Monday, April 04, 2005

Monday

Sherri's Monday reader poll. Lasadh.com wouldn't let me post my response. Here it is:

1. What is your typical weekday bedtime? 11:00ish

2. What is your typical weekday rise and shine time? 7:00ish

3. In what position do you usually fall asleep? On my stomach, arms under my head and around my pillow, one leg draped over the girl beside me.

4. In what position do you usually wake up? on my side sandwiched between two puppies

5. What size bed do you have? Queen

6. Headboard? Footboard? both

7. Do you have any remedies for insomnia? Boring documentaries on the Discovery channel. It worked in high school biology and it still works now.

8. Do you read in bed? Yes.

9. Do you watch TV in bed? Sometimes. If I'm not ready to sleep and I don't have anything to read, I usually watch South Park.

10. How many hours of sleep did you get last night? about 8, I think.

I don't know what to call this.

This comes to you from HDL via Sherri. I'm still waiting for Sherri's Monday Poll, so I thought I'd do this in the meantime.


Ten years ago I:

1. Reading Plato in Greek at Mary Washington College.
2. Dating a guy who looked like Kermit.
3. really wanted to move to Alaska.
4. Sleeping in a top bunk.


Five years ago I:

1. was living in Eugene, OR.
2. was getting a new tatoo (Pinkerbelle left arm).
3. was moving in with P for the first time.
4. was trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.


Two years ago I:

1. adopted my Bella!
2. met P's family for the first time.
3. moved into the house we live in now.
4. was trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.


One year ago I:

1. was really stressed out.
2. started taking medicine to buffer my anxiety.
3. had to be on call for my job and cursed my life every time the pager went off.
4. still couldn't figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.


Yesterday I:

1. played a video game all day.
2. took a long nap.
3. was really stoked about the weather.
4. seriously considered what I was going to be when I grew up.


Today I:

1. was late to work.
2. took out the trash.
3. considered giving my dogs away to strangers if they pooped in my closet one more time.
4. will clean my house when I get home.


Tomorrow I:

1. will probably be late to work.
2. will exercise after work.
3. will call my mother.
4. will grow up.

Friday, April 01, 2005

WELCOME!

If you’re dropping by via SPD: Welcome!

My Internet provider has decided that high-speed Internet is best received in five minute increments. I need to fire them. But in the meantime, they continue to make my life hell and prevent me from posting regularly.

I’m in a weird space today. I had strange dreams all last night that continue to haunt me this morning. I don’t know if I’m gonna be good for post today either, given my frame of mind. Not to mention the fact that I’m at work and have plenty to do without wasting time on the internet today.

HomeDetentionLady asked me to tell some stories about my job as a social worker. I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that without getting dooced. I think I’ve come up with a good story that won’t get me fired as long as change some names and details. I’ll work on it this weekend.

I want last night’s dream to go away. Why does it haunt me? I’d tell you all about it if I could. I’m sure that would help. But I’ve made the mistake of giving too many people in my real world my blog address. FUCK!

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Remember: I'm Rosencrantz. You're Guildenstern!

Anyone who’s ever been to my house has witnessed this interaction:

- Bella whines at the door –

P: “Can you take her?”

me: “I don’t wanna. Let’s shoot for it.” I hold out my fist, a determined look on my face.

P: “Ok. Evens or Odds?”

me: “Odds.” (Or evens, whichever. I try really hard to make the pattern random.)

We pump our fists in unison 1, 2, 3 times. I pick a random number. She picks a random number. The total always comes out in her favor. Whatever I pick, odds or evens, it doesn’t seem to matter. Whatever number I show after my three silly little tough girl pumps, it doesn’t matter. I always loose. I’ve started to think she’s cheating. I keep asking her how she’s doing it.

me: “Are you cheating?”

P: (laughing) “No.”

me: “You ARE. You’ve gotta be. I’m starting to feel like Rosencrantz.”

P: “Or is it Guildenstern?”

me: “Both, I guess. It doesn’t matter. This is impossible.”

P: (more laughing)

me: I’m serious. Have you figured out some sort of equation or strategy? Is it like that tic-tac-toe thing it took me years to figure out? Am I just dumb?”

