The end of a year...and the death of hope.

I always knew, in the back of my mind, that my first pregnancy would not be a bright thing. That it would end in misery, not in joy.

As we speak, my body reabsorbs that which is not viable, that fading spark of life that had been my one hope, my one chance at motherhood. I will never know what it is to bear a child in my womb. I will never hold it in my arms, never feel a mother's love.

No, that last part is wrong, for I knew it briefly. From the moment I saw that plus sign, I loved that tiny spark of life with every fiber of my being. Unplanned as it was, I was so grateful for the chance...a chance that will never be.

I only write this to get it all out at once. I do not seek sympathy or pity. I do not relish explaining this over and over. I'm ripping off the scab all at once. I do not wish to discuss this. I do not crave consolation. I just want to get on with my life...and forget as quickly as possible.

That is all.

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Pirate Spawn at six weeks.

I am six weeks pregnant today by my calculations (or should I say, by the calculations of the apps I'm using on my phone).

I still have 34 weeks to go...ugh! Which is 238 days...double ugh!

I'm starting my seventh week of pregnancy, and the embryo that will henceforth be dubbed "Pirate Spawn" looks like an alien with a tail and a large head with nostrils and lips and eyes. It has a beating heart (!) and is developing it's liver, kidneys, etc. It has developed it's placenta and amniotic sac, and the placenta is burrowing into my uterine wall to leech the oxygen and nutrients from my bloodstream.

So basically it's my very own sweet pea-sized parasite.

Oh, and did you know that up to 50% of pregnant women get hemorrhoids? Yep, that's right. If you thought pregnancy was all glowing skin and and content mama, you thought wrong. We all thought wrong. We were lied to. Damn you, society!!

So far, the worst of my symptoms is lethargy and occasional cramping in my leg due to a lot of the blood in my body making a beeline for my womb. Also, ever since my mom told me to drink lots of milk, that's all I want.

Watched a fascinating documentary the other night called "The Business of Being Born". It takes harder look quality of maternal care in this great nation of ours, and gives it a poor score. Here are a couple of things states in the documentary:

The United States has the second worst newborn death rate in the developed world.

The U.S. has one of the highest maternal mortality rates among all industrialized countries.

Since 1996 the Cesarean section rate has risen 46%.

The documentary also explores the benefits of natural births assisted by midwives. After watching that, I am seriously considering it. I am fortunate that my health insurance will cover that...the trouble is trying to find a birthing center or a midwife via the website. I guess I'll just have to talk to the doctor when I see him on Monday.

Merry Christmas, all!

Net Neutrality.

http://www.theopeninter.net/

Let's do it for our kids.

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I might be in way over my head.

Just a little...

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The beginning of a new chapter in the adventures of this pirate.

I am pregnant.

A little over five weeks.

The embryo is the size of on orange seed.

Estimated due date: sometime in August, by my math.

I have 8 months to do what has not been accomplished in 25 years of life: grow the fuck up.

In-flight private jokes.

There I was at gate A4, waiting to board my flight go Detroit, when what to my wo/andering* eyes should appear...but the same Delta employee who was so "helpful" in getting myself, Deer Hunter, and Canuck "re-routed" for our Korea trip.** Naturally I texted them.

Deer Hunter: Tell him not to lose your bags this time!

Canuck: Make sure he doesn't fuck with your bag!

To which I responded, "I'd make a special trip back here just to cut off his face. [...] He would not live to see 2011."

Upon my arrival at Detroit, I texted them again.

"I finally made it to Detroit to catch my connecting flight...only took me four months!"

*I can't remember if it was "wondering eyes" or "wandering eyes" in "The Night Before Christmas". I'm 90% sure it's the first one, tho...
**Reference late-July 2010 blog post entitled "May Delta Airlines burn..."

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Pollo guisado, arroz blanco, y habichuelas.

Oh, sorry. That's stewed chicken, white rice, and beans.

Pollo guisado (stewed chicken):
Pack of chicken drumsticks.
8 oz can of tomato sauce.
1 tbsp of Sofrito. (A Goya product that can be found in the "ethnic" section of your grocery store.)
Adobo. (Another Goya product.)
One packet of Sazon. (Goya.)
1 tbsp of olive oil.
3 or 4 medium potatoes.
Bay leaf.
Chicken flavored bouillon cube, one.
Chicken broth.
Two cloves of garlic, minced.
Water.

In a bowl, season the drumsticks with the adobo. Peel and cut up the potatoes.

In a large pot over high heat, combine all of the ingredients. Make sure you put enough water/chicken broth to cover the chicken. Boil covered until the potatoes are tender and the internal temp of the chicken is 165 degrees.

Arroz blanco (white rice):
3 cups of rice.
3.5 cups of water.
1 tbsp of vegetable or canola oil.
1 tsp of salt.

Combine in a rice cooker. Let the cooker do it's thing. If you're using crazy rice, like jasmine rice, I suggest 1.5 c water for each cup of rice.

Habichuelas (beans):
One can of pinto beans.
The other half-can of tomato sauce.
1 tbsp of sofrito.
1 tbsp of olive oil.
Two minced garlic cloves.
1 tsp of adobo.
One packet of sazon.
16 green olives.
1 tbsp of the juice from the olives.

Combine all of the above in a medium sauce pan over high heat. Once the skin of the beans splits, you can remove from heat.

None of this is copyrighted, trademarked, registered, what have you. I grew up on this stuff, my mom taught me how to make it all, I don't follow any of those measurements to a T. I've made it all so many times that I just throw stuff in and manage to get it all right. Good luck, and good eating.

OMNOMNOM.

Cream cheese stuffed chicken.

Prep time: 15 minutes.
Cook time: 45 minutes.

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 8-oz container soft cream cheese spread
4 green onions, thinly sliced
4 bacon slices

Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Coat a rectangular 2-qt baking dish with nonstick spray; set aside. (I used my Pampered Chef (r) Deep Covered Baker.) Place each chicken breast between two pieces of plastic wrap. Using the flat side of a meat mallet, pound chicken lightly to 1/4-inch thick. Remove plastic wrap.

In a small bowl combine cream cheese and green onions. Spread on each chicken breast, leaving a 1/2-inch border at the edges. Roll up from one short side, and wrap with 1 bacon slice; secure with wooden toothpicks, if needed. Repeat with remaining breasts.

Place chicken rolls, seam side down, in baking dish. Bake 45 minutes or until chicken is no longer pink. (165 degrees Fahrenheit internal temperature.)

Serves 4. (c) Try-Food International.

I served this with rigatoni noodles in a scampi garlic sauce.

Box of rigatoni noodles.
Packet of scampi seasoning; can be found in the seafood section at the grocery store.
Stick of butter/margarine.
Olive oil.
Two garlic gloves, minced or diced.

Boil noodles per box directions.

In a small saucepan, melt butter and olive oil together. Add the garlic. Stir together over medium heat for a few minutes, then add 2 tbsp of the scampi seasoning. Stir well.

Drain the noodles, and place them in a bowl. Pour the sauce over the noodles and mix it well. If you're feeling frisky, throw some grated Parmesan on top.

Omnomnom.

Blogging from my Samsung Captivate.

