The Rotation

The dogs sleep in the house at night.  I bring them in around 8:30 or so, and since time has changed, but Kelsey has no concept of time change, she huffs past me and heads straight to bed.  Her frustration with my lack of consideration for her sleep time are quite obvious. 

Chesney, however runs around like a spazz, fetching and retrieving and generally acting goofy.  Until she finds the bag of sweet potatoes, and if you aren't quick enough, you will notice it is too quiet.  Quiet like, "what are my children doing" quiet.  Only my kids are usually in bed, and Chesney can usually be found quietly noshing on a sweet potato.  So, if you happen to notice puncture marks in your sweet potatoes when you are at my house, I have no idea how they got there.

This is Chesney's painful attempt at "stay."  I assure you every fiber of her being want to dash up to me, then crawl between my legs and lay down.  It's her safe spot.

Anyway, sometime between the hours of 5:30 and 7:00am, I let the dogs out.  The time is now gloriously fluid because A)have I mentioned I only go to work twice per week now and B)Chesney's bladder is a little more able to take a longer sleep in. 

As I let the dogs out, an amazing cycle begins.  A cat jumps over both dogs as they scramble out the back door.  Then, if the cat is Oliver, he runs to the front door and meows.  Now, this makes little sense to me as he just came from the BACK door, but now he wants out the front door.  Although, why it surprises me is ridiculous.  He meows at the gate to the yard if I'm outside too.  But I don't blame him.  Would you rather scale a chain link fence, or let your human open the gate for you?  Anyway, I let his majesty out the front door.

As I go into the kitchen to start up my Keurig, invariably I hear a chirruping "meow."  That would be Misty.  The ruckus at the back door has woken her.  I open the door and ask "How do you get in here every night?  Every night I put you both OUTSIDE, yet one or the other finds their way BACK in the garage before I get up."  You see, the cat in the garage, and the cat outside rotates.  I never know if I will see a streak of gray sleekness leap over the dogs, or a mass of black and white fluff. 

It kind of keeps things fresh, y'know?

So, in this particular example of the morning rotation, Misty is in the garage.  And she is using her chirruping meow.  I open the door, because I'm stupid, and she runs in the house, weaves herself around my legs, then proceeds to the front door, where I have just released Oliver, and lets out a long, plaintive, raspy "meeeeoooooow."  Of course, the kids are still asleep about 60% of the time at this point.  Or at least, they are PRETENDING to be asleep as they do not want to leave the comfort of their warm beds.  So, in order to give my little angels a few moments more shut eye, I open the door to let Misty out.  Because apparently I have no authority over the cats in this house.   I mean, I put them out every night.  Every morning at least one is in the garage, demanding to be released.*

Oh, don't let that calm demeanor fool you.  This cat outright talks to you.  And if she doesn't get her way, she talks and talks and talks until you just give in and do whatever it is she wanted in the first place.

You know what happens next, right?  Oliver runs right into the house, seeing as I have not filled his food dish, and that was the only reason he wanted on the front porch in the first place.  Now the thing with Oliver is this:  He owns a human.  Well, he owns three technically.  Because Bookworm takes no ownership of him whatsoever, and I scratch him when I fancy, and Brent pretty much dotes on him.  But Popcorn?

Oh, he OWNS her.  She knows it.  He knows it.  Shoot, the whole family knows it.

Well, upon discovering that I have not filled his food dish as was his wont, he dashes back into the house. Gentle Reader, let it be known that I NEVER fill the food dish of any animal in this house unless my children are gone.  So why he considers this a surprise every single morning is a mystery.  However, he is greatly offended.  And he knows exactly who to go tattle to.  He pussy foots his fluffy self right past me, makes a persnickety left at the piano, and heads directly to his child.  He prances into her room, meowling his strangely dainty meow for an 18 pound ball of fluff, and hops onto Popcorn's bed.

Here is Mr. Flufferpants himself, surveying his child's domain

She promptly picks him up and carries him...

To the garage.  Where she shuts the door, then goes to her room to get ready for school.

As I typed this post, I kept having one thought buzz around my brain "The definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over yet expecting different results."

For the life of me, I can't tell you who the insane one is.

