Boudicca Has Left the Building

Blogger ate my first post. That is fitting since I'm outta here.

Want to continue reading the stuff in my head? Go HERE. That's right folks, Boudicca's Voice has moved. Change your blogrolls, change your faves, change it all and make it www.boudiccasvoice.mu.nu.

And when you see my awesome banner and all the cool stuff... just think to yourself, Pam is truly the most gifted girl in the world... she did it ALL.

On a lighter note...

On a much lighter note today… in particular, My BLOOD family, READ THESE LINKS!!!

If you missed this at Tammi’s, you really missed out. In my heyday, I definitely could see myself doing THIS. Although I have to confess, I would have probably still been clueless as to what type of establishment I was really visiting and then I would have been horrified, making me even MORE angry at the situation. Cracks me up.

I can definitely see my sister, Morrigan, doing THIS.

And I can most assuredly see something like THIS happening to me… but fortunately, my boys don’t sleep in footy jammies. We live in S. Florida. They prefer just their underwear.

Help! It's Closed and She Can't Get OUT!

I think I blogged I had a funeral to go to on Friday, the second in the week. I go to a lot of funerals, probably averaging one a month to every other month. Trust me, I don’t sit down at the obits every morning and say, “Babe! I think I’ll take myself to a funeral this morning!” I don’t LIKE going to them, but I’m in some organizations that have a lot of elderly women in them, women I care about, so when they die or their spouses die, I give my respects. It is the right thing to do.

Now my reactions to these funerals vary. The first few years, I was a mess, turning into a small salty puddle in the church pews. One time I ran out of tissues and I had women passing me a box from the other end. That was lovely. We still joke about that funeral, even though that one hit too close to home and my throat still closes off when I think about it. Now, however, as horrible as it is, I don’t cry anymore… even if I truly cared for the women.

I don’t know when it started, this not crying thing, but I think it may have been last year when I was in hospice holding the hand of a friend of mine who was dying. I cried for her at her bed, as she lay unconscious and unable to speak to me. This vivacious woman who had done so much for me, brought me so much laughter, laying in a bed struggling to die as hospice did their thing and kept her out of pain. I did not cry at her funeral. I was relieved for her.

Or it may have been the funeral I went to a couple years ago… the funeral of a husband. It began with the wife, who I know well, being 15 minutes late to his funeral, el-flake-o that she is, and ended to our great surprise when we realized her husband had been a Narcotics Anonymous member and the funeral turned into an NA meeting. Wow, that’s a blogworthy funeral. I didn’t cry at that one either… perhaps that one started the trend.

So over the years I’ve helped the living grieve, I’ve held their hands, assisted them in standing as they received people and found they no longer had the strength, but had the will. I’ve helped plan the funerals, brought food to the survivors, and pretty much have done what I can to help them through their transition. I’m not an expert on funerals, but trust me, at 39, there’s nobody around who’s got more experience than me… unless of course if they work in the funeral field.

Back to Friday, I knew I had to leave early as it was a half day of school for my boys and the service started at 11:00 and I had to get my boys at 11:50. So I expressed my condolences to the daughters and told them I could not stay for the service, as much as I wanted to, as I’d have to leave early. They said to me, “NO, please stay. Just sit in the back and slip out when you have to.” So that is what I did.

The church was oddly shaped and does not have a large congregation, so it’s only 6 aisles deep, BUT the aisles wrap around in an enormous semi-circle to the pulpit. Very cool. I sat in the 4th aisle, right behind one of my best friends, who happens to be 73 and her neighbor, who is probably around 80. (I state their age to give you an idea that they have also done many funerals.)

The deceased was lying in an open casket in the front of the pulpit. So to look at the preacher meant you had to look over her body. I’ve been to a ceremony similar to this, but I must admit, most I attend are open in a funeral home or closed in the church. Not open in the church. The one I did attend that was open in the church, we all shuffled past him at the end of the service, then after we were all gone, they closed the casket, loaded it up and we went to the burial.