I've waited my whole life for this phone. Srsly. I can use it as a nook or a Kindle!! Do you understand what this means to me as a bibliophile?!?!

Is this what heaven feels like??

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Happeh Thanksgiving, mates.

Always am I thankful to the Goddess for my loving family, my few but wonderful friends, my good health, three great jobs, fun co-workers, and the opportunity to serve my country and see the world. Blessed be, and a lovely weekend to you all.

And as for those bloody body scanners...

If there's a long line of people waiting to be patted down to protest the body scanner and hold up the lines for security to send a message to TSA, I plan on cutting in front of all of them to waltz through a scanner. I'm sorry, but I have a flight to catch, and if that means baring it all for TSA to prove that I do not have nefarious plans to bring down the plane, then somehow I'll find the will to press on.

Assholes.

'Cause you're hot, then you're cold...

San Antonio, Texas
80 degrees and sunny.

Rural lair of the Dread Pirate
59 degrees and rainy.

I'm ready to go home, I'm just not ready to leave this weather. Sad panda am I.

Del Carmen.

3/4 oz Strawberry Vodka.
1/2 oz Vanilla Vodka.
Lemon zest on the rim of the glass.
Topped with Prosecco champagne.
Add a lemon twist and a strawberry garnish.

This is my drink. It was made for me, and named for me (middle name). I love it.

Deer Hunter vs Four Horsemen.

No, this is not about an apocalyptic battle. Well...I take that back. It is, but it's not what you think.

Once upon a time, there was a show on the Travel Channel called Man Vs Food. The host of this show, Adam Richman, went to San Antonio to a restaurant called Chunky's to eat a burger called the Four Horsemen. It is so named because of the four peppers that make an appearance in this burger: jalapenos, habaneros, serranos, and the elusive Ghost Pepper, or Bhut Jolokia. It is the hottest pepper in the world, and makes grown men cry.

Once upon a time, Deer Hunter watched this episode and said, "I will eat that burger."

How convenient, then, that work should bring us here to Texas. We departed our hotel Friday night, not knowing how the night would end. Deer Hunter did come prepared, though.

Upon ordering, you must sign a waiver stating that you relieve Chunky's of all liability and that you understand the risks of consuming this monstrosity from hell. If you decided to partake of the Challenge, your waitress will inform you of the rules.

1. You have twenty-five minutes to finish of the burger.
2. You will not drench the burger in ketchup.
3. You will not drink milk.
4. There are no bathroom breaks.
5. Once you have finished the burger, you are allowed one last sip of your beverage before starting a five-minute waiting period when you cannot eat or drink anything else.
6. There is a $10 cleaning fee if you regurgitate anywhere other than the bucket that is provided.

Deer Hunger (and Parogi), prior to eating:

The challenge:

The aftermath:

He got halfway through, but bear this in mind: the waitress informed us that the burger consumed by our friend contained many more peppers than did the burger consumed by Adam Richman. And so I say unto you, the Deer Hunter is a BAMF, and Adam Richman is a pussy.

The End.

It wasn't as bad I thought it would be.

The cast: Deer Hunter, Parogi, and Ears (apparently this is what her son calls her). Our first night in San Antonio was spent having dinner on the River Walk. I went there once when I was in basic training but, like many of my BMT adventures, I did not remember it. Based on the praises of passerby, we decided to eat at an odd hole-in-the-wall-seeming restaurant called Delores Del Rio. It featured tasty yet overpriced Italian food, a jazz musician, and a belly dancer. The belly dancer didn't come out until much later.

We sat down and proceeded to order our drinks. I obtained for myself a carafe of white wine and refused to use the glass that was provided.

Deer Hunger and Parogi, being manly men, ordered beer. Ears is finicky when it comes wine, and the waitress, a middle-aged blond woman, recommended the house wine. The house wine was stored in a very large jug and was two-thirds full, so Ears assumed it had been open for a while and may have obtained a vinegary taste as a result. She said she would try a taste, though.

What the waitress brought was not a taste; it was half a glass. Ears took a sip, and without thinking said in suprise, "Oh, it's not as bad as I thought it would be!"

Let me tell you, hell froze over. The immediate surrounding area of our table became as frigid as Fairbanks in January. In that waitress's eyes, Ears was the dirt beneath her feet. We spent the rest of the night giving her a hard time, and she spent the rest of the night sucking up to the waitress.

At one point, Ears got up to go use the bathroom. When she came back, she said, "The belly dancer is back there, and she's fat!" Oh dear. Parogi became curious, and he went to use the bathroom too. He confirmed the fatness upon his return. Finally, I get up to use the bathroom. What I see is an older lady dressed in a quirky fashion in jeans and a t-shirt, just hanging out in the kitchen. I knew she wasn't the belly dancer.

When the belly dancer finally did show up, she was an okay-looking girl in her late twenties, early thirties. She didn't do anything impressive, but according to the waitress she teaches a belly dance class. I found this hard to believe, because while she wasn't fat she didn't have the muscular build in the middle of her body that most belly dancers have.

We found out later that the old lady in the back is the owner, the middle-aged waitress is her daughter (hence being personally offended by Ears), and the younger belly dancer is the owner's girlfriend. Hm.

Friday Night Giggles and Downers.

Just got back from devouring delicious Thai cuisine, and I can't stop laughing over this stuff.

What are you top five crime scene albums?

The five most wildly illegal court rulings in movie history.

Five things nobody tells you about quitting drinking,

This upsets me. And is the reason why I don't like to discuss my spirituality.

Three reasons the Ground Zero Mosque debate makes no sense. Btw, what's been going on with that?? I'm so out of the loop...

Five things you won't believe aren't in the Bible. Also, I'm an antichrist. Don't tell Marguerite Perrin.

Six things from history everyone pictured wrong. Hopefully you can wrap your head around the fact that Jesus, if he existed, wasn't white.

Five fictional stories you were taught in history class. Ha.

The five most inspiring things ever accomplished (while drunk). Fiance, don't get any ideas...

Why Eminem needs to find something new to rap about. It's truuuuue.

A quote.

"My message to you is: Be courageous! I have lived a long time. I have seen history repeat itself again and again. I have seen many depressions in business. Always America has come out stronger and more prosperous. Be as brave as your fathers before you. Have faith! Go forward." - - Thomas Edison.

You learn something new every day.

One morning, I texted Canuck to see if he wanted to join the Cool Kids for coffee. He replied back:

I'm off today doing manual labor at home. You too can have a day off if you cheat on the PT test like me }=D

I was intrigued, to say the least. I asked him to teach me...as I've failed my last two tests.

First lesson: cut across the football field when running the track; this will cut your time in half =P

...riiiight. Well...I am kinda small. So maybe the testers won't notice me doing that?

Second PT lesson: have them treat the measuring tape as if it was a tourniquet =P

Ahhh...my 27-inch waist is good to go, I think. But wait...there are four components that make up the Air Force physical training test. You've covered the aerobic (running) component, the abdominal circumference (waist) component...but what about the push-ups and sit-ups?

"Well...you can't really cheat on those."

But those were the ones I failed last time. Sigh. Guess I'll have to pass it the old-fashioned way...by working out. Shit.

You know what really grinds my gears?