*Gentle Reader, the magic of the cats in the garage has turned out to not be magic at all.  It turns out that as Brent leaves through the garage, then out the door to the back yard through the garage, at least one cat darts in.  And then plaintively meows.  And then he feeds them.  IN THE GARAGE.  The issue with this is that I was scolding the girls for WEEKS that they had better stop feeding the cats in the garage so the cats would quit dashing in every time the door was opened.  Of course, they denied feeding the cats.  "Then how does the bowl of food keep appearing?"  Oh, Gentle Reader, the culprit was found out.  And then I learned that not only do I have no authority over the cats in my life, apparently I have none over my husband who can't stand to hear their pitiful wails at 4:30 in the morning. 
 

Sshhh....

Popcorn is at a slumber party.  Bookworm decided to use the opportunity to go buy her sister's Christmas and birthday present.  I was a bit apprehensive as all of this occurred AFTER the sun had set, and time change kills me because I want to be in my little house when the sun has set and I don't want to leave it for any reason at all.

But that is beside the point.  We came home close to nine o'clock.  As we climbed out of the car Bookworm dashed over to the cat and said, "Oh, Misty.  Sweet kitty.  You want to come inside?"  And she scooped up the cat, beginning to rub her cheek on the cat's head as she headed for the house.

"That dang cat is in the garage again?  She is ALWAYS in the garage!  That's why the litter is always full in here!  Because she is always sleeping in the garage or in your bed!  But never outside! She needs to go outside, it makes me CRA-"

"Sshhh!"

I froze halfway through the laundry room on my way into the kitchen.  "Did you seriously just shush me?"

"Yes.  Because I don't know what else to say."

And then I started laughing.  Obviously she had no desire to listen to a pointless rant.

And then I told her "That is totally a blog!"

And so it is.

Birth Order, KP, The Help, and Laziness

Okay, first things first, you need to go read my sister's blog over here.

Then you need to realize that I am hoping she will bring lots of eggnog to Thanksgiving next week, and I will provide Captain Morgan spiced silver rum.   And then we will pretend we are pirate wenches as we make some Christmas crafts Mom has planned for us.  Dawn will be the good one, and she will no doubt be cleaning the kitchen as we are living it up and letting her assume her God given role as older/responsible sister.  And while that role may sound sarcastic, you can't beat birth order, and she is undoubtedly chosen to be the oldest.  Therefore, she is the most responsible.  Poor her.


You know, I used to feel bad when my siblings talked about how spoiled I am as the youngest sibling.  Then I decided that I have no control over birth order.  And if I was spoiled, then it wasn't my fault.  So now my response to the fact that Dawn was never allowed to have Barbies because Dad thought they were trashy is "Sorry about your luck.  I even owned the Barbie town house, complete with elevator.  So there."

Doesn't she appear to be beleaguered and overworked?

 And as for Paula being the middle sister in a family of four kids with one boy, it just is what it is.  Surely that means she can relate better to my mom, who is the middle of three sisters also.  And it means that since her feelings are never considered, she is more aware of how others feel, so surely she's a better person for being a middle child.  Again, this may SOUND like sarcasm, but I'm just citing birth order theory and lately it's been hitting me how REAL the characteristics are that develop as a result of birth order.

Yes, this woman is obviously never noticed or considered.

My oldest wants to adopt a child.  Not like an African child, where you are committed to $25 dollars/month, but a child that will come and live in our house.  Forever and ever.  That was a bolt out of the blue.  And it would turn my youngest into a middle child, and let me tell you, she does NOT have middle child tendencies, so it would be a struggle for her.

And speaking of siblings, a few weeks ago the girls and I were having a random conversation about something.  I know it related to Brent never being at the table when the rest of us were ready to eat.  And somehow that evolved into disappearing acts for kitchen clean up.

"I don't know which of you it will be, but one of you will be shirker of kitchen clean up at family dinners.  The shirker will either suddenly develop the urge to use the bathroom, or breast feed a baby, or possibly even sit in the living room to 'visit with grandmother.'  Do not think for a minute that those in the kitchen are unaware of your shirker ways.  They WILL be aware, and they WILL be talking about you."

And I was honest enough to admit I myself have been the shirker of kitchen duty.  And I was also honest enough to admit that it has probably never been Dawn.  Because, again she is the oldest.  And therefore the most responsible.  Her burden is immense.