Not this time. We’re sitting there, the organist stops, the funeral home folks walk up, they fold in that liner thing around her body (probably a 4 inch overlap onto her body) making sure it doesn’t touch her face… then… THEY CLOSE THE LID! WITH US WATCHING! I sat there for a minute as I watched the lid close down upon this woman’s body… then I quietly leaned forward and said in hushed whisper to the ladies in front of me (who I have now noticed each have an eyebrow raised), “Is it just me, or is that not a common thing? I do believe I have never been to a funeral where they closed up the body in front of everyone.” They both said, “We have never seen this done before.” Then I said, one last comment, “I’m sorry, but that was creepy” and I leaned back in my seat.

It was very creepy. I don’t know why. It is psychological for sure, but just seeing her body closed up… Blech.

That creeped out feeling wore off though because soon we were singing all my favorite hymns. I do not dance, but I love to sing in church… and I love to sing at funerals even though I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I find it soothing to the soul.

Those Tricky 'M' Words will Get you Every Time

The boys had soccer this evening. Bones (Son#3) has his at 5:30 and the older two at 6:30. My husband took my oldest to grab something to eat, my middle son is under the weather so he stayed with me at Bones's practice as he wasn’t going to his own.

Water break time, and Bones runs up to me and says, “Mom! I know the name of our team! It’s The Maggots.”

Me: The Maggots? Are you sure?
Bones: Yup.
Me: REeeeeaaally. The Maggots.
Bones: Yup, The Maggots.

Off he bounds to the field, hippety skippety, not a care in the world. I look at my 8 year old and he raises and eyebrow and says, “The Maggots?” to which I reply, “Heh. Evidently.”

Son#2: Mom… do you REALLY think it’s the Maggots?

Me: No, I don’t. It’s going to be interesting to see what it really is, isn’t it?

Son#2 proceeds to do little ‘Go Maggot’ cheers while sitting next to me.

I’m looking at Bones’ soccer coach, and she’s this tall athletic cuter ‘nallgetout blonde… she reminds me a lot of Teresa of Technicalities. I can tell that all the Dads are going to REALLY REALLY WANT to go to these games. She’s really cheerful and great with the kids. She’s divided them into two teams, giving every kid some Disney character name… which is fitting… because…

When I got the flyer at the end of practice, it said the name of the team was The 'insert city here' MAGIC. Yup. Magic.

Magic, maggots, maggots, magic... I guess I get it. Magic to one person is nothing but Maggots to another. I think he’d be happier to be the Maggots.

Clean and Clear

I went to the dermatologist today. I finally found a GREAT guy. Awesome, awesome, awesome guy. The doctor I went to last year… where she was nice, her priorities and mine were not in the same order.

For instance, I have what I call Karate feet. For 3 years I trained Karate, just recently quitting when our dojo closed, and my feet are heavily calloused. It does not bother me in the least. I go to see her about some SERIOUS issues and she kept focusing on my feet and how I need to moisturize them. Please. I looked at her and said, “They’re FEET. They are functional tools. I’m doing nothing to them.” End of story.

Did she catch the fact I have rosacea? No. And to those who know this skin disorder, it is obvious. She should have frickin’ caught it. (No, I do not have a red bulbous nose! I just have no real need for blush.)

So flash forward to today. New GREAT and Awesome dermatologist walks in, shakes my hand and says, “So, tell me, how long have you had rosacea?” and my reply was, “I don’t know, but I was diagnosed with it by my MOM in July.”

That’s right. My frickin’ MOM diagnosed me with it this past summer and gave me some of her extra gel for it until I got in with a doctor to get my own. Did I say my Mom isn’t a doctor? She isn’t. So why is it that she catches it as soon as I walk in the door to visit last year and my then dermatologist has me in her office no less than 3 times in 2 weeks and she NEVER catches it?