P: (laughing still) “You better take your coat. It’s getting cold outside and the girls are waiting.”

You see, they know the game, too.

Tonight she finally admitted to me how the hell she’s been doing it. Or rather, how I’ve been doing it. It seems I’ve been consistently (randomly) picking whatever type of number I choose in the beginning. Penny says I unfailingly choose an odd number if I say “Odd” and an even number if I say “Even.”

(For those of you who don’t have any idea what the fuck I’m talking about because your family didn’t fight over chores like doing the dishes or taking out the dog, here’s how it works: You choose Odds or Evens. You shake you fists at each other (menacingly) three times. On the third time you open your fists and show a number between 1 and 5. You and your opponent tally the numbers. The winner DOESN’T have to do whatever chore has been proposed. Got it?)

So. All this time I’ve been CONVINCED that she was somehow cheating, or that she somehow knew something I didn’t know and was withholding that knowledge from me; I though that SHE was the cause of my consistent loosing streak. That something outside of me was impacting the outcome of my endeavor. But really, this whole time, it was ME. I was the only thing impacting the outcome. All she had to do was pay attention.

And this got me thinking:

I heard someone say once that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different response. Why do so many of us encounter the same shitty circumstances over and over that put us between the same shitty rock and a hard place? It’s always someone or something else’s fault, isn’t it?

Do we really expect the circumstances to change? We’re making them ourselves, aren’t we? Fuck randomness. How can anything that comes in contact with my programmed, biased, propaganda-filled, and self destructive mind be random?

I’m going to start walking the dog every night without offering to shoot for it. Screw trying to control a not so random craps shoot.

You know what? I’m almost 30. I think it’s time I started learning from my mistakes.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

funny little game to steal your time

I just found this funny little game. The point is to get this drunk german guy home without falling down. You just move your mouse left or right to correct his gait. It's harder than it sounds. Click here to play.

Sunday, March 13, 2005

I miss hippies. There are no real hippies in VA.

I think I’ve mentioned here before that prior to moving to Virginia, Penny and I lived in Eugene, OR. We met there, actually. I am really missing Eugene today. So for my entry tonight I thought I’d take you all there for a little tour. It’s really an amazing place.

Clink on the links to see detour through some cool Eugene sites.

If you really love being in nature, Oregon, as a whole, is beautiful. I’m not really an outdoorsy sort of girl. I mostly miss the people, most of whom ARE outdoorsy, and the places in Eugene. The thing I miss about Eugene the most is the Saturday Market. It’s this very cool outdoor market.

“Yeah whatever,” you say, “my town has one of those too. Every town has a saturday market.”

Not like this they don’t. Eugene’s Saturday Market is the oldest outdoor market in the country. It takes up three full city blocks with some spill over from the drum circles and food vendors. The rows of booths are packed tight and narrow and there are hippies everywhere. And I’m not talking about the kind of hippies they have in your town. I’m talking about REAL hippies. I’m serious. Before I moved to Eugene, I didn’t think people like this really existed. Didn’t they all turn into lawyers and then raise materialistic kids in the 80s? No. They moved to Eugene. All of them.

Let’s check out some of the vendors.

There’s these guys. They sell clothes and art and stickers and other hippie artsy stuff. Check out these pictures of their bus.



“ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh!” I say and clap my hands in front of my chest like a delighted child. “You have got to see these. These are So Eugene!” Like these Earth Mama Moon Pads, many things at the Saturday market are made of hemp. Including the cookies Earth Mama, herself made and will sell to you if know to ask.

We stop to read the directions for using Mama’s Moon Pads.
As we move on I tell you about this I know a girl in Eugene who used a menstrual cup. “What the hell?. How do you catch it in a cup? Why would you want to? And isn’t the cup likely to spill while you’re putting new paper in drawer 3 of your office’s copy machine?”

Still discussing alternative means of dealing with our monthly flows, we move on. Let’s stop to look at some local art.


