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 |  Breaking the laws of blogging, one entry at a time. |
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Wanted: For repeated blog faux pas, including, but not limited to: Obsessive ranting - guilty on 92 counts. Repeatedly beating a dead horse - guilty on 17 counts. Unnecessary use of curse words - guilty on 142 counts. Boring daily recounts - guilty on 45 counts. Pointless entries - guilty on 214 counts. Contradictory statements - guilty on 72 counts. Recounting toilet actions - guilty on 15 counts. Overdramatization of insignificant things - guilty on 152 counts. Overreacting to meaningless gestures - guilty on 22 counts. Unnecessary temper tantrums - guilty on 75 counts. Cruelty towards animals, superiors, peers, and inferiors - guilty on 146 counts. Repeated bad grammar, spelling, and opinionations - guilty on 214 counts. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Do not confront directly, instead call the authorities and slowly back away. Do not provoke suspect, as she is easy to agitate. The best action to take is to smile and nod. Any other response could lead suspect to rant and rave for days without ceasing. REWARD OFFERED FOR CAPTURE Dead or alive. Offending evidence: ![Merit Badge in Journaling
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Given for penning the favorite response entry in the Follow the Leader contest with "Come Again?"](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Journaling-2180.gif) (Exhibit A) ![Merit Badge in Variety
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Because I never knew what to expect from your Follow the Leader entries, but I'm oh so glad you played!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Variety-2500.gif) (Exhibit B) (Exhibit C) ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
Leading entry for "Invalid Item"  .I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do for my leading entry, especially since it's on Black Friday. I brainstormed hard because I take it very seriously that you are expecting me to make an entry that provokes thought and is worth the time it takes to read. I thought about making an entry about what I would gift each of you with, for Christmas, since today is the first shopping day of the holiday season, but that has already been done before as a response in another round, by MaryLou  if she won the lottery.Then, it came to me last night. The only problem was that I would actually have to do what I wanted to write about today before I wrote it. Since I thought it up at about 6:55 pm last night, it was already too dark and I was too lethargic, which equated to being too lazy. What did I have to do? Enquiring minds want to know, I'm sure. Well, I have a mild fear of bridges. By mild, I mean that I tend to want to close my eyes, even if I'm in the driver's seat, and keep them that way until we reach the other side. This fear came about when I lived in Kentucky. The only way to get from my house to my work, was to cross this narrow little bridge. That, in itself, wouldn't be scary, except that semi trucks who took up their full share of 1/2 of that bridge would always cross coming from the opposite direction each and every time I had to go to work. There would always be more than one, and I would always be terrified that one of them would scrape off my driver's side door. Okay, so what? I was going to drive across a bridge. Nah. Not even. That's not interesting enough. Instead, I was going to cross the walker's bridge about 1/2 a mile from my house. It's this steel contraption that goes up and over the road, enabling the school children to be able to cross the street without fear of getting hit. Instead, I fear that they'll be swept off in a strong wind and tossed miles down the road, during one of our winter storms. But, I digress... Yes, the intention was to cross this walking bridge, something I've never done before. I woke up about 9 am, and while the rest of the world seemed to be busy shopping, I walked down Westnedge to my destination. My heart pattered in a slow crescendo as I approached the walking bridge. I could see it getting larger with every step I took, until I was standing next to it, and it towered over me. I was intimidated, and felt silly for it. It's not like I was scaling the Empire State Building or something. I was going to walk up some stairs, until I was about 20 - 30 feet in the air, walk another 20 - 30 feet until I was across the road, and travel down some stairs on the other side until I was on the sidewalk. Did I mention I wasn't going to allow myself to close my eyes? So I started my journey, going up the stairs. It was a fairly calm day, so the breeze was barely there as I ascended up the metal archway. When I got to the top, I started walking slowly across towards the other side. My mere 145 pound frame should've been fine to cross the bridge without any problems, but I felt myself swaying back and forth just a teensy bit with each step. Then the slight breeze picked up into a gust of wind. Did you know that no breeze doesn't apply to 20 - 30 feet in the air? The wind caused the bridge to sway even more. I walked faster, then, so I wouldn't have to put myself through that again. And I got to the other side, unscathed, and down the other set of steps just as fast. The only determination I had, at that very moment, was to get the hell off that bridge. And I did. Then I turned around, and looked to the other side of the road. I had done it! Oh, the triumph! Only... as I peered at the other side of the road, I realized it was my side of the road. The side I was going to have to get back to if I wanted to go home, and I did want to go home. I just wasn't crossing that damn bridge again if I could help it. The only problem with that is that there's no way to safely cross South Westnedge Street in Kalamazoo, Michigan on the day after Thanksgiving without lowering your life expectancy to DEAD. At least, not without going to a crosswalk and going across at the light. Did I want the 1/2 mile to the nearest crosswalk? You bet your sweet asses I did. I wasn't crossing that damn bridge again for a million bucks, unless it was in a suitcase on the other side waiting for me. Only then, might I do it again. So, there you have it. For my leading entry, I did something I've never done before, and I'm proud of myself. I might never, ever do it again, but at least I did it for you all. |