But, it’s officially diagnosed now and he gave me good stuff to clear it up. My skin should be clear and pink within the next few weeks and I’m very excited. I kept saying, “Now, you’re sure that this skin problem I have is NOT a factor of age… that I’m 39, about to turn 40 and it’s not some hormonal issue I have to deal with like being 16?” and he said, ‘NO, I assure you, all of this (he ran his hands over my face) is rosacea. All of it.”

Thank heavens for my Mom… who is the one who figured it out first… and pushed me to see someone else.

And the other positive thing is he carried on about how great my skin is (other than my face)… no visible skin damage yet, considering I spent my entire growing up years in the tropics… Hawaii, Taipei, Taiwan, California, Florida… courtesy of the United States Navy, and with that came a lot of serious ‘sun time’. I tan, unlike a lot of those of Celtic heritage, and this is in part due to the fact my Mom has some French and German thrown in. (I'm brown haired, blue eyed, white skinned... but I tan.) So we can withstand some sun… we don’t readily burn as, for instance, The Great Omnipotent One who is 100% Scottish with a wee bit of Irish heritage.

It appears I got blessed with her good skin genes. My Mom looks great. A couple years ago, I was in the car with my husband and we were talking about someone I thought looked rather old and my husband said this person was my Mom’s age. I said, “NO.WAY. She doesn’t look anywhere like my Mom. My Mom doesn’t look anything like that!” to which my husband in turn said, “Babe, don’t ever use YOUR Mom as a yard stick to measuring others. That’s not fair to everyone else. Your Mom looks frickin’ awesome.”

So good news all around. The damage I did to my skin isn’t appearing yet and my face should be clearing up. We’ll check again next year…

Work in Progress

Yeah, if you have a blog and you check your sitemeter, you may have seen my other site come up. I'm working on it. I'm not blogging from there. I have started to put my links up and I've been testing them. So if you see it, ignore it. I'll announce the move when it happens.

As of now, I tweak some things, get frustrated, cuss at my computer, throw up my hands, and move on to something else. I hate this. I really do. I don't have the time to learn anything new, I don't.

So it will happen... it's just taking awhile. I will announce when it's ready. Until then, no breath holding please.

Vultures or No Vultures... That is the Question

Are those big ass turkey vultures all over or is this a S. Florida thing? We get these big black vultures that are just scary looking as they hop around the carcass of which they are feeding. Let me tell you… there is nothing quite like coming home and finding 30-50 big black turkey vultures in your front yard as a possum, armadillo, or raccoon went feet up in your front yard over night. Your yard looks like something out of Halloween. Nothing quite screams “SOMETHING IS DEAD IN MY YARD” like a flock of vultures covering every square inch of grass, hanging out in your trees and leering from your roof.

Then you’re stuck. Do you shoe them all off, grab a shovel and scoop up the half eaten dead smelly bug and fly infested carcass only to then wonder where in the hell you’re going to put it? You sure as heck can’t throw it in the neighbor’s yard…although there are a few neighbors I’ve been tempted to do that to. And you can’t put it in your garbage can. Blech. Think 90 degrees, black garbage can with 3 days before garbage pick up. No.thank.you. Not only could I NOT do that to my garbage man, but I can’t frickin’ do that to ME! Ack. The permanent smell of decomposition…

OR do you just let the vultures do their job and deal with 2 days of your front lawn being covered in row upon row of big black hopping ugly nasty birds as well as 20 in your trees and another 20 lining the roof of your home?

I let the vultures do their thing. It’s a nature thing. Plus… I’m not sure where I’d put that nasty carcass… and there is of course… a vomit factor. I might puke having to shovel up a half eaten, rotten, swollen dead mammal body. Best let the vultures do their thing and let my house look like Halloween.

It IS a Need

One of my favorite bloggers, Jack of Random Fate has an interesting post on why he blogs HERE. I liked all of it, but this caught my eye, “I write because I NEED to write. Those who write, understand, those who do not, will not understand.”