Anyhoo, that random conversation has lead to the fact that if one sibling leaves the kitchen to visit the facilities, the other sibling stops all kitchen duty until the absentee sibling shows up.  I acknowledge this was an unintended consequence.  But it is an amusing one.
 
Speaking of lazy,  I AM LOVING WORKING TWO DAYS PER WEEK!!!  I have moments where I feel guilty because I actually have free time.  But then I get over it.  It is so awesome to not have to clean my entire house on Wednesday, along with grocery shopping and car washing and seven loads of laundry.  Now I do a chore every day, along with a load every day.  Well, I was doing a load about every day anyway, but Wednesday was also bedding day.  Now, I wash one person's bedding per day and my back is not in misery at the end of sheet day!

I have time to work out!  I have time to coupon!  I have time to actually stroll through the store and see things that I never saw before because each trip to the store was simply a marathon sprint of tunnel vision where I only got what was needed and did not allow myself to browse as there was no time!  And now I'm realizing that browsing the store can lead to unexpected purchases....

Leading up to Christmas this is expected.  But I will have to be sure I don't let it become the pattern or Brent will make me start working more.

Speaking of sheet day, have you read The Help by Kathryn Stockett?  I thought it was so funny how Minny hated "damn sheet day."  And I always said a little "amen" in my head every time she bemoaned washing sheets.  And my task is not near as onerous or hands on as hers was!

Okay, this post has gone entirely too long.   Have a happy weekend!

P.S.  In FOREsight, this post could possibly come back to haunt me.  As in next weekend at Thanksgiving when we will have a family dinner, complete with big kitchen clean up.  *sigh*   Perhaps foresight isn't a good thing when one ignores it?

Bodies in Motion

Have you ever worked out with Gilad?  He's this Jewish guy who did work outs in the 90s, and then got restarted a few years ago on Fit TV.  Of course, we no longer receive Fit TV, as we have antennae.  But I still have some of his workouts on DVD and they are quite painful.  Anyway, I always chuckled when at the end of the workout he would say, "Thank you for trusting me with your body."  It's always nice to end a sweatfest with a chuckle.

Hey, guess what?  I decided to check out Gilad on Youtube and sure enough he has posted several workouts for your sweating enjoyment!  Here is a sample of his first video:

A body in motion tends to stay in motion.  That's why after I got home from a class at work, I should NEVER have SAT DOWN and attempted to figure out how to do my schedule from home online.  After 45 minutes I gave up and got through to the helpline.  Only to discover that indeed I'm NOT stupid, but that the program does not work under the search engine I was using.  So that was good to know...

And once I finally got that ordeal worked through, I was utterly worthless...Because I got sucked into my computer and found myself reading blogs/emails/and facebook.  Which is why I've still avoided Pinterest.  My thighs can't survive it.

Monday was my daughter's first school basketball game.  She is in 7th grade, and it was painful.  The final score was 34 to 7.  They.  The opposing team girls ran circles around our little novices...

But even though we got it handed to us, it was still imminently more enjoyable than a softball game where we come out ahead by 10 runs.  And I asked Brent "Why would ANYONE watch softball when they could be watching or playing THIS?"

Bookworm and I played a game of "21" on Saturday.  Only it turned in to a game of "11" because either we are both AMAZING at defense...or really terrible at offense.  The final score was 11 to 7, my favor.  And I was still sore on Monday.

Brent pointed out that he hardly ever takes shots on her, as he's 10 inches taller.  I told him she's not stupid and there's no glory in a hollow victory.  That is why my kids were never able to beat me at Twister.

Today I will endeavor to coupon for the first time in MONTHS.  But since I now get the Sunday paper, and have a dog who FETCHES the paper for me, I have an accumulation of coupons to choose from again.

Did you know that if we did NOT receive a paper, and I say "Go get the paper," this dog will indeed bring me a paper?  She may have to go steal it from the neighbors driveway, but she will always GET THE PAPER!  (And yes, I returned it.  Once I stopped laughing long enough to take it back.)

And, now it is time to put my body in motion and get busy with house work, since I've decided I will have a MUCH cleaner house now.  Going to work two days per week is the BOMB people!  Why on earth did I ever do eight hour shifts when I could work ridiculously long days, but be home other days?  Why, why, why?  Incidentally, I'm working three whole days the week after Thanksgiving.  I'm pretty sure there will be weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth.

By me, of course.

