, Indiana, a northeastern suburb of Indianapolis. So far, so good. It's a little churchy here for me, and flat, with no lakes but they are very fond of fountains.

Mia started kindergarten August 11. Yes, I know it's ridiculously early. It's caught me by surprise. Also, the fact that kindergartners are only provided bus pick-up, no drop off, was also a bit of a shock and extremely inconvenient.

We also adopted a new puppy. Her name is Luna (of course I call her Luna Tuna) and she's my first purebred ever. She's a Pomeranian and she's adorable and sweet and a momma's girl, for sure. I vow I will never dress my little dog, or put her in a purse.

Martin is working at a job he is incredibly well-suited to and he's very content. I'm working part time for the Indianapolis Star, blogging Fishers. It's an okay gig, but the forums, which I am required to participate in, are brutal and nasty. I also have to be very circumspect with what I blog about so yes, it's boring.

I'm happy to be writing a personal blog again, a new one. I'm sure I will recycle some things from my old blog. Some of the writing there I thought was very good, and I'll definitely be posting more fiction here, as well. I welcome your feedback.

Back Blogging In The Free World.

Yeah baby!

New Blog!

I wrote my old blog for about five years. I feel like I wore it out. I also attracted trolls and people in my real life that I don't really want reading my blog.

We have a new start here in Indy, so I think it's time for a new blog, as well.

Welcome to my world.