I promise I'll get my leading entry as soon as I get done playing this video game.  |
| I almost left a comment in my own blog entry because I'm... uhm... a ditz? I forgot that I was reading my own entries. How bubblebrained is that? Too much turkey? Nah, I really didn't overeat this year. There's nothing good about overeating. It makes you feel all bloated and lethargic. I limited myself to one plate, but that doesn't mean I didn't eat enough to be satisfied with all of the wonderful flavors and aromas. You can fit quite a bit on a single plate if you arrange everything just so. I couldn't even eat all of my single piece of pie, so I didn't make myself. It was pumpkin pie, but it was too rich for my Splenda adapted taste buds. Of course, I haven't even had a diet soda in the past couple of weeks, let alone a full-power bad boy. My leading entry is tomorrow. I already know what I'm going to write. I just have to do what I'm going to write about first. I'm not giving any clues. You're welcome to guess, but you won't get any yay or nay response until after my entry's written. |
  At 20 months old  Yes, the first snow came even before Halloween...  Part of his Halloween costume.  The other part of his Halloween costume.  His Halloween costume and my Halloween costume.  He's so freaking cute I could squeeze him until he pops!  |
| Despite my lack of congestion, I have acute sinusitis severe enough to have also turned into an ear infection and tonsilitis. Fucking allergies. He gave me zithromax and told me to gargle with sea salt water for the next five days. I've already been gargling with sea salt water, so the only thing extra I have to do is take that damned evil antibiotic. I've lost 5 pounds since the last time I went to the doctor. I'd probably be happier if it wasn't caused by not eating more than chicken noodle soup for the past 4 days or so and not drinking any dairy or really anything other than water and tea. The chiropractor also gave me a good neck and shoulder cracking today. I'm already starting to feel better, as far as my throat goes, as in, I can actually swallow and not feel like my saliva is actually sandpaper. Between the zithromax (or z-pak or whatever the generic equivalent is these days) and the crackerbacker, I should be in good shape in the next couple of days. I'm always prone to those damned ear/nose/throat infections. Usually, though, I get all stuffed and have a cough, too. Not this time. I'd have never known I had a sinus infection because my sinuses have been pretty dry. |
| Leading entry: "Invalid Entry" We call Hunter's dad "Butthead," because, well, he is one. Never in front of Hunter, because we don't want him to start calling Scott, "Butthead," instead of, "Daddy," but it probably wouldn't be that embarassing even if he did. You have to know a man is going to make one hell of a father when he goes down to the ER to get a shot of pain killers because he can't go without his drugs long enough for the mother of his child to give birth. Yeah, Jill picked a winner with that one. Hunter's father, or lack thereof, made it necessary for Jill to lean a little on her parents and her older sister, Dawn, and Dawn's husband, Dan. Dan was pretty much the Dad that Hunter needed, helping teach him how to use the potty and giving him a male rolemodel. When Dan was helping potty train hunter, he would call Hunter's penis his, "man meat," like it made it less dirty to talk to a 3 year old boy about standing up to go pee if you used something as silly as "man meat" when referring to his genetalia. We were at Meijer one day and ran into Jill and Hunter. Hunter tugged at Jill's arm. "Mommy, I have to go potty." "OK, buddy." Jill started to walk away. "No, not with you. With Jason. You can't see my man meat." I swear every old lady within ear shot turned to look and we all tried really hard to not laugh. Hunter said it with every bit of seriousness, but you have to just shake your head at Uncle Dan's bright idea of referring to the male sex organ as "man meat." Ethan hasn't said too many of those priceless things, yet. Jason and I are pretty conservative around him with our language. The one time Jason slipped and said, "Shit!" Ethan repeated it. That was the last time any of those four-letter words were uttered in his presence. Today, because I had to go to the doctor, J's Mom came and picked him up to watch him while she ran her errands. She took him to Perkin's to pick up the lemon meringue pie. They pulled in the parking lot, and he said, "Mmmmm! Food! Yum!" When they got inside, she went to the counter, the girl brought her pie. "Ooooooh! Yum! It's pie!" Everyone in the restaurant got a kick out of that. You have to hear it to understand. It just isn't nearly as funny without hearing his version of yum. When she took him to pick her dog, Sam, up from the groomer's, he said, "We go buhbye in the car?" How come he never talks in full sentences when I'm there to hear it? |
| I think I might have strep throat. I looked in the mirror, stuck out my tongue, and tilted my head back a little to see my tonsils all swollen and bright red. I also have swollen glands, the size of queen marbles. They're sore to the touch. I looked up other symptoms of strep, and one of them is that it is unbareable in the morning but should improve after drinking warm water or gargling with salt water. Well, that had been working yesterday and the day before, but this morning it hasn't worked quite as well. It looks like I'm going to call the doctor's at around 9 when the office opens. Lovely. |
Two newsletters in one week! And sick, to boot!  I feel so accomplished!Tune into this week's Contest & Activities and Poetry newsletters. One I just picked up at about 7 pm, so I hope it doesn't disappoint. |