While we’re looking at these,the guy behind the boothgreets us. He’d overheard our conversation at Earth Mamas, and starts talking about how his wife uses a menstrual cup too and how each Spring Equinox they collect her menses and plant it at intervals around their home and garden and ask the Goddess to bless both his wife’s womb and the fields. I glance behind him and make eye contact with a woman sitting on the ground amidst 8 children. He follows my gaze and introducing me to his wife and 8 of his children. The other three, he says, are older and out perusing their own “life adventures.” She Whose Womb is Blessed, is sitting barefoot on the ground, knitting whilst the eldest of the 8 children, a dreadlocked girl, 16 or 17 years in age, rubs her feet. Two pre-adolescent, budding Anarchist boys are identified by She of the Blessed Womb, as their middle children. And running around the general vicinity of the booth, are five Naked Heathens all under the age of 7. While we’re chatting with the proprietor, a customer buys a beautiful glass plate with dragonflies crafted into the rim and some wind chimes. The proprietor addresses the oldest of the Naked Heathens, a tow-haired boy about 7, as “Dakota,” and asks, “What’s the total price for the Dragonflies in Flight plate and a set of large windchimes. The child answers automatically, “Eighty-seven dollars and ninety-three cents.” 7 of his 11 children, the proprietor informs us, are members of Mensa. Blessed Womb adds, “and they were all home-schooled.”

Mud Mom’s is the next booth on this aisle. As you can tell, the mama theme is prevalent here. Eugene is obsessively earth mama, moon goddess. In Eugene it is perfectly legal for a woman to walk around bare-chested. It doesn’t really happen that much, but it is legal. Usually the only time you see it is when they’re mowing a lawn. And then, it’s not real pretty. At drum circles and bigger outside concerts, there are usually a couple of dozen shirtless, hippie women dancing in a circle with glitter and henna liberally painted on their breasts.


Posted by Hello

HHmmm, I think I'll leave you with that image. It's actually from the Oregon Country Fair, which only happens once a year. But that sound's like an entry for another day.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Self Affirmation Day

So, the only thing I’ve done since getting home from work at five are play on the computer and pick up poop. Why does my damn dog shit in my closet? Her sister doesn’t do it. She goes out more than any other dog I’ve ever known. Seriously. They go out more than 6 times a day most days. 3 of those are usually leash walks. Last night Bella pooped on my black leather, knee high boots.

I am a failure as a pet owner. I cannot teach my dog to shit outside. She’s learned to pee outside. She’s learned to sit. And stay. And give me a high five. Shit, she’ll even twirl around in a circle on two legs like a fucking ballerina doll for a piece of bacon. But she won’t stop shitting in my closet.

I’ve been playing on the computer for an hour and a half. I just looked down to the clock and realized that I’ve missed half of Survivor. Damn it. Ah well, television rots the brain, anyhow. And I like getting stuck on the computer on Thursday nights recently. Thursday is Self Portrait Day. If you haven’t checked it out yet, you should. It’s really fun to have 15 new blogs to pursue each week without having to dig through all the blog muck out there to find them. I found an amazing photographer this week on selfportraitday. I’ve submitted twice now and haven’t gotten on. I’m probably not cool enough. That’s okay. I understand. No, really, I do understand. I’m not bitter at all. Not in the least bit. I must just SUCK. But that’s okay because (following a trend I’ve seen in ALL the best blogs): I’m hereby declaring Thursdays as Self-Affirmation Day!

Let’s begin, shall we? I'll go first.

I’m funny and I am actually pretty in an awkward, nerdy, sort of way. People like me, and I’m good at my job.

Now your turn. Say something nice about yourself. Nobody will know you did it and it feels really good.

I don’t know about you but I walk around saying shitty stuff about myself all the time. And when I’m not actually saying it, I’m listening to that pesky little voice that sounds an awful lot like my mother say it. I’m tired of that shit. I don’t want to do it anymore. There’s only one problem. I feel guilty when I say good stuff about myself. I think the only way to get past pointless guilt over things that should feel good (sex, eating, accepting a compliment, relaxing) is to just do them more and more and more. Get used to the way it feels.

“That sounds nice,” the self-loathing monster in me says. “But I think I’m so permanently screwed up that I might have to start saying nice things about myself by whispering them when I’m home alone in the house and my neighbors are all at work, hiding under a pile of dirty laundy and dog shit in a dark closet." I’m serious. It’s that bad.


So that’s why Thursday is hereby declared as Self Affirmation Day.