Yup. I get it. That’s the nice thing about blogging. I’m not the great American novel kinda gal. I’ll never write fiction. I’ll never do the research for non-fiction. I could do a newspaper column, perhaps, but that’s not happening. One of the many reasons I blog… “I write because I NEED to write.”

I was writing before I was blogging and when I stop blogging, I will continue to write. It isn’t uncommon for me to open a word document and just write for an hour, stream of consciousness about anything and everything… and then hit delete.

I write because I NEED to write. Jack nailed it.

I'm Not Sure What They Don't Get

So tell me, is it the sole purpose in an extroverted person’s life to make those of us who are NOT miserable? I’m thinking so.

I was at a dinner last night, one with a lot of dancing, drinking, and carrying on. I don’t dance nor do I drink. And for the record, I did not want to go, but it was for my husband’s job, so I went and I made sure I had a nice time so he wouldn’t have to deal with the whole bitchy wife thing. I found people I could talk to while he did his thing, I made sure I found people who could make me laugh a lot so he woudn’t feel like he dragged me out and I was miserable. It was important for him that I have a nice time, so I did what I could.

The older I get, the more withdrawn I become. It is what it is… I like me, I have no desire to change. For anyone.

People seem to be cool with the fact I don’t drink, but they have real issues with the fact that I won’t dance. I used to dance, but for 14 years, we would be places and I would say to my husband, “Ohhh! Let’s dance” and I would get, “No. I don’t like this song.” He didn’t like any of them. Ever. Weddings, family parties, anywhere, he never liked the song. I never got to dance. Within the last 2 years, my husband has started hanging out with a lot of people who dance… a lot. Salsa, ballroom, whatever, they all dance. We go places now and he’ll say, “Let’s dance” and I flat out tell him no. I haven’t danced in so long, that now I feel self conscious and really, I just don’t want to. So I don’t.

I take so much crap for it. People won’t leave me alone. I had this tall sultry woman my spouse knew come up to me last night and say something about dancing with my husband. I misunderstood her and said, “Oh! You can go dance with him! Have at it!” and I cheerfully waved them towards the dance floor and she said, “No, no, no, I wanted to know why you aren’t dancing with your gorgeous husband.” I found that to be pretty damn nervy. I went stone cold and said, “I don’t dance. Feel free to dance with him if you’d like. I think he’d like to be out there.” She walked away.

It is not as if I would get angry if he danced with other women. It doesn’t bother me in the least. He can dance with any and every woman in the room. I don’t care. I really don’t. I’m not the jealous type. I know ultimately he goes home with ME and sleeps in MY bed. There was a tall beautiful metropolitan exotic Asian woman who flew in from NYC with some of my husband’s colleagues. All the men were dancing with her… some of them dirty dancing with her. If he had wanted to be so bold… I would have said, “Go for it!”. Doesn’t phase me.

I’m not punishing him. I just don’t feel like I should have to do something I just really really don’t want to do. To me, it’s a big enough compromise on MY part that I attend these events. I mean for years he didn’t want to dance, and I didn’t force the issue. And he IS NOT forcing the issue. He only asks once, he doesn’t harass me, he’s not a jerk. I always tell him there are a lot of lovely women out there, he can dance with anyone he wants, it just won’t be me. He’s cool with it. It’s the other people who aren’t cool with it and it’s really starting to piss me off. They need to back the hell off.

And I don’t get this whole obligatory spouse crap. I have to do this social crap with him far more than I like. People give him SO MUCH crap if I don’t go. If I’m not there, he immediately gets, “Where’s your wife? Are you REALLY married? Why doesn’t she come with you?” and… here’s the kicker that gets to me… it’s even when he’s out of town. Like I can just drop what I’m doing, abandon my kids and fly with him to all these places he goes so I can hang with people I don’t really know, don’t want to know, and have dinner with them to boot. We have children, not dogs. If one of us is traveling the other must be home with them. You don’t kennel children.