Joe Montana, Hanes Underwear, and Daniel Craig

Today Brent was chuckling over  a commercial and it involved the 49ers.  "Was Joe Montana the quarterback the last time they won the Superbowl?"

"No, Steve Young."

"Oh.  Well, surprisingly I didn't say Joe Namath.  That's what I usually say.  And you usually correct me."

He offered no response to my obvious ability to learn about a subject I have not interest in.  He continued to try and focus on the television and the obviously riveting football game.

Gentle Reader, I have no idea who Joe Namath actually is.  Oh, I know he has something to do with football.  But what he looks like, who he played for and when is beyond me.  Yes, I could Google it, but WHY?  I simply don't care.  The only reason I know anything about Joe MONTANA  is because he QB'd when I was in high school.  And I felt pressure to actually understand and CARE about sports then.  And the 49ers had a red team. So, therefore I cheered for them.  Even if I was the worst cheerleader in the WORLD.

Sorry about the bunny chase.  We were discussing a discussion I had with Brent.  Who was NOT participating in said discussion (kind of like the discussion we are having now, no?)  "Don't worry though.  I know who I mean.  After all, I can still picture him in his Hanes underwear."

And I found the photo here.  Amazing that someone is selling an underwear ad with coupons, eh?

And he did indeed turn his head to focus on me.  Long enough to widen his eyes in frustration to see my coffee resting precariously on the arm of the couch.

 

Confession:  When I decided to share this pointless conversation with you, I had to ask Brent, "Hey, when I was asking you about the Joe Montana Superbowl thing, did you say the name of their last quarterback to win it was Eli Young?"

And he looked at me silently for a moment.  Then he said "Steve Young."  And then he wondered aloud why that conversation would trigger a blog.

We saw the new Bond movie this weekend.  It was great fun.  And quite possibly my favorite Bond ever.  Which isn't saying much as I have only liked the Bonds with Daniel Craig.  He's just so rough looking.  He looks like he has lived a hard life and ran a thousand miles, and his eyes are bloodshot and he does the emotional devastation that is never seen in other Bond movies...And then he truly does the very best cuff link check of any Bond.  Seriously, he jumps through the demolished roof of a moving train comes to his feet and adjusts his cuff links as he somehow ruthlessly continues pursuit of his query...I tried to find a good still of it, but it required more fortitude than this blogger has.

Gentle Reader, while I do so LOVE Daniel Craig as Bond, his lack of restraint with regards to amorous activities is rather disappointing.  In the words of my 12 year old, he is such a "tulsa.  Spell it backwards, Mom."  Which I mentally did.  Then I cringed inside.  And then I withered some more when she said, "By the way, what exactly IS a slut?"

Speaking of amorous activities:  I have a new obsession.  Actually an old obsession revisited.  The other day at the library I saw a Julia Quinn Bridgerton novel, The Viscount Who Loved Me.  I had read it before, but decided I could use a smile, so I checked it out.  And now I find myself scrambling to find all eight of the Bridgerton series, because they are just too funny and too endearing.  It is a series about eight siblings, alphabetically named growing up in Regency England.  They are fun, and they are light.  And there is not a disgusting amount of amorous activities going on.  And what is there can easily be skimmed over.  Anyhoo, as I've read all of these books before I'm kicking myself for my tendency to trade books in after reading them.  That has been the number one thing about my Nook.  I can't just carry a book to The Book Rack and trade it in for another book.  I actually have to keep the book.  Although I do miss the carry in the old paper sack of books and browsing through the shelves with their distinct smell of old books.

Well, that's all I've got for today.  Now I'm off to teach a group of ungrateful wretches their Christmas music!

Have a lovely day, Gentle Reader!

A Hypothetical Life Lesson: Repeated

Today I read Taylor's post about the scariness of choking.  It made me reminisce over my own experiences with choking.

And they aren't actually FOND memories, but they are now funny stories, and that's all that really matters right?  Because, clearly sometimes the WORST experiences make the BEST stories.

And I'm all about the stories. 

So, in my reminiscing, I read a few old posts regarding choking.  They are a few years old, but I really wanted to share them with you again.  I could just post links, but experience has taught me that readers don't always click on the links, no matter what the promise of laughter is dangled in front of them...

Well, at least I am too lazy to click on a link. Perhaps i shouldn't paint my children with the same brush as I myself, eh?