Holding out your left hand to demand A, while at the same time holding out your right hand to demand B.

Read this article about the three Iowan judges who have been thrown out by the people over same-sex marriage. This sentence in the fifth paragraph really pisses me off:

The outcome marks the end of a showdown in the state that was funded by several million dollars from mostly out-of-state groups opposed to the same-sex marriage ruling.

But why, Davi? What does this piss you off? I'm all for a smaller federal government. A central government with too much power inevitably becomes corrupt over time. All these Republicans, Tea Partiers, they want to protect the states' rights, correct? They want issues like the legalization of abortion and same-sex marriage to be determined at the state level, as opposed to the federal level, amirite? Alright then. I'm down with that.

So, understand yet why that statement pisses me off? If you are a resident of Delaware, who the hell are you to nudge a Maryland resident in the shoulder and say, "Hey, you're doing things wrong in your state, so I'm gonna throw some cash that way to change things." Um, Mr Delaware Resident, if you don't like how they run things in Maryland, I suggest you keep your happy ass in The First State. (I'm not hating on Delaware, btw; that little speck on the map holds a special place in my heart.)

Are we seeing yet the hypocrisy? Yes, let the states decide these matter, but if someone in another state disagrees with the outcome, it's okay to come trudging in my front yard to persuade me to do things your way? I don't think so, pal. Get the fuck off my lawn, thx.

I believe that when it comes to local elections, elections for senators and representatives and local justices and governors and what have you, that it is unethical to accept campaign funds from out of state. I believe it is unethical for these out-of-state groups to try to influence these local elections.

Here's the problem I've been noticing for a year now. All these folks hooping and hollering for smaller government? They're never happy with what they have. People hold out one hand begging for smaller government, while holding out their other hand yelling at Capitol Hill to fix all their problems. As I said to MacGyver, "These people don't want smaller government! They say the do; they think they do. But they'll always turn to the federal government to fix all their problems."

I struggle daily to remain nonpartisan. I voted for Mark Kirk, a Republican, and he's now going to be my Senator. I voted for Jerry Costello, a Democrat, and he's going to continue as my House Representative. But I look at the increasingly red map of our country, and I am nervous as hell. I'm nervous about all these fringe politicians who are going to be even less likely to reach across the aisle for a compromise. (Mitch McConnell even said himself that the Republicans should NOT compromise!) I foresee a time after the New Year that will be similar to what occurred after the midterms elections in 1994.

History always repeats itself; it doesn't mean we have to repeat our mistakes. I wish the best of luck to our potential new House Speaker, John Boehner; I hope Senator Harry Reid wakes up and hears the voices of his constituents; and I pray to the Goddess that our President takes a step, assesses the situation, and realizes that if he wants to get anything done, if he wants to get our country back on track, he needs to stop siding so much with the Democrats and do all that he can to unite our partisan Representatives and Senators.

Yeah, I stomp on heads 'cause of my back problems, too.

I know I'm a few days behind on the head-stomping of Lauren Valle. But I still have to comment on it. I'm pretty sure that most of the people in the Tea Party aren't nut-bags. I'm pretty sure they're not all violent and  I know that not everyone who is a member of the Tea Party is batshit crazy. They don't all think Obama is a Muslim or that his Hawaiian birth certificate is fake. They're not all trying to force their conservative social family values down my throat. But it is so easy to forget this when idiotic assholes like Tom Profitt knock women to the ground and stomp on their heads because they have back problems, and then demand that the victim apologize.

Geez.

That's not the kinda Christian I was raised to be.

Once upon a time, I was Catholic.

I was taken to church on Sundays, I went to Sunday school sporadically, and though never confirmed I did marry Ex in a Catholic church.

I was, once upon a time, a devout but imperfect Christian. Growing up, I questioned the tenets of my faith, the "facts" of the Bible. A lot of things didn't add up for me. But ultimately, it was the hypocrisy and intolerance of so-called Christians like Clint McCance that drove me away from established Christianity and towards a path of worship of my own choosing (neo-paganism is my flavor now).

A school board member, Mr McCance stated on his Facebook page that as far as he was concerned in regards to the recent Spirit Day, he'd wear purple when all the gays had killed themselves. Good for you, asshole.

As a Christian, I was taught that God loved all creation, sin or no sin. I read in the Bible about Jesus telling his followers to love not only their neighbors, but their enemies as well. Mr McCance, you are no Christian. Neither is anyone who hates or expresses intolerance for anyone who is different or follows a different set of rules.

Public Service Announcement: Votiiiiing.

I wasn't going to vote in the midterm elections...but I've changed my mind. I really only care about the elections for US Senate and US Representative. I won't say which is which until after, but for one seat I'm voting Republican (take THAT, Fiance), and for the other seat I'm voting Democrat (hides under desk). I am not voting along party lines, as you can see, but on the issues. I suggest you do the same; vote for the person, not the party.

And to the person I parked next to this morning with the big "Where's the Birth Certificate?" sticker on the back of their car...REALLY???? Stop it. Thx. I'm pretty sure it's impossible to run for president without adequate proof of natural citizenship.

Oh, for the love of - -

What follows is an electronic conversation between myself and the Redhead.

Me: meant to send the following to Canuck: "I wish I could have recorded the last 30 seconds between myself and Macgyver. Srsly, the things he says!!!!"
guess who i sent it to instead????
GUESS

Redhead: MACGYVER??

Me: hahahahahaha
yeah
goddamnit
he laughed
but goddamnit

Redhead: wow....your smart...
hahaha

Me: I KNOW
wtf
why are you still there?!?!

Redhead: working hun
told ya..i work long hours here

Me: geeeez
but whyyyy

Redhead: i just told them [them being her team] about your little mishap...we all laughed..
[...]
good thing macgyver likes you

Me: goddamn you to the fiery bowels of hell, you redheaded wench of the apocalypse

Redhead: you know you love me..

Me: that's debatable atm

Redhead: whatevs...
gave me something to tell that was funny...

Me: ah, i see in my misfortune i have finally come through for you
ARE YOU HAPPY

Redhead: yes...yes i am...
=D

Happy goddamn Tuesday.

Aaaand that's my good deed for the quarter.

Today I saved a turtle as it slowly but surely made it's way across the road. I hated the thought of him/her getting halfway across only to get SMASHED by a careless driver. So I stopped, picked him/her up, and helped him/her to the other side. Hopefully it was the side he/she was headed to.

Dread Pirate Davi: Champion of Turtles everywhere. Okay, not so much, but I do feel pretty good about it. Hopefully the Goddess approves.

If only others could be as easily saved. Hang in there, Laggin. <3

I ain't no money bags, but that'll do.

Was informed today of a raise that is punishment for a job well done. O woe is me!

Happy friggin' Monday!!

Written with a keyboard, sealed with electronic encryption.

Dear Terin,

Months have passed since you were last seen in the Blogosphere. This makes me a sad panda. Every time one of my favorite bloggers goes off the radar for an extended period of time, it always seems to be because of real life turmoil. I sincerely hope that this is not the case with you. I hope everything is going well in your new endeavors, and that soon you will return to update us on all the wonderful happenings.

Deviously,
The Dread Pirate Davi

Title change.

Don't know why I didn't do it sooner.