I would make a terrible wife of a politician. I can’t do this stuff. I’m not cut out for it and it really does make me miserable. If he ever decided that his calling was a public life, like in politics, I’d have to leave him on the grounds I didn’t sign up for that. Seriously. Some people are extroverted party, love to be around other people, feed off the energy of the room, kind of folks and some people just aren’t. And for some reason, those of us who just aren’t, are considered freaks by those who are. I don’t get it.

And this isn’t a rant about my spouse. He’s not a jerk. It’s about all these folks I encounter… Blech. From the people who won’t leave me alone about dancing (men and women alike) to the folks who carry on about how I don’t join them in New York or I missed the last cocktail party or whatever. I want to tell them to back off, butt out, and get a clue. I have three kids. I don’t globe trot and party. I have responsibilities. I'm on the verge of cutting them off at the knees.

I Think I KNEW This Answer

This explains a lot. I think. It just kinda confirms what I already knew… even though it’s a quiz. HMMM.

Your Brain is 40.00% Female, 60.00% Male

You have a total boy brain Logical and detailed, you tend to look at the facts And while your emotions do sway you sometimes... You never like to get feelings too involved

What Gender Is Your Brain?

Hat tip to Blog Sis Tammi.

Carnival of Recipes is UP!

Ted of Rocket Jones has the next Carnival of Recipes up and let me tell you, he's a funny guy. I've been going through his blog. I like him. And not just because we share the same birthday...

Go HERE to see his story and the recipes...

One More Week

I’ve been in charge of seating for a Fashion Show Benefit to be held tomorrow (Saturday). What a pain in my neck. The show benefits veterans and children. I’ve been entrenched in it for coming up on eight years. I chaired it for 2 years, I’ve done seating for nearly 8, and I’ve had to model a few times. Now before any of you who don’t know me get any ideas of what I look like, I’m not some tall skinny model type. I just happen to be younger than everyone else by about 20-40 years. They see young they think, “model” and it doesn’t matter that my body is now gross, overstretched and flat out icky… because it looks better than theirs.

This happens to be an election year for our State organization so anyone who is running for office is coming to this Benefit, to be seen, to garner votes. We’re upwards of 200 women coming as of now. Well… as in any organization, not everyone gets along with everyone else. Over the years, bridges have been burned, things said that should not have been, and feelings have been hurt. Unfortunately, because I’m so involved, and because I spend a lot of time observing, I am fully aware of who gets along with who. It’s one of the reasons they like having me in the job. I don’t talk about it… nobody knows who likes who… except me.

Now, it is probably irrelevant, and I should probably just sit anyone where ever I want, screw them all, but I can’t do that. It’s just not right. When I invite someone into my home, I want everyone to be comfortable. (It is my chapter hosting this.) Yes, I do expect everyone will have their manners and they would… trust me, there would be NO catfights, but why in the world make someone feel uncomfortable if you don’t have to.

So for 3 days, I’ve been cutting and pasting, dropping and dragging, and as people have been calling in and canceling due to the flu, I’ve been rearranging tables to maximize space in the room as the place we’re having it completely screwed us over and we’re pressed for space. Meanwhile… I have the whole issue of someone has to have the tables that just aren’t quite as desirable as others and since *I’M* the one doing the seating, *I’M* the one that will have to deal with their crap. As I do every year.

I’m pretty much over it and if anyone complains, I’m shoving the seating chart in their faces and saying, “Oh! It is so nice that you volunteered to do this next year. Give me your e-mail address so I can send you the files.”

And I still have 1 more week until the big cocktail party that I’ve been putting together. One more week… and the big stuff is over. I cannot frickin’ wait.

Menage a Trois... Why Don't I Remember THIS?