So, without further rambling, I will happily PASTE a previous post involving a humorously choking child.
And her hypothetical mom...

Let's pretend for a moment, shall we? Let's just say, that hypothetically one child has a ring pop that she is eating. The other child wants to taste it. Now, the latter child has a ring pop, but cannot eat it until after her game. Child number one offers to let her sister taste it. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

The mother of this hypothetical pair pipes up, "No, you can't share your sucker, your sister has a cold." The hypothetical mother in this hypothetical situation then witnesses her hypothetical daughter, who is having a surprising moment of a sharing spirit GIVE HER SISTER A LICK OF HER SUCKER. Well, this hypothetical mother then said, "Okay, now you're going to go throw that sucker away. I don't want you to get your sister's cold."

Hypothetical child of the ring pop disappears around the corner....presumably to dispose of her sucker in the bathroom trashcan....

Time is passing by...

Passing by.....

Now, let's just say, hypothetically speaking, of course, that child of the ring pop comes bursting around the corner, face VERY red........................coughing..................... choking.................gagging.

Hypothetical Mom: Are you choking?
Child makes gagging and coughing sounds, but is moving air, so hypothetical mom, who could possibly be, hypothetically, a nurse, tells child to go to the bathroom, and follows her.

Just to add a little interest to this purely hypothetical situation, let's pretend it's picture day for basketball, and child with a cold's entire team and their parents have witnessed all of the above exchange.....If this were not a purely....hypothetical situation, you can imagine the gasps and murmurs of concern....

Mom and child who is not choking on her sucker (so she is vehemently denying at this point) quickly make their way to the bathroom. Child who is not choking, continues to cry and make gagging noises....

Hypothetical mom: Did you go around the corner and chew your ring pop as fast as you could instead of THROWING IT IN THE TRASH?
Child shakes head emphatically no, but continues to cry and cough.
Hypothetical mom, now holding coughing child's face in her hands and looking as mean as she, hypothetically, can.....IS THERE A PIECE OF SUCKER STUCK IN YOUR THROAT THAT IS HURTING, THAT IS MAKING YOU COUGH, MAKING YOU GAG, AND MAKING YOU CRY!?!
Child, no longer meeting Hypothetical Mom's eyes, slowly nods yes.
Hypothetical Mom (with, quite possibly, hypothetically speaking of course a look of smug victory on her face): Well, that's what happens when you don't mind your mommy. Drink some warm water, the candy will dissolve, and stop hurting in a little bit......

And with that she leaves the bathroom, hypothetical crying child in tow.

Now, let's say Hypothetical Mom and child round corner to find everyone anxiously watching for them and asking after the well being of this hypothetical child....

Hypothetical Mom in all her hypothetical nurseyness replies, "She's fine, she just had to learn what happens when you don't mind your mommy"....quiet laughter is heard in the hallway from various other hypothetical parents.....

So, in the above hypothetical situation, one might assume that the hypothetical child of the ring pop would have learned to mind her hypothetical mom. Sadly, one would be VERY wrong in making that assumption....

Hypothetical child of the ring pop had received a juice pouch from her hypothetical teammates after her hypothetical game....

Hypothetical Mom: Do not open your juice pouch. We don't want to spill juice on the church floor. You can drink your water....

You can see where this is going, can't you? No one ever accused you of being slow Dear Reader....

At about this time Hypothetical Dad is back with sandwiches to share with his hypothetical family between 2 games and 2 sets of team pictures....

Hypothetical Dad: I thought I heard your mom telling you not to open it....Oh well, it's open now, hurry up and drink it....

Let's pretend, just for a moment, now humor me here....that the hypothetical mom's head spun around so fast it nearly broke the sound barrier, and saw this hypothetically EXTREMELY DISOBEDIENT child sucking on a juice pouch....Now, let's pretend that hypothetical mom RIPPED the above juice pouch out her hypothetical child's hand and carried it to the trash herself.....

You see, Dear Reader, the hypothetical mom can learn a hypothetical lesson....Never trust a hypothetically EXTREMELY DISOBEDIENT child to actually throw away her treats!

The end.

Hypothetically, of course.

Disclaimer
This is a hypothetical situation. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the hypothetical author's imagination or are used hypothetically, and any resemblance to actual hypothetical persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. Hypothetically speaking, of course. 