Halloween riddle answers.

1. A casket.
2. A man with high blood pressure.
3. A pumpkin patch.
4. He had no body to go with.

Have a great weekend.

Inability to live without brothers is up for debate.

Brother: what second part did you omit? that looks correct to me.

Me: Brothers; can't live with them...

Brother: oh. as in "can't beat them over the head with an indonesian fighting spoon.

Me: Can't live with them; can't live without them. Only this morning, the second part didn't seem to apply. I don't own an Indonesian anything. I wouldn't hesitate to wollop [sp] you over the head, though.

Brother: but you can't live without me. even if i'm just lurking in the background.

Me: On this fine Friday morning, sir, one might say that is debatable. Go back to couch.

I am a vessel for hatred.

Sounds like the opening for a fantasy novel. Ooooh, story idea!! Because that's exactly what I need, another unfinished book...

Anywho. I pose a question to you, my eternally limited audience. When dry humping occurs in a swimming pool, is it still called dry humping?

Also, two pieces of advice. Never fuck with a redhead. That's one. Two, never fuck with a Scorpio. And if you happen to be acquainted with a redheaded Scorpio, walk softly and don't even bother carrying a stick, 'cause the bitch carries an aluminum bat and will not hesitate to beat the shit out of you.

This post is lovingly dedicated to my psycho Redhead.

Sympathy and empathy are not the same.

An interesting article that P. John shared on Facebook. This part struck a chord:

‎It's even becoming more difficult for soldier and civilian to converse. Army Capt. Stefan Hutnik, a company commander in Afghanistan, recalls being home from a combat tour and being told by his wife, as they were headed out to a family dinner, please don't talk about the Army or the war. "But,'' he said sadly, "I don't have anything else to talk about.''

I think I walk that ever-widening gap. My heart bleeds for the families that have been torn apart by this war, whether by death or divorce due to the long separations or other issues. But at the same time, I'd rather talk about other things. Normal, cheerier, day-to-day topics. As a military member, I sympathize. But as someone who sits behind a desk, who's never deployed, I cannot empathize.

For the record: While I did go TDY (temporary duty) to Doha, Qatar, I do not count this as a deployment. No one does.

Unusually quiet on the gaming front.

I stand in the bedroom getting dressed, and realize it is unusually quiet on the other side of the house. To my knowledge, Fiance hasn't gone to bed yet. I am debating whether or not to be concerned. Ultimately, I am not. Concern is for the rest of the day; I like to start my days with a healthy does of apathy.

I am dressed, ready to go. I walk over to the game room. He's been gaming the whole time! And nary a peep from the fellow! I express my surprise. He just looks at me. I explain that I haven't heard any yelling or cursing. He just looks at me some more. Then says, "You're a dork."

Brothers; you can't live with them.

Omission of the second part is deliberate.

Brother: why the hell do you like the yankees so much.

Me: It's in my blood. Why do you care?

Brother: adam and i were talking about the yanks last night over beer and pizza

Me: What the hell do you know about baseball?

Brother: i know it's like golf, but with running. i also know that steinbrenner likes to pad the yanks with players that cost way too much.

Me: Steinbrenner is dead.

Brother: *liked

Me: Are you in today?

Brother: nope. may be in later, depending on my desire to shower and leave the house, though.

Me: Anyways, I repeat the question, wth do you know about baseball??

Brother: golf with running. also, that i have no interest in it other than to push your buttons.

Me: Not golf with running. Go back to bed.

Brother: /ahem...couch. i'm going back to couch.

Me: JUST DO IT.

Happy Friday.

Public Service Announcement: Phishing Attacks.

Is your friend posting suspicious things on Facebook out of the blue? Or sending you odd e-mails with gibberish or suspicious links?? Your friend has been phished. Their password has been hijacked, and they need to change it ASAP, before the hijacker becomes malicious. Tell your friend to change the affected passwords, strengthen them, vary them between different accounts, and to run a virus/adware/spamware scan on their machine (I highly recommend Norton 360, it's what I use). And warn them to be cautious in the future when clicking on ads or unknown links.

This public service announcement is brought to you by The Dread Pirate Davi.

Halloween riddles and jokes.

1. The maker does not want it. The buyer does not use it. The user does not see it.
2. What is a vampire's favorite food?
3. How does a pumpkin quit smoking?
4. Why didn't the skeleton go to the dance?

Answers to be provided at a later time. (Don't give it away, Canuck!!)

Something that occurred to me yesterday.

You know, there's something about that Liam Neeson. An aura, and indefinable quality that leaves you with a feeling of comfort and safety in a his presence. Something that make you think to yourself, "As long as Liam is around, everything is gonna be alright." You don't know how, you just know. When immoral Albanians kidnap you and sell you and your virginity to a fat Middle Eastern sheikh, don't worry about it; they'll all be dead sometime within the next two hours. When an abnormally pale witch tries to hex you and your siblings, it's all good; he was gonna gobble her up anyhow. And if he's making a mint of your blood, sweat, and tears, you know it's only to keep you from being stripped, shaved, and gassed. What I'm trying to say is, we all could use a little Liam in our lives. Amirite??

House-hunting.

That's what we're doing. Kinda sick of paying rent out the ass for a shitty modular home that's falling apart.

I am a previous homeowner, but with the market being what it is, any advice would be appreciated.

That's what Leach said.

Henceforth, in conversations where the phrase, "That's what she said," would be deemed an appropriate (or inappropriate, depending on how you look at it) response to a statement or question, I, the Dread Pirate Davi, will instead respond with, "That's how I met your mom."

I, the Dread Pirate Davi, highly encourage you, my incredibly small audience, to adopt the same practice in your daily routine. Because every time you do, a fairy gets its wings. Or...no, wait...an alligator. An alligator learns to smile. Um. Listen, just do it, okay? Thanks.

The 'Rents, Days Two and Three.

Sunday: We arose from our slumber to plunder pancakes and such at the nearest Denny's. From there, Fiance jumped ship and we piled into the Redhead's fancy new SUV to set a course for the River Road and Pere Marquette. We took in the lovely weather and scenery before heading back to my house for an estrogen-filled Party Lite/Lia Sophia party. I spent too much money, Mom spent too much money, Redhead spent too much money, and I got some free stuff out of it. Dad sat in the kitchen eating the food I had set out and blissfully ignored us.

Monday: The day started with a lovely family breakfast that involved everyone eating scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits as their faces were glued to their respective laptops:

I took the day off from work to take the 'Rents to Cahokia Mounds (which Dad kept mispronouncing as "Cahokey Mountains"), and then we went over to the Landing for lunch and sight-seeing...and did we see some sights:

Squirrel Rape.

At first glance, I was certain that one boy squirrel was raping another boy squirrel. But after watching the video, I've come to the conclusion that these two were in fact a gay couple that had not yet agreed upon who would be the "girl" in this relationship.

The end.

Last night's dinner.

Made on a whim, but turned out GREAT: Shrimp fried rice, quick and easy.

A bag of microwaveable steamed rice.
A bag of microwaveable steamed broccoli.
Frozen de-veined, tailless shrimp.
Freshly-pressed garlic.
Freshly-ground black pepper.
Soy sauce.
One egg. (Or two, if you like.)