| Now that I'm all caught up, I followed the link in Katya's journal to the online palm reading... here is what my report said... Dear Melissa, Here is your personal palm reading! This will be a general reading of your palm, and what it says about you and your personality. Enjoy. First let's take a look at your Life Line. You have the best kind of Life Line, long and clearly marked. This shows that you will possess good health, vitality and a very nice life expectancy. The wavey quality of your Life Line does seem to indicate that you may experience variable health, and that you may not always be very energetic. The wide swooping motion of your Life Line indicates strength, enthusiasm and an improved love life. The little lines you see extending upward from your Life Line are representative of your ability to recuperate. The little lines you see extending downward from your Life Line are indicators of your tendency to waste your energy. For the most part, I agree with this. My health has been dodgy my entire life. I'm pretty enthusiastic at things I like to do, and I've gotten better at handling my life with Jason. I bounce back from stuff that gets a lot of people down, and I waste energy on stupid and negative things. A lot. Now let's see what your Head Line had to say. Your Head Line is deep, long and straight, stretching across the palm. This indicates a logical and direct way of thinking. The straighter the line, the more realistic the thinking, and the deeper the line, the better the memory. If your Head Line is forked near the middle of your palm, it shows an important new interest. If it is forked at the end, it shows a descent into second childhood. The joining of your Head Line and Life Line at the beginning indicates that your strong sense of mind generally rules over your body. You also look at childhood with a cautious and fearful outlook. I am very logical and direct, no matter how correct my logic or welcomed my directness is. My line isn't completely straight, so it shows that not all of my thinking is realistic, but the line is pretty deep. I don't consider myself a deep thinker, though. I fork in the middle. I guess my important new interest could be scrapbooking. And I do have a huge belief in mind-over-body. I don't know that I look at childhood like that, though. In some ways, I guess. The last line we'll look at is your Heart Line. A selfish and materialistic look at love is characteristic to those like you whose Heart Line start below the middle finger. A long Heart Line like yours, running almost all the way across the palm, represents an idealist in love. In love you tend to look for those whose status rises above your own, and you have a great respect for them. Those little lines you see running downward from your Heart Line indicate disappointments in love. I consider myself incredibly selfish and materialistic when it comes to love. I have a lot of ideals, including the sanctity of marriage, that divorce is way too common, and that everyone can work out their differences once they've made that commitment. I have had a lot of love disappointments, but who hasn't. The mixed hand is a sign of versatility. You have a mixed hand which means that you are more likely to be a generalist, instead of a specialist. You combine creativity and practicality in equal parts. As far as careers are concerned for the owners of the mixed hand, don't be surprised if you end up as a teacher, a journalist or even on the business side of the creative arts. This I find to be incredibly accurate. I have a vast knowledge base, but no real expert knowledge in any of the areas I know. I've always wanted to be a teacher and I want to open a scrapbooking store. We hope that gives you a little more insight into your personality, and your palm. Thanks for visiting us. Your friend, The OFE Palm Reader |
| Leading entry: "Reading My Own Palm" I don't know if I believe in the accuracy of the zodiac or things like having our palms or cards read. Perhaps there is a certain level of accuracy, but only in that something from every kind of reading is going to apply to any member of the population at random. Oddly enough, with all of my cynicism in the reality involved in having a psychic reading, a tarot reading, or a palm reading, I have paid to have two of the three done. First, I decided it would be fun, for Bre's bachelor party, if we all went to Louisville and had a psychic reading. It was purely for entertainment purposes, but it did leave for an eery experience. Bre ended up freaking out and almost calling off her wedding. That was certainly not the intentions I had when I set up the appointment. I was just trying to get away from the whole going-to-a-club-and-making-asses-out-of-ourselves thing. We did manage to avoid the club scene, but we still made asses out of ourselves. Not long after that, we all went on a girls' trip to Lexington and paid for a tarot reading. I got the hangman, which represents change. I believed every word of that reading for a long time, until I realized every single one of us got the hangman. We were all in college. Of course we were going to have change soon. I also had love ending and love beginning. We know how that turned out, don't we. Not long after that, I found out Anthony had been with that 16-year-old tramp, and love ended. Jason didn't come into the picture for a year or so afterwards, but love began again. Of course, we all have situations where love may end and then begin again. We say goodbye to loved ones through death, we welcome new loved ones through birth. We make friends who become enemies and enemies who become friends. There's nothing insightful about that coming up in the cards. I also pulled a card that represented a very important decision before me. Well, duh. I was only 2 semesters shy of graduation. I had my whole life to decide upon. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? Etc, etc, etc. I'm very cynical about the "spirituality" involved with horoscopes and the like. To me, the only thing they do is slow down our thought process with each decision we make, mostly because the readings are always so vague and can apply to whatever we want it to. Could this be the situation the tarot reader talked about? We spend the next seventeen months questioning every situation based upon what a palmist, a taroist, or a psychic says. Maybe not that long, but it seems like it after the fact, anyway. |
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Whatever you do, hang in there, he'll be sleeping like a big boy in no time!