So I get this e-mail yesterday… a sort of confession. A confession… that I am a blogmama again. Nothing quite like having someone knock on your door and say, “Mom?” Heh. You’d think I’d have had AT LEAST some inkling of the gestational period. Some Earthly idea. None. No morning sickness, no headaches, no food aversions, no nuthin’. On the plus side… there was no weight gain either. Thank God for small favors.

So as we’re e-mailing and I’m trying to piece how he was conceived, I find out he was waiting to see who discovered him first in their sitemeter. Now since he already has a website, I had seen the prefix in my sitemeter, but never bothered to notice the suffix was different… but SOMEBODY did. Yeah, he was discovered by his Aunt Tammi.

Now this is where it gets kinda sticky… because… well… because… this is once again a case of where our family tree doesn’t fork. I want to know who the father is afterall… I mean, there has to be a father, afterall I have TWO. And… then I find out… his father is… MY FATHERS. Holy Guacamole… yet another incestuous relationship in the Bad Example family… but this time, we add my blog father Grau in the mix too. So it’s me, Grau, and Harv… with our new spawn… Contagion.

Now a couple questions are in my mind… first… how much child support do I get here? The kid was born in December… I mean, I get something right? This is America afterall…

And, wait, did I enjoy this tryst because I am most certainly enjoying the fruit of it…

With that… my new blog offspring, courtesy of what must’ve been some blogospheric drunken threesome, which is just oh so very appropriate given the nature of my blogson and his sense of humor… Contagion… And it is HERE. Add him to your blogrolls folks.

He’s a re-enactor, best real life buddy of Grau, Packers fan, husband and father of two… funny guy… a good guy. He’s one of the reasons I kept going back to Grau’s… Grau has great friends.

And Grau and Harv, HEH! Are you surprised? Nothin' quite like a woman showing up on your blogospheric doorstep with her hand out saying, "I do believe he's YOURS and pay up, chump!" Heh heh heh!

As for Tammi... we're waiting to see this newest family tree. Oh Yeah, babeeee!

10 Years of Happy Birthdays

Today is my eldest’s birthday… he is 10. My nickname for him, when I do bother to call him by one, is Brown Bear. Of my three, he is the darkest, the one that looks the most like my husband’s Italian heritage. Deep brown eyes, dark hair, and skin that browns a beautiful bronze in the sun, kind heart, infectious belly laugh, and a voracious appetite for books… that is my oldest boy. He doesn't like the girls now, but in time, he will be fighting them off... he will be 5'6", broad shouldered, lean muscled and will have a deep throaty laugh.

It is hard to believe he is 10 today. 10 years ago at 9PM I became a parent. I won’t go into the whole birth thing as it wasn’t easy and rather miserable to be honest; you know you’re body has been through hell when the first thing the doctor says when the baby’s head pops out is, “Whoa. Big Head.”

And… from there… most of his nicknames his first year dealt with the fact he had a big head. “HEED!” from So I Married an Axe Murderer was frequent. My brother took to calling him Pangea at one point… as you could see this ridge on top of his big round head and it's just what if looked like. He still has the ridge. He had so many nicknames, that by his first birthday, he wasn’t sure what his real name was in fact. Two stuck: Little G (as he is named for his father and their name starts with ‘G’) and Brown Bear, as he is brown skinned and has this sweet fuzz on his back.

So… since he is 10… I will list 10 things I love about my boy. Not the top 10, just 10.

· I love how he belly laughs to the point he nearly cries.
· I love how he already sees the absurdity of things and is able to laugh at it.
· I love how he loves to read.
· I love how he smells all mosty toasty when he wakes up in the morning.
· I love how he has a little swirly patch of fuzz on his cheek and wonder how his beard will grow there one day.
· I love how he still can’t stand girls, but shyly admitted to me that there is one he talks to… because he can.
· I love how he knows about ‘things’ but still believes in Santa.
· I love when I ask him to stick with his 8 year old brother for a minute while I run into a restroom with the youngest, he puts his arm protectively around his brother’s shoulders.
· I love how he doesn’t hesitate to hold his brothers’ hand when he’s in a store… he will take their hand to guide and protect them.
· I love that he’ll still curl up next to me on the couch and snuggle for kisses.