Microwave the bags, rice first. While waiting, heat up the butter in a skillet over medium heat, and toss in the garlic to taste (I like a lot; you might not). Toss in the thawed shrimp. Toss in the rice when it's ready, and pour in soy sauce to taste. Make sure you're stirring as you cook. (If the rice isn't FULLY cooked when it comes out of the bag, don't worry about it; once all the ingredients are in, put a lid on the skillet and whatever moisture is trapped in there will finish it off.) Throw in the broccoli when it's ready, and then add your egg(s). Keep stirring so spread the egg around as it cooks. Add black pepper to taste.

And for my next trick...flan! Stay tuned...

A quick getaway, Dread Pirate style.

"He's pretty pissed, Davi. He doesn't appreciate his authority being usurped by some crazy Puerto Rican with a penchant for shanking co-workers she doesn't like. No ma'am, there will be hell to pay."

I was driving and talking on my cell phone, which is illegal in the state of Illinois...but I had left Illinois hours ago. And I wasn't stopping to ask about local driving laws. I had somewhere to be.

"Well, Fabio*, I don't know what to tell you. I tried to keep things light when I accounced the results in the hopes that Tassel* would be less inclined towards vindictiveness. But, of course, I underestimated his love for barbecue, and must now pay the price for allowing a fair vote on Big Mama's Barbecue versus Buffalo Wild Wings." I pulled over real quick, put Fabio on speaker phone, and grabbed a box from the glove compartment. "Hey, do me a favor," I said, as I reached into the backseat to grab my shotgun off the floor, "just to be on the safe side, delete my address from the recall roster." I loaded a couple of rounds in the gun.

"Ha, right," he laughed, as if I'd cracked a joke. "That'll keep him away."

"Doesn't matter," I said, checking to make sure the knife I'd slid in my boot before fleeing was still there, "he'll find that I've already burnt the place to the ground. They'll find bodies matching mine and Fiance's dental records." I kept him on the speaker phone, placed the shotgun back on the floor in the backseat, and threw a blanket over it. "If you need me for anything, go to the Hagia Sophia in Turkey. Ask for Leroy McRory. Give him a slip of paper with the following numbers on it: 5-7-89-52-6. You wait four hours, and walk over to the crypt. I'll be waiting there." I threw the car into drive and pulled back onto Interstate 95 heading north.

"Oh. Gotcha." He sounded surprised. "So, you called in The Eraser? Damn, that Arnold is fast."

"What?" I asked, distracted. "Oh, no, no. Arnold is in retirement now. But he offers an exclusive top secret educational seminar in Napa Valley every Tuesday for anyone looking to drop off the radar...permanently. You should look into it."

"Is it pricey?"

I swerved to avoid a possum. What the fuck is a possum doing on the interstate? "Meh, kinda, but mention my name, you'll get a referral discount. Listen, gotta run." I hung up without waiting for a response, and tossed the phone out the window. My scalp was itchy; stupid wig. You shell out $2000 for a decent wig, and it's still itchy as fuck.

I went through my mental checklist again. Fiance and I had parted ways; he was on his way to the Caymans with a hefty settlement, ready to start a new life without me. He got SoCo, I kept Simi. He wasn't happy about that, but I'll be damned if I ever hit the road without that stupid cat to act as lookout during a heist. Fiance was gonna be just fine, and I've got my favorite Stuffed Rabbit in my rucksack.**

As for me, I was heading to the UK. I was thinking early retirement; wouldn't be my first one, probably wouldn't be my last. But what can I say? I piss off the wrong people pretty easily, and I'm not about to change who I am. So here I am, at the top of Ben Nevis in spring, watching the sun set. It's drizzling a little, but I'm okay with that. Simi and the Stuffed Rabbit are waiting for me back at the bed-and-breakfast. Don't bother trying to find the Dread Pirate Davi...she'll find you, when the time is right. And you better have some goddamn rum or hard cider for her.

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty.
**A story for another time.

The ‘Rents, Day One.

We had an early start to our day, but our morning was lazily spent sipping coffee, eating breakfast sandwiches, watching Netflix. Fiance went to nap, and we headed out to a winery fifteen minutes away to enjoy the sunny but chilly weather, take pictures of the lovely scenery, and enjoy some lunch (which we had to wait on for a hour, pbut what are you gonna do).

They bought me Windows 7 as a belated birthday present, and Dad successfully resuscitated my long-comatose HP laptop, yay!! Fiance awoke from his slumber, and we went to a fancy-schmancy steak house for…well, steak, DUH.

And now we’re sitting around watching Mission: Impossible III. A pleasant day, all around.

Hoist the Colours.

The king and his men stole the queen from her bed 
And bound her in her bones.
The seas be ours and by the powers
Where we will we'll roam!

Yo, ho, all hands.
Hoist the colours high.
Heave, ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die!

Yo, ho, haul together.
Hoist the colours high.
Heave, ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die!

Some have died and some are alive
Others sail on the sea
With the keys to the cage and the Devil to pay
We lay to Fiddler's Green!

The bell has been raised from its watery grave
Hear its sepulchral tone.
A call to all, pay heed to the squall
And turn your sail to home!

Yo, ho, haul together.
Hoist the colours high.
Heave, ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die.


Dust off yer' pistols n' sabers n' boots, m' hearties. Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides comes out next year. These fair tidings fill my little black heart with joy.

Only YOU can prevent noodle fires.

Was informed by Canuck that he's such a terrible cook, he burns WATER. I would like for someone to explain to me how this is accomplished.

Shrimp-and-crab alfredo for dinner with salmon steaks. Mmmm...I'll try not to burn the noodles this time. Oh gawd. Can I just wave a magic wand and have the deliciousness appear in front of me this instance? Instead of sitting here waiting for the steaks to thaw out in the sink under running water that will be reflected on my next water bill????

The 'Rents are coming to town. It's been four years this month since they last came through. Don't fuck with me this weekend, Universe.

Slated for two trips this autumn, and very much looking forward to them. The new Harry Potter flick opens while I'm out of town, and I've already picked my IMAX theatre in that area to geek out at. I'm packing my Gryffindor tie. And I hope I get more trips next year.

I have nothing else to say.

Fire noodles.

If Fiance and Ex ever needed justification for the kitchen lurking, it just occurred about two minutes ago.

Tonight, I am a Sulky Pirate.

I think I found my soul mate, AND a way to get out of meal prep a few times a week.

Both are equally awesome.

First, my soul mate. I think she's random and funny and ridiculous. I LOVE IT. Read her blog.

Secondly. I came home and asked Fiance what he wanted for dinner. He didn't know, as usual. It's a cute little routine we have to keep things interesting in our relationship. I come home, he asks what's for dinner, I ask him what he wants, he doesn't know, but all hell will break loose if this little woman doesn't get her Puerto Rican ass in the kitchen AND MAKE A GODDAMN SAMMICH. It's how we say "I love you."

ANYWAYS. I suggested chicken spaghetti, because we've had a package of ground chicken in the fridge since Sunday. (If you have not had ground chicken in your spaghetti...shame on you.) He said, "I don't really feel like making that." Um. I'm gonna make it. "Well, if you feel like making it..."