Monday, March 07, 2005


Jacob, at the beach Posted by Hello

Saturday, March 05, 2005

nocturnal neurosis

Two nights ago I had the craziest dream(s).

In the morning Penny told me that after she had to wake me up from my nightmares to comfort me for the third time, I said, “Baby, do you ever dream that reality is unstable?” I don’t remember that. But I do remember my dreams a little.

There are 5 of us. Reality keeps shifting on us. It’s like the world is a beach and our perception is constantly being upset by the undertow. When the waves wash in everything changes. The shifting separates us from each other and puts us in danger. It important that we stay together. We have a metaphysical connection that keeps things from shifting. Our connection is almost electrical in nature. I don’t know if electrical is the right word. It’s remote. Maybe like a wireless connection or a cell phone signal. Sometimes there are more bars than others. We have to concentrate to keep each other from slipping away from the connection; if one of us gets weak, the others have to compensate to maintain the whole. Outside sources can interfere and upset our connection and when that happens we’re at the mercy of the undertow. Only our connectiveness can keep things stable.

That’s the dream, in a nutshell. I think each time Penny had to wake me up I was experiencing a “shift” in my dream. Finally I just sat up in bed and read four or five pages of the Harry Potter book she’d been reading before bed. I didn’t have the dreams anymore after that.

The Social Worker's tattoos

I figured since I was calling myself The Tattooed Social Worker, I should probably show you my tattoos. I had Penny take these pictures this morning after my bath. I've been meaning to do this ever since I started the blog but it's winter and I've been too lazy to shave my legs. I used to never shave my legs. When we lived in Eugene, Oregon (one of the coolest places on earth), I think I shaved my legs a total of four times (and I lived there for almost four years). I remember my first yoga class in Eugene. This was pre-arm and leg tattoos. I bought some new shorts and a cute little tank top so I wouldn't like a total slug and I shaved my legs. Then on the first day of class I walked in and about 17 hairy, tattooed, dredlocked women took one look at me and rolled their eyes. One of the women had even dyed her chin hair purple. And it was about three inches long. I stopped shaving after that. I did not stop waxing my chin hair, however. That takes some massive self-esteem. MASSIVE.

Anyway, here are my tattoos:



My friend, Jeremy, did this one in his living room the day before Penny and I drove across the country. THAT was one of the STUPIDEST things I've ever done. Have you ever tried to sit in a truck all day with a massive new tattoo on your calf? It fucking hurts. Each time I got out of the truck and tried to walk, I couldn't put my heel all the way down on the ground and my pants had gotten stuck to the tattoo. Every night after we'd checked into a hotel, I'd go straight to the bathroom sink, sit on counter and ever so gently peel away my pants leg from the tattoo before I cleaned it. If you look closely you can see little white spots in the black areas. I have never known whether these were caused by my road trip or the fact that Jeremy had no idea what he was doing.


right arm Posted by Hello
"Pinkerbelle" was my third tattoo. Also done in someone's living room, although this one I actually had to pay for (I used a tax return). A guy named Demian did it. I really love this tattoo. It's my favorite. I cried for about a week after I got it, though. Call it, "tattoo post-partum syndrome". I was scared that I couldn't pull it off and that I that I just looked stupid. Eventually it grew on me in a big way. Now people ask me all the time if she's supposed to be me and I guess the answer is "yes". Or at least a part of me. I love her boots. And her hair. He did a really good job on the fade in her hair. I don't think you can really tell in the picture.


right above my gigantic ass Posted by Hello
The back piece was my second tattoo and I don't really like it a whole lot. I mean it's okay - I've developed a unique sort of fondness for all my tattoos. I was really into the Sandman comics when I got this done and one of the Death, one of Neil Gaiman's Endless, employs the Ankh as her emblem. My ass was not nearly as gigantic then as it is now and I think one of the things I don't like about it is that it's not quite long enough.


really out of focus right back shoulder Posted by Hello
This was my very first tattoo. I was 18 and the guy who did it at Ancient Art in Richmond told me not to have it put on my back. He suggested that it was too little and that I'd regret it later if I wanted to put more art on my back. He was right. I'd like a bigger back piece but I don't know how to integrate this tiny froggie into a bigger tattoo. I guess I could have it covered within a larger tattoo but I have a kind of devotional affection to this one since it was my first.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

vaginas by design?!?