Now, wasn't that fun?

For more choking fun, how's about I post a few more jollies for you to enjoy?  Of course, you will have to actually click on the links and FOLLOW them.  That may require more fortitude (read here: time) than you have at the moment.  If that is true, I will understand.  Barely.

How to Perform the Heimlich Maneuver.
Rasslin'  Attention:  this post has NOTHING to do with choking, but it popped up in my "choking" search for my blog.  And it made me laugh all over again.  So, I'm linking it.  Because it's my blog, and I can do that.

Need a Laugh?

After my last post of whining and complaining about the world at large, I decided to grant you all with a reprieve of laughter.

Have you heard of Mr. Obvious?  If not, you simply MUST listen to this.  It will totally make your day.  I promise.

Your welcome.

Pandora's Box of Curls

Since Halloween is officially over, I decided to clean the cobwebs from my light fixtures.

I officially change jobs this week.  I'm still working at Saints, but I will now be in float pool.  This basically means I have complete control over when and how long I work, but WHERE I work within the hospital will change from day to day.  I loved my old job, but needed more flexibility and my "AHA" moment came when I was talking with our band president the other day.  "Dawn works as a nurse, and it's the perfect career for a mom.  She just sets her schedule around her kids."

Such a simple statement.  But I was immediately taken back in time to my previous life as a pool nurse where I did that exact thing.  After much prayer I decided to change departments, and I must say I'm excited, although a little sad to leave a job that I love.

I am addicted to Pandora radio.  Specifically Michael Buble' radio.  I may have a tendency to turn to Paula Abdul, or New Kids on the Block, but they are passing aberrations and Michael will always seduce me back to his big band jazzy ways.

I was devastated that Dierks Bentley cut off his tousled curls.

 Perhaps I am having regression to my teen years, as I didn't know I was so attached to those curls until they were gone.  Sort of like the Bieber fans when he cut his hair.  Only I wept silently in my pillow instead of posting hate messages to him on twitter and facebook.

 Tomorrow is election day.  I keep hearing my dad's voice in my head saying, "Vote out the incumbent."  Except Tom Coburn.  But that's my opinion, not sure about Dad's there.  We also have some big questions on the ballot.  I need to read up on them today so I can vote knowledgeably tomorrow.  I've read through them once, but I need to make a cheat sheet so I don't screw it up.

Laundry is the enemy.  It never goes away.  Ever, ever, ever.

Yesterday my children's choir sang in church.  They did so well that I made them HOMEMADE popcorn and chocolate chip cookies.  They complained that the popcorn wasn't buttery or salty enough.  And half of them proceeded to throw away the treat bags I made them.  THEN, they complained that some of the cookies were too crispy and they threw those away too!  I was HORRIFIED.  Where are manners today?  My girls were shocked when they came into my class at the end and heard some of the "ungrateful wretches" complaining about their treats.  They were even more dismayed to see popcorn in the trash.  You see, I had used the very last of our popcorn to make the treat, so my kids didn't get to eat their traditional popcorn, cheese, and apple Sunday supper.

My choir members usually get to pick out a piece of candy if they behave during choir at the end of rehearsal, but I'm seriously considering not giving them any next week, citing their atrocious manners and general ungrateful attitudes from this past Sunday.  But it will probably not do any good, and they won't get what I'm talking about.

And it's really Disney Channel's fault.  (Not really, but we all need to point the blame at someone, right?)  Have you seen how disrespectful the kids are on those shows?  And it's presented as humorous.  My kids have been watching Leave it to Beaver and Andy Griffith, and even Dennis the Menace after school lately. We recently discovered Burns and Allen.  That show is hysterical! And George Burns was ANCIENT in that show.

 How come all of the parents in those sitcoms were so much older than the actual reflection of society, I wonder?  I know I sound like an old fogy, but they all had a "moral of the story" approach.  Now TV is just for entertainment (which I'm all for), with the intent to cram moral filth down our children's throats.  What I need to remember is that I CAN control what is brought into my home.  I may not be able to control what they hear in school, etc, but I CAN limit what is acceptable in my home.

So, I guess I will end this rambling go nowhere post with it's Pandora's box of rants and random thoughts.

What do YOU have planned for this week?  Make sure it includes voting tomorrow!