I was sitting here reading the blog of my new soul mate (I promised her I wouldn't stalk her...that's cool, right??), and he asked me when I was making dinner. So I stood up to make it. He followed me into the kitchen, asking me if I needed help. I politely declined. You see...[can i pause for moment? i fucking HATE typing on this laptop. my browser will do all kinds of random things that my fingers do not ask it to do. it's stupid.]...Fiance and Ex-Husband (Surprise, I'm divorced!! Unless you've been following me from the beginning...then it's not a surprise. Carry on.) have one tiny little thing in common...they like to fucking LURK in the kitchen while Yours Truly is cooking. Why?? Because in their eyes, my cooking expertise is lacking. Now, Fiance tolerates what I make for dinner most of the time. But when it comes to chicken spaghetti?? Adult supervision is required.

So even though I had politely declined his assistance, he ignored me and began pulling out pots and pans, and informed me that HE would be cooking. Oh, but I am allowed, in fact I am REQUIRED, to prepare the noodles. Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Also, he never bothers tasting the food first, he just immediately grabs the Cavender's Greek Seasoning, dumps a bunch on, and then digs in. Did I mention he was walking around telling his family that I'm a terrible cook when we were in New York last December??

Gotta run...I have noodles to boil.

A bad case of writer's block and missing notes.

It really depresses me how little progress I've made in my writing over the years. I have three-point-five stories floating around in my head that are little more than scribbled notes and an a half-completed chapter here or there. Every once in a great while, I'll go into a frenzy, and scribble furiously for pages on end. But inevitably, I fail to transcribe the notes onto my laptop, and they get mixed up or misplaced.


What's that?? Oh, yeah. Yeah, look at me, yet another blogger with weak aspirations for published fame. Woo.

Rally to Restore Sanity.

James Poniewozik's column Tuned In in this week's Time Magazine, entitled The 15% Solution.

Do we really need comedians to take politics back from the lunatics? Apparently, yes.

Are Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert joking? For The Daily Show and Colbert Report hosts, the answer has always been an emphatic yes and no. Their programs, they demur, are just fake-news comedy shows, but ones run on the principle that every joke needs to have an idea behind it.
    On Sept. 16, Stewart announced what could be his biggest joke - and biggest idea - yet. Three weeks after Fox News melodramatist Glenn Beck held his Restoring Honor rally in Washington, Stewart announced his own march on the Mall: the Oct. 30 Rally to Restore Sanity.
    The premise: most Americans would be willing to have reasonable discussions about how to solve our problems, but the conversation in the U.S. has been hijacked by the looniest, most intense 15% or so of us - the ranter, the ragers, the people who think Obama is a secret Muslim commie or who thought Bush was Hitler. "Why don't we hear from the other 70% to 80%?" Stewart asked. "Most likely because you have s___ to do." For one day, Stewart and Colbert (who will hold the concurrent tongue-in-cheek March to Keep Fear Alive) aim to give that majority a voice. If it can get a baby-sitter.
    The premise is a joke on its face: a "Million Moderate March," a protest for non-protesters, channeling the rage of the reasonable. But the idea behind it is dead-on. Like so many of Stewart's and Colbert's gags, it spoofs not just political buffoons but the press that enables them.
    After all, the 15 Percenters haven't become influential alone. We live in the "if it screeds, it leads" era. The way to protest the "insensitivity" of an Islamic center near Ground Zero is to drag a decommissioned missile to the site. The way to get a job in cable news is to accuse a Supreme Court justice of bestiality. The way to air your differences is to call the President a Kenyan anti-colonialist (Newt Gingrish) or Sarah Palin a Taliban mullah (Michael Moore). The press lurches from sideshow to sideshow: we've heard more about Tea Party Senate candidate Christine O'Donnell's positions on masturbation and witchcraft than on how (speaking of magic) she'd balance the budget while cutting taxes.
    Media outlets that aren't hiring or promoting 15 Percenters are cowed by them. On Sept. 11, the Portland (Maine) Press Herald ran a photo and article about local Muslim Americans celebrating the end of Ramadan. After complaints that it had not been "balanced" with a reminder of the 2001 terrorist attacks, the paper's publisher apologized - though the human-interest feature was no different from the ones that are run every Easter or Rosh Hashanah.
    Every time this happens, the 15 Percenters get a little more powerful. Every time this happens, the incentive scale for journalists and activists is tilted toward thrown stunts and blown gaskets. Pundits start praising politicians' ability to channel their constituents' anger. The movie Network - in which a raving, ratings-grabbing television anchor eggs on viewers to get "mad as hell" - begins to look less like a cautionary tale and more like an instructional video.
    I would not have expected to use the adjective Nixonian to describe Stewart and Colbert. But in trying to give a voice to people who just want America to chill the hell out, they're redefining Nixon's concept of the Silent Majority - or as the rally's website calls it, "the Busy Majority." Four days after Stewart made his plans for the rally public, more than 100,000 people had signed up on Facebook to attend.
    Christening movements and majorities is a tricky business for funnymen, though: oft the path of righteousness doth lead to Dennis Miller. Stewart went on CNN's Crossfire in 2004 and asked the hosts to "stop hurting America" with shows that celebrated argument; Colbert went in front of the White House Correspondents' Dinner in 2006 with a scathing in-character routine about journalists' passivity. These moments made them heroes to some, but too much earnestness, as they themselves have said, kills comedy.
    One difference here is that Stewart and Colbert are not offering answers; they're saying that their fans are empowered to come up with the answers. Another difference is that the rally is mocking the media, as much as anything else, for its fascination with shiny objects - through the meta-tactic of creating one. The very idea that in the U.S. today you have to hold a protest to promote rational discourse is absurd. It's funny because it's true.
    Stewart's popular image, as National Public Radio once described it, is that of "the last sane man in a world gone mad." He's not - not by a long shot. The point of the Oct. 30 rally is to prove that most of us are sane and therefore ignored. But he and Colbert seem to be the last men in the media who know how to build an institution on sanity instead of by chasing the latest flavor of crazy. Are they joking? The question should be, Is America serious?

 I'll see you guys in DC on the 30th.

HE bought the booze. I did not ask for it.

Today I chose to patronize the local Bread Co for my midday meal. I was joined by Brother Leach, Canuck of the North, and RG (minus his stolen vespa). RG and Leach had not met prior. RG asked how Leach and I knew each other. At first, we joked.

L: We don't.
D: No, we don't. After six and a half years, I don't know you at all.

We are so silly sometimes.

L: She helped me get my Article 15*.
D: Well, you helped me get an LOR**!!
L:...true.
D: And you bought the booze. I did not ask for it.

And that is the very-detailed and thoroughly-explained story of how the dynamic duo of Almight Davi and her Chariot Master met and adopted each other.

Disclaimer: That's not really the whole story. Maybe I'll go into detail...another time.

* Article 15 - An article of the Uniformed Code of Military Justice. It is non-judicial punishment handed down by one's commander, and is the highest form of punishment without being court-martialed or going to jail. It follows you around for the rest of your military career.
*LOR - Short of Letter of Reprimand, it is a written memorandum that is one step down from an Article 15, and remains in your personnel file for a year before being shredded. While it is in your file, it can have an impact on performance reports, awards, and promotions.