Wow. I just read the most disturbing article on Adbusters.org. I was surfing it looking for articles about product placement in television and film. I didn’t find what I was looking for but I did find a funny fake ad for Prozac and an article entitled Vaginas by Design. I couldn’t help myself. I had to look. And sure enough there’s a doctor (I use that term loosely, notice it’s not capitalized) in LA (fucking Los Angeles – it figures) performing cosmetic surgery on women’s vaginas. What the fuck?! The article says he operates on girls as young as 14. GIRLS as young as FOURTEEN. Because they don’t like their vaginas. I think the Vagina Monologues should be mandatory reading for all teenage girls. And let me tell you what, girls. After reading that article, “my vagina is pissed off” and so am I.

We worry and piss and moan and protest (rightfully so) about Female Genital Mutilation in Arabic and African cultures and here in America licensed physicians are modifying women’s cunts because they’re (the cunts, not the women themselves) not PRETTY enough. The article even says that women bring in porn magazines and request specific vaginas. Like going in for a hair cut! Can you imagine?! “Hi, I’d like Meg Ryan’s vagina, please.” FUCKED UP!

What is wrong with us?

Letter from Penny

Hi. This is me, Penny. I thought that I would comment on TTSW’s Blog about a funny thing that happened yesterday. I guess that first I should talk about how I feel about this new Blog adventure of TTSW’s. HMMMM, I have always that that Blogs were kind of weird. Why would you want to tell millions of strangers about your life? What if there was some psycho out there who became obsessed with how many times our dog played in poop or really wanted to come visit us? What if TTSW decided to tell the world all about the weird things I do like dancing funny in the living room, or deciding to make brownies out of ice cream, or worse? I guess I was a little nervous.
As TTSW began working on the blog, however, I thought it was really cool. I realized that she a lot talent for writing comically and that the whole Blog thing wasn’t really that scary after all. But then I began to get jealous of her time on the computer. We used to spend our evening together most night. True, they were usually really boring, but I enjoy being with her even if we spend the whole night just picking our noses. I am trying to be supportive though and do my best not to seem whiney or overly needy and controlling. That is just a little too lesbian, even for me. So I started trying to come up with my own hobbies that would occupy my evenings and give TTSW the freedom to Blog away.
Yesterday, I went a little overboard. I went a little nutty in the Staples. I guess TTSW told you that I recently had surgery. So needless to say, recently I haven’t been getting out much. My trip to Staples yesterday, was my first unsupervised trip to a store by myself in three weeks. I spend almost an hour looking at all of the items for sale, and wondering how I could use every one of them. I ended up buying a new set of speakers and subwoofer for the computer, a high back suede chair for the computer, a new mouse, a new printer cartridge, a new phone, a paper shredder, and about twenty other small items. In other words, I completely lost control. After bringing all of these items home, I realized my biggest error. What I have succeeded in buying is a perfect comfort zone, for Blogging. Now I am going to have to basically set fire to the house and cover my body with dark chocolate to lure TTSW away from the computer and I am not even really sure that either of those things will distract her.
Anyway, I guess I just wanted to share, whine, and let you know that I hope you are enjoying the blog, I will be dancing an annoying dance, in a sad attempt to garner attention while you are reading it. :P

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Playmate of the Month

Name: Bella Ella
Height: 2'3"
Weight: 45lbs
Eye color: black
Hobbies: eating cat poo, pooing in mommy's sandals, rolling in poo, I LOVE POO! I also enjoy chewing the coffee table, and collecting rawhide.
Turn Ons: tug ropes, shredded cheese, hotdogs, doggy daycare, and litter boxes.
Turn Offs: German Shepards, veternarians, flea treatments, and baths.


puppy porn Posted by Hello

Monday, February 28, 2005

Snow Angels

It snowed over 6 inches today. 6 inches is actually a lot of snow for this part of Virginia. I got a few pictures of the dogs playing in the snow this morning.

making snow angels Posted by Hello
The furry mess rolling around in the snow is Nala and the beagle-ish hound dog is Bella. Nala is massively high maintenance. Playing in the snow is so fun for her but the snow balls up in little icy dreadlocks all over her legs and belly. I think it really starts to hurt her because it makes her act all grumpy and walk funny. So she’s had three little warm baths today to melt off her snow-locks. She’s starting to run straight for the bathtub after a romp in the snow.