My heart aches with the love I have for my boy. Happy Birthday to my Brown Bear.

Books and Announcements

I gotta update my blogroll folks and for those of you wondering... I am slowly getting my act together for moving outta this joint. Patience is a virtue. I'm just trying to stay sane.

Big announcement coming tomorrow... I just didn't want it overshadowed by my son's birthday. It deserves a spot of it's own. Heh!

OK, from Mike The Librarian HERE, who I AM adding to my blogroll next update, we have this book meme. I guess this is a meme. I think it's easy for any of you bloggers who read... which would be... ALLLLL of you!

1. Grab the nearest book
   
2. Open the book to page 123
   
3. Find the fifth sentence
   
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog, along with these instructions.
   
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it. Just grab what is closest!

OK, from my myriad books strewn all over my desk, I closed my eyes and grabbed "The Loop" by Nicholas Evans. (The author of the Horse Whisperer.) Not a great book, but not a bad one either and it kept me satiated one weekend.

"The two of them rode out before dawn under a mottled November moon that lit the breath of the horses and made shadows of them on the sequined snow. An hour later they were up in the forest, standing silent with the horses on a high crag while they looked back to see the sun scale th world's rim and turn the snow-swept plains to a sea of crimson.

His father always knew wher they were most likely to find elk."

I keep this book on my desk as there is a quote in the front from a Sioux Indian that I find relevant in my life. One day I'll throw it out there for everyone to see.

Carnival of the Recipes

My life has been too hectic to enter into the Carnival, but today, I will enter the recipe requested by my eldest for his birthday. Salmon.

Sante Fe Salmon

1 1/2 lbs salmon fillets (ask for the skin to be removed)
salt and pepper
1 (10 ounce) can of diced tomatoes with basil, oregano, and garlic (it comes this way), DRAINED WELL
1/2 Cup Mayo (light mayo works too)

Cut salmon into 4 servings and season with salt and pepper.

Preheat large skillet for 2-3 minutes. Combine the mayo and tomatoes in a good sized bowl.

Coat both sides of Salmon with tomato mixture and place in skillet. Add remaining tomato mixture to pan and cover. Cook 3-5 min on each side until internal temp gets to 145 deg. Cook time varies depending on thickness of the fillets.

I serve this with wild rice.

Inside Joke...

OK, I have to blog an inside joke to my blood family... that would be Morrigan, Toluca Nole, The Great Omnipotent One and Mom, for those of you not in the know. To any new readers, yes, my family reads my blog... awful language and all. It's an easy way to keep the pulse on the funny stories of my 3 boys.

Anyway... Fam... Go HERE and any one of y'all that this does NOT apply to, please step forward. Uh... Mom... not so fast. *grin* And maybe Morrigan... you might should step back too... heh heh heh.

Thai Poetry

Blog Father Harvey is guest blogging for my sweet blogbro That1Guy and he is posting on his R&R in Thailand HERE. Picture and all, folks. Over at his own site, he posted he was guest poster and the topic came up of Thailand and adult entertainment… which reminded me of a story... of course.

And yes, I am fully aware that my friend and I could have gotten fired for this… sexual harassment and all that jazz.

I was 22 at my old place of work, so this was 17 years ago. I hung around with a group of guys my age that hired in about a year before me. We did defense work for the Thai military too and one of my best guy friends was slated to go there on a business trip.

Well, MY group was comprised of mostly retired military men, so every time my buddy would walk down the aisle, they would go into great detail as to what he would ‘find’ over in Thailand for his trip… in the adult entertainment industry. The more I heard, the more I got concerned for my buddy’s ‘safety’ and well being, because afterall, I am a 'safety girl'. So the day before his trip, I went to the area drugstore and bought this enormous assortment of condoms, every color, texture, style you can imagine. I put them in a big bag with lots of fluffy tissue paper and when he came to my desk that next day, I said, “Here. It’s for your trip.”