Sunday Funday: Not so much.

Welp, done with reserves for the weekend. SoCo just puked on two different spots on the carpet, and we're out of cat litter. Fiance is sleeping the day away before having to go to work tonight. I'm still sitting here in my uniform.

...so, what now??

You won't see this shit on Scrubs.

A real-life conversation between myself and Brother Leach, via text message, on 7 July 2010, during the AM:

Leach: hey, real sorry to do this...i have a conference call at 1130 i really need to be on. can we rain check for tomorrow or friday?

Davi: You always do this! What about my needs?! Sure, that's cool. :P

Leach i'm sorry that i can't fulfill your desires. i guess i'm not the man i thought i was ='(

Davi: BWAHAHAHA.

Leach: so does that make up for my inadequacies?

Davi: You're a doctor. You're in the clear...FOR NOW...

Leach: so would you be willing to say that my trust is on...LIFE SUPPORT?

Davi: I would say it's in critical condition, but stable. We just need to keep it over night for observation.

Leach: ...that's what she said.

Davi: That's what I said.

Leach: you did say that.

Davi: I did. What are you gonna do about?

Leach: i'm gonna fight about it.

Davi: You can't. You're a doctor. If you fight, you lose your non-combatant status, and then the terrorists win.

Leach: i will fight with telekinesis. also, with scalpels. cave-dwelling guerrilla warfare experts have nothing on my scalpel prowess.

Davi: I...can't argue with that. If anyone challenged you about the scalpels, you could claim you were attempting to perform surgery on a patient who didn't want to be operated on by a white devil infidel.

Friday Funnies.

First of all, someone please buy me this. I want to hand the posters up at work, and then point at them in a manic and furious manner whenever we're writing a report.

And after you've bought it for me, sign me up for this class. I don't want to be caught off-guard when the zombie apocalypse begins.

Lastly, the nose of  Lady Liberty would look fabulous hanging up on my wall, right next to Van Gogh's ear. Maybe for Christmas??

I am a Halo widow.

My darling Fiance got off his night shift, and is forgoing sleep today in favor of putting in at least 300 Halo matches.

Sigh.

I feel violated.

I spent the evening with a handsome young man named Aiden. He liked me hair, and we were making each other laugh and smile, and everything was dandy except for one thing.

He would not stop unbuttoning the top of my dress.

Isn't two months a little young to be putting the moves on a lady?? It's probably highly inappropriate to do so towards your baby-sitter. I think I might have to have a talk with him.

Additions to my traveling bucket list.

The Sister gave me a hard time about not listing any African countries that are not currently embroiled in violence. And she was right to; how badass would a safari be?? Shame on me.

My co-worker previously known as RK (the one who was doing cartwheels in the airport, but not really), who shall henceforth be known as Canuck, was offended by the exclusion of his motherland: Canada. I'll take his word for it that there are cool things up there, and add it to my list.

If anyone else has suggestions for the list, feel free to send them my way.

Places I want to visit before I die...

...and preferably while I'm still young enough to enjoy them.

California, so can I put my feet in the Pacific Ocean.
Niagara Falls, as an adult.
Macchu Picchu
Galapagos Islands
Back to Alaska, 'cause I haven't seen the aurora borealis.
Vieques
United Kingdom...all of it.
France
Spain
Pyrenees
Morocco
Egypt
Italy
Greece
Those islands that sit on either side of the international date line...I forget their names.
Turkey
Israel
The Great Wall of China
Japan
Taj Mahal
Australia
Korea, so I can pick up some more North Korean currency at the DMZ.

And I would love to, at some point, live in the UK for a few years. Sigh. I'll keep dreaming...

LOOK WHAT I BOUGHT.

Vibram Five Fingers KSO ftw.

I'm wearing them now. They feel so bizarre on my feet, but I can't wait to get into running shape with them!!

The not-so-true story of RG's Korean escapades.

This is my co-worker, RG. This is RG making off with a Korean McDonald's delivery vespa. Immediately after this photo was taken, he swerved to avoid hitting a local prostitute known as Songtan Sally, lost control of the vespa, and ran into a police car. He was promptly arrested, and thrown into prison. He was never seen by his family, friends, or co-workers again. For the next five years he was routinely beaten and starved by vicious North Korean guards before being brought to the attention of North Korean dictator Kim Jong-Il. Kim took an immediate liking to RG and kept him as a companion, even going so far as to adopt him as his son. Ten years later, RG betrayed his psychotic yet benevolent father figure, stole a jet, and flew back to the US of A, where he settled down with a new identity and opened up a burger delivery joint that proved to be very popular; soon after, it was noted by the SPCA that the local population of stray cats and dogs was dwindling at an alarming rate. RG lived until the ripe old age of 70, when he was run over by some punkass on a vespa.

May Delta Airlines burn in the deepest, darkest parts of the fiery bowels of Hell.

Or at the very least, get their fucking act together.

Local time: Sunday, 1 August, 9:39 AM.

Friends, I write to you from the Republic of Korea. I departed from my local airport Friday morning, American time. It was a mildly uncomfortable trip, with a frustrating beginning and a maddening end.

But before I start, let's play a game. Count how many explanation points "!" (that one doesn't count) I use throughout this post. The winner gets...well, we'll get to that at the end.

Fiance drove me to the airport, and we arrived with plenty of time for me to check in for my international flight. I had a brand new passport, a brand new international driver's license (watch out, world!*), and everything I could possibly need for a whole month in a large suitcase, a small suitcase, and two carry-ons. I was set.

*That one counts as Number One. The next one will be Number Two, and so on...

I bid farewell to the Fiance, and headed through security.

There are seven members in our traveling troupe. I arrived at the gate to find MSgt House (just House from here on out); TSgt Canuck (just Canuck now) was off doing cartwheels in the corner. (No, he wasn't, but I have no idea what he was actually doing, and what I wrote sounds more fun.) I saw the disgruntled look on House's face from a mile away, a look I was already familiar with from our trek out west to Kansas in May. This is a look that says, "I really don't appreciate the universe throwing roadblocks in front of me, and if it doesn't cut the shenanigans, I will not hesitate to slit its throat." As I walked up to him, he informed me that our flight to Detroit was delayed. (Canuck thinks it's 'cause POTUS was in Detroit that day; yesterday for you.) The delay would have made us miss our connecting flight. Unacceptable, I tell you!! (Oh snap, a twofer. These happy couples will be peppered throughout. Enjoy.)

As I stated in the first sentence of the preceding paragraph (that means the group of sentences directly above this one), there are seven members of this merry band. Tiny Dancer was the first to get re-routed, and he alone went through Atlanta; his was the last seat on that plane. Mrs Milhouse, RG, and Mom-pants found out about the delay when they were checking in, so they got taken care of there. House, Canuck, and myself went to the counter at our original gate to see what could be done. The employee, Tim, didn't say much. I initially felt sympathy for him; we weren't the only ones affected by the delay, and it seemed like a lot to deal with that early in the morning. (I came to regret this sympathy later. That sympathy-leeching bastard.) He spent a lot of time (nearly 45 minutes) typing away on his keyboard and holding a phone to his ear while saying almost nothing into it; I assume he was on hold most of the time. (Or was it all a show?? To appear busier than he actually was?? But I'm not the sort to linger over outlandish conspiracy theories of deliberate sabotage, and I digress.)