I know it’s pathetic but I’m very excited about American Idol tonight. Does anyone else think Simon has started taking Prozac or something this season. Either that or there’s something other than Coke in the Coke cup in front of him (which is a whorish example of product placing, but what, really, do I expect when I’m watching American Idol. Integrity? Yeah, right).

Oh, and I’ve started smoking again. Suck me. I like cigarettes, especially Camel Lights. They’re yummy.

Sunday, February 27, 2005

Embarrassing moment

Today is Dooce's weblog birthday and she celebrated it by asking her readers to post their most embarrassing moments. Here's mine. I'm in a hurry to get to bed so forgive any grammatical errors or misspellings.

When I was a little girl (3 or 4 maybe, my parents were still married so I know I was really young) I used to follow my mother into the bathroom and talk to her while she peed. One night I was in my room playing quietly because my parents had some friends over to play cards. I heard what I thought was my mother opening the bathroom door and going in. I thought, "I'm bored and lonely and mommy won't mind if I go into the bathroom to talk to her." I crossed the hallway in my footed pajamas and opened the bathroom door. It wasn't Mommy. It was my father and he was the first man I'd even seen peeing. I didn't know about wee-wees and hoo-hoos and I didn't understand why he was standing up. I thought something very weird was going on. I slammed the bathroom door shut and went running into the living room exclaiming, "Mommy, Mommy, Daddy is peeing through his thumb." My mother still jokes to this day about how small my father's you-know was. Our company was still over and aparantly something I'd said was funny because they kept laughing while my mother stifled her giggles and walked me back to my bed room. We passed my red faced father in the hallway. That was the end my following ANYONE into the bathroom.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

Revenge of the Blog People

I linked to this article by Michael Gorman by way of Neil Gaiman's journal. I would like to take a moment to second one anonymous blogger's assertion that "Michael Gorman is an idiot." To suggest that bloggers lack the capacity to read complex texts is really ridiculous. Mr. Gorman doesn't know anything about us. He doesn't know I studied ancient Greek in college and read Euripides, Plato, and part of the bible in their original languages. He has no idea how funny and well written Dooce is.

I think you should all write well written "Michael Gorman is an idiot" posts. Neil Gaiman's is a great example. I know I'm not as graceful a writer as many of you. If enough of us do it we can really make some digital noise, which might be fun.

Current blog addictions

http://www.dooce.com/ I read Dooce daily. You should too.

http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/journal.asp I was a comic book nerd in high school. What do you want? As a matter of fact I made my first graphic novel purchase in 5 years today. I bought a new Sandman book (well, new to me).

http://www.selfportraitday.com/ I'm hoping this will be a cool website. It just started but it seems like a really good idea.

http://sevendwarfs.blogspot.com/ Just added today. Seems funny though.

http://lasadh.blogspot.com/ Really nice photos. Occasionally funny posts.

I wish I was better at html so that I could put these in a side bar or something. Maybe after I become a more experienced blogger I'll figure it out.

Friday, February 25, 2005


snowy trees Posted by Hello

My self portrait (for self portrait day)


Self Portrait Posted by Hello

1. Name: the Tattooed Social Worker
2. Location: Virginia
3. Discovered the Internet: freshman year of college. I had to "telnet" back then. Anyone else remember gopher?
4. Favorite Sandwich: turkey, bacon, prov. with mayo on an everything bagel from Bodos.
5. On a Sunday evening I can be found indulging guilty pleasures. Watching Desperate Housewives and whatever queer drama is in the 10 o'clock spot on Showtime (The L Word or Queer as Folk).

My friend Phil

Phil's blog. I love Phil (even though he didn't call to tell me he had a new boyfriend).

Thursday, February 24, 2005

“My god, why did you shoot him, Phil?”

You know it’s bad when this is the sound bite from the local evening news. Small town cops were executing a search warrant for a meth lab. They announced themselves and knocked on the door. One of the cops (Phil, I assume) freaked out and shot the person who very politely and promptly opened the door.