He cracked up, thanked me and his parting words to me were, “I’m going to get even. You know that don’t you?”

Sure enough, 2 weeks later upon arriving home from his trip, he has with him a really fun watch he bought for me from some cheap street vendor and a big T-shirt with BIG pink bubble letters. Except… they weren’t bubbles. They were cartoon p-enis’s with arms and their hat was a condom they had on the tip of their ‘heads’ (oh, I hated putting it like that… but it is what it is) and they spelled out (you know... like using your arms to spell out YMCA during the song, except they used their 'bodies'), “Aids kills, don’t be silly, put a condom on that willy”. The guys in my aisle were dying. I was laughing so hard, I was crying. Of course I was 3 shades of pink... matching my new t-shirt.

I think I still have that t-shirt.

I'm a Moron... Part II

OK, before I continue with yesterday’s post… yes there was more… I will tell you that I passed the corporate communications part of my company compliance training. (I don't know who developed our software, but I gather national requirments for this are the same everywhere.) I hated every minute of it and still didn’t get 100%, but that’s because they have me all freaked out about anti-trust, corporate monopolies, and a range of other crap, so I still put I’d 'seek counsel' once when they said I didn’t need to.

Anyway… more from yesterday.

In an absolute self loathing snit, I called one of my good friends that works for the same company I work for now, and who also worked with me at my old company. He’s known me for about… 17 years I guess. The way back years… So, I get in my car, going to pick up the kids and I ring him at the office and it went something like this:

Me: Have you taken that frickin’ compliance training?
Him: Yeahhhhhh, pretty dry stuff. Six of the 10 modules.
Me: Did you pass all it all?
Him: (silence) Yessss…
Me: I f---ing failed one. Can you f---ing believe it? I failed the f---ing corporate communication.
Him: Really?
Me: yes. I don’t belong working anymore. I should just go back home and do what I was doing before. The computer system password system is whacking me out and I can’t pass the f---ing compliance test. This sucks. I suck. I hate this. I shouldn’t be working.
Him: (silence… again) Ummm, we aren’t prone to over reacting much, are we?

Heh.

While on the phone with my sister, it went something like this:

Morrigan: did you print out the answers?
Me: What?
Morrigan: Did you print out the answers after you failed it. You know, hit print.
Me: NO! Why would I do that?
Morrigan: Beeeeeecaaaausssse, it will be the same questions next time you take it.
Me: (quiet for a minute) Are you serious? It’s not some random generated question thing where they’ll now give me 20 new legal questions?
Morrigan: No. Next time print them out.

Can you believe it?

So I take the test today and I’m talking to Mr. Magoo (remember, I have that co-worker that looks like him) and he says, “Damn test. I failed that one 3 times. You know what the problem is? We don’t give a crap about that stuff. All that legal mumbo jumbo. What a bunch of crap. I finally figured it out… print out the answers… so when you take it the next time, they just reorder them, throw in a few extra and you’ll pass.”

Now I know.

I took the Sexual Harassment part and passed. I missed one. It was on whether someone gets fired immediately if they flagrantly harass someone and I said that no, they got a warning. I guess not always. I didn’t think it through. Just because it seemed like at my old company someone could get molested in the hallways and nothing would happen, doesn’t mean that’s the norm. Anyway, I’ve been the victim of some pretty nasty harassment and what they say to do and what you have the guts to do are two different things… especially when your boss is harassing you and he’s best buddies with your Manager… who is the company golden boy. Brought back lots of bad bad memories, but one of the scenarios reinforced that I handled it the best way for me. They shouldn’t make blanket statements on what you SHOULD do. They can recommend, but that is all.