Finally he told us that we were being re-routed through JFK (oh, the joy) and would be boarding a connecting flight from there. He looked out our baggage check receipts and asked us to describe our respective suitcases. We were assured at this time that our luggage was also being re-routed. We were issued two boarding passes each that stated SEAT REQUEST, meaning we would given our seat assignments at our new gate. Mrs Milhouse, RG, and Mom-pants were also re-routed through JFK, and though all six of us would experience the same troubles in New York, New York, I am now coming to believe that they're being re-routed at the check-in counter before they even checked their luggage is what, at the end of the long journey, left them better off than the trio that I was part of. The two trios became six (no, really, do the math!) at the new gate; we received our seat assignments from that flight, and were told we'd get the next ones at our connection.

We landed in JFK at 1:00 PM USA East Coast time (that is not the real name of that time zone; Google the real one) and learned that we would have to go outside security (damnit; I was carrying two laptops, for pity's sake), out into the sun, and walk to the next terminal over for our connecting flight. I immediately didn't like this; our connecting flight was scheduled to leave at 2:00 PM, and while I haven't been inside JFK since I was kid (or was that La Guardia?? Newark?? Hmmm...), I still remembered it was as bad as BWI, and I worried about having to go through security again. All six of us walked up to the Korean Airlines ticket counter to check in, only to be told that our "boarding passes" were no such thing; Delta had given us pieces of paper that did not have existing reservations. And we couldn't make them on the spot; we were firmly, but kindly, directed to a third terminal, where we would find a Delta ticketing counter. We were told that as long as we were back to check in by 1:30, we would make the flight.

So we went back out into sun and walked to this terminal. The group in general had a pessimistic expectation that we would not make the flight; I was a tad more optimistic. Mrs Milhouse took the opportunity to run outside for a cigarette; it would be her last one for over fourteen hours. We finally got the reservations via Delta Fucking Airlines (I hear they're renaming themselves), and rushed back to the Korean Airlines desk at the second terminal. (JFK needs to come up with a better way for passengers to get between terminals. Tampa has trams!! No leaving security!! Get with the times, JFK!!) I am srsly having a field day with these...

Korean confirmed our honest-to-gawd existing real-life reservations, issued the genuine get-us-the-hell-out-of-here boarding passes, and we were in line for security by 1:25 PM, baby. Everyone was a bit more optimistic by this time about making the flight, everyone except House, who was still muttering about missing it and still had That Look on his face; because the line for security, while not terribly long, didn't seem to be moving at first. As the TSA agents checked our tickets, we explained the situation. The one lady, the Goddess bless her (remember, I'm a Wiccan now),undid one of the ropes, turned her back and said, "I'm not looking." Sweet!! So we got just a little bit ahead in the line, and then the next TSA agent was nice about not making us wait too long to take our turns to go through the scanners. We were in line to board the flight by 1:40. Whew...but this was not the end of our troubles, my friends. Not by a long shot!!!!!!!! (Bonus, baby!!)

I'm gonna Tarantino this shit for a second (real word, look it up in Webster's Dictionary of Dane Cook-isms: The Oxford Edition, publishing date 2000-something), and backtrack a week or so. If you've ever flown overseas (anywhere in the US to Alaska, Hawaii, or Puerto Rico doesn't count, you pansies), you know it's no cake walk. (What the hell does that mean? What is a cake walk? I hear those words, and I literally imagine a tightrope made of cakes. Srsly. Someone explain this to me. But again, I digress.) So Mom-pants, knowing that our company has ca$h moneys to spend as the end of the fiscal year draws nigh, attempted to arrange for us to have business class seating for our flight to the Korean peninsula, so that we might be comfortable. Our company approved it; GSA (Google) approved it. But when it got the lead civilian in our section of the agency we are contracted with, it was poo-pooed. He said the flight had to be at least 14 hours long to get approval.

Our flight was originally scheduled to be thirteen (13) hours and fifty (50) minutes long. At the time, Canuck joked that the plane would circle around Seoul for an extra ten minutes before landing. Remember that. Write it down and hang on the fridge to reference in a few sentences or so.

I didn't really sleep on the flight. I think I got a grand total of 2.5 hrs of napping in. I couldn't get comfortable, and oddly enough I wasn't really tired. So I read a bit, and when I got tired of that I took advantage of the interactive screen on the back of the seat in front of me. I watched three movies in a row (Clash of the Titans [I love you, Sam Worthington]; Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief; Ondine), and played some puzzle games.

Alright, grab that note off the fridge. As stated previously in the first sentence of the paragraph-before-last, our original connecting flight out of Detroit, which coincidentally enough was also heading to Korea (imagine that), was scheduled to be 13 hours and 50 minutes long. Well, with us now flying out of JFK, and Tiny Dancer flying out of Atlanta, our connecting flights were now going to exceed 14 hours. To rub salt in the wounds (which you should never, ever do, because it is very painful and probably not even very sanitary, in all honesty), as we came upon the City of Seoul, the captain came over the intercom to inform us that our landing would be delayed for fifteen minutes due to air traffic congestion. (Can you imagine, bumper-to-bumper traffic in the sky? Can't be safe.) I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling. Elsewhere on that very same plane (not a plane next to it; not a plane behind it; that EXACT plan that I was sitting on at that moment of time), those who had heard Canuck's joke (the one on the note on your fridge; I told you to remember it) also got a chuckle or two (or ten, it's quite possible, but I didn't count, and neither did they) out of that. I am fairly certain, if I know Mom-pants, that this will be rubbed in That Civilian Guy's face upon our return.

Now, let's Tarantino this again to that moment on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States of America when we found out from Korean Airlines that we were not (allow me to reiterate: NOT) booked with them. I began at this time to worry, and as far as I could tell I was the only one who did, that our luggage wouldn't make it. Think about it: Delta obviously failed to re-route us through the second part of our journey (which was kinda crucial, you know); why would they succeed with luggage where they failed with passengers?? But Mom-pants kept insisting that our luggage had been checked all the way through. I argued that we had thought the same for ourselves, but that this obviously hadn't been the case. She continued to insist our luggage would make it; so I let it go, but didn't forget about it.

So I really shouldn't have been surprised when we got to the luggage carousel in Seoul and waited in vain for my brand-new suitcases. Mrs Milhouse, Mom-pants, RG: they all got their luggage. Myself, House, Canuck, the trio re-routed by Tim from Delta: no luggage. We were the Three Musketeers of Getting Fucked in the Ass...with no lube. The Korean Airlines personnel checked their system, and and while they couldn't guarantee anything, the computers told them that mine and Canuck's things were on a flight scheduled to land after 0400 local today, while SH's suitcase was on a flight scheduled to land after 0500. They took down our information, informed us they had a delivery time in the morning and one in the evening (so if our stuff does arrive, we'll have it by this afternoon, Goddess willing), and told us that they would call us before delivering if it did arrive, and that we just had to meet the delivery person at the gate to the base.

Having nothing to claim, we breezed through immigration and customs (