What the fuck?

Don’t they train these people? Administer some kind of personality tests on them? If you’re likely to fire spastically through the door of a home are you really policeman material? When I was a kid, I was taught that it was always to safe to approach a policeman and ask for help. Whoa. Not if you’re gonna get shot when you answer the door.


While the sheriff's department is investigating the actions of one of its deputies, a Sherando man faces multiple charges related to methamphetamine. The sheriff's office is looking into how and why a deputy's gun fired and hit a man while serving a search warrant and the shooting victim has some questions of his own.
Not able to walk, Jon Franklin Painter rolled into court Thursday afternoon in a wheelchair. Throughout his bond hearing, Painter grimaced in his seat, still suffering from Tuesday night's leg injury. He was shot after the County sheriff says one of his deputy's guns fired while serving Painter with a search warrant. His older brother Robert Painter was not at the Turnpike home Tuesday night, but spoke with Jon after he was shot. He stated, “He said he had seen the cops right down the road from his house and he didn't know if they was coming there or what they was doing. There was a witness that heard him holler, ‘my god, why did you shoot him, Phil’.”
The witness says that quote came from one of the deputies after the shot rang out. The sheriff's office won't say who "Phil" is, and will not specify whether deputies forced their way into Painter's home. The sheriff said Wednesday night over the phone that the incident is being investigated internally. NBC did try to get a hold of the sheriff Thursday for more on this investigation but he was not available.
Family members posted the bail money for Painter Thursday afternoon. Jon Painter is scheduled to face a judge in July on three methamphetamine charges.
Reported by Patrick Flanary

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Add these movies to your que today! (or just run out to blockbuster if you're not cool enough to have a netflicks account)

I’ve seen two excellent films this week. In America and Elling. Both have received five stars on my Netflicks account.

In America is painfully sad. It’s also painfully beautiful.


In America Posted by Hello

It’s not often that I become so involved in a film that I forget that it’s someone else’s vision. I enjoy picking movies apart. I’m not sure what the right words are to use for what I do with movies while I’m watching them. I’m not even sure what it is I exactly do. I watch for the choices made by the creators of the movie. The little things: the colors used, the movement of the camera, costuming, the filtering of light and sound. And what those things do to me as a viewer. Why were they chosen? Into what space do they transport me? Is my perception their vision? Things like that.

I forgot to look for those things in In America. I was enthralled. Is that the word? Microsoft’s Thesaurus says it is so it must be. We all know that Microsoft is smarter than we are(But that’s another post for another day).

Elling is a fun movie.


Elling Posted by Hello

It’s a movie about a couple of guys with disabilities “making it” in the real world, a genre of movie (The Other Sister, I Am Sam) that usually annoys me. This movie somehow managed to avoid the sentimentality of others. I especially enjoyed the portrayal of Frank, the social worker serving the guys in the movie. Usually the social workers in movies about individuals with disabilities are portrayed as angels with a bottomless pit of patience and sincerity upon which to draw. Frank doesn’t smile like down on Elling and his friend like some kind of saintly wizard with the ability to solve their problems with a section 8 lease and a job cleaning up some fast food restaurant. Those characters always piss me off. They’re portrayed as heroes just for considering someone with a disability could succeed at mopping a greasy floor and learning to take the bus.

Um . . . I think I’m starting a different kind of rant that’s best saved for a night when I’m not sitting at the computer with freezing hands while my girlfriend lies under a very warm quilt alone in the next room. More tomorrow. I’m sure I won’t have anything else to do, they’re calling for snow.

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Pieces of Penny

Penny had surgery on Monday. Brain Surgery. Brain. Surgery. She’s home already. Actually she came home on Wednesday. Can you believe that? Home in three days after they fucked around with her brain? With. Her. Brain. Insane, I tell you, insane.

Okay. So I’m being a little melodramatic. To be fair, it’s not like they sawed her skull in half or anything. They went in through her nose. Her poor, red, ouchy nose. They pulled out a tumor. Isn’t that funny? They pulled a tumor out from her nose just like a booger. It was a teeny, tiny tumor that lived on her pituitary gland. Let’s call him Ralph. Ralph the booger/tumor is history. I, for one, am glad. I never liked the slimy little fucker anyway. Good Riddance, Ralph.

So now I’m stuck in the house playing nurse to Penny. Not that I really mind. I’m kind of making a game out of it. I’ve never had to be the only responsible one before. I never actually realized how much work there is to do in the house. Okay, go ahead, call me spoiled. I deserve it. But really it’s kind of becoming an obsession for me to do it all right, you know.

Other than playing doctor, we are also getting a chance to watch lots of movies. We watched Pieces of April and But I’m a Cheerleader last night. Pieces of April made us both cry. But I’m a Cheerleader is just funny and sweet. Pieces of April was hard for Penny to watch because its dysfunctional family is rather like her own.

This morning Penny wore herself out trying to convince me that we should spend the rest of her recoup time making a fancy-ass quilt she saw in a magazine advertisement while she was pissing even though:
A. we don’t have the money to buy the supplies,
B. she hasn’t sewed anything since the “Hammer Pants” she made in 7th grade home-ec class,
C. I haven’t taken my sewing machine out of the closet in a year, and
D. Neither of us has any idea how to quilt.

Penny’s pretty persistent with her powers of persuasion. Regardless of the above, perfectly logical argument for not trekking with her to the fabric store with credit card in hand, she managed to convince me. So I took the dogs out for a pee in anticipation of actually leaving the house.

When I got back she was asleep.

Friday, February 18, 2005

What I'm reading


VIlla Incognito Posted by Hello
I’m currently reading two books. I know. It’s weird to read more than one book at a time. Whatever. I don’t care what you think. I’m reading Tom Robbins, Villa Incognito, and Tad Williams, The War of the Flowers. I’m a little disappointed in War of the Flowers. It intrigues me only about half the time. The rest of the time I’m just reading it because Villa is not nearby and I’m too lazy to walk upstairs to retrieve Mr. Robbins from the toilet seat where I left him after my bath. Villa, on the other hand, is so fun to read. I love Tom Robbins. What a master that man is. I can’t figure out how he manipulates all those metaphors. All I know is that I’m so glad he can. Reading Tom Robbins is like swimming in words. It’s like poetry that’s not poetry at all but better, more precise, sturdier, grounded not in the clouds and the air but in more earthy substances. Ah! I love it. I’m trying to savor it and not read it all at once. Let each metaphor sink into the soil and take root.

Villa’s not as good as his other books. Still Life with Woodpecker and Jitterbug Perfume are better. Fierce Invalids from Hot Climates is really good too. But don’t listen to me. Read them all (my Robbins list on Amazon).

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

I was feeling bad about not having a very interesting blog so I decided to hit the "next blog" button a few times and see what other people were writing about. As it turns out, nobody else has interesting blogs either. So I guess I won't worry about it.

I don't like it that I over analyze everything I do. I thought the anxiety med my doctor prescribed was supposed to stop me from doing that. It didn't. Sure, I'm not nearly as nervous around people anymore, but here I am worrying about the excitiment factor of a blog that no one will ever read anyway. Sometimes I think I actually like my anxiety. What would I do without it? You don't care. See. There I go again.

The patch doesn't work

I've just quit smoking. It has been two days. I feel like shit. Thanks for asking.


Sunday, January 30, 2005


This is my partner, Penny, with our nephew, Wesley.  Posted by Hello

Wednesday, January 26, 2005


this is me Posted by Hello

Could this be my new obsession?

Okay, so now I have a blog. What will I do with it? Who knows? Mostly I'm just jealous of my friend Phil's blog and I thought I'd try to one-up him. I've always been like that kid who comes over to your house to play and isn't interested in any of your toys until YOU start to play with one and then he must have it immediately. Yep, I'm a boggarter (huh? is that a word and if it is - how the hell do you spell it?). You know what I mean, the person who always leaves the party with everyone else's cigarette lighters when she already has three in her coat pocket. That's me. Welcome to my blog. I'm a lesbian. I'm a social worker. I have two dogs, two cats, and a shitty credit rating. I have no idea how to manage a blog - so this could get interesting. I think I'll end this one now, post it, and see what my new blog looks like. I'll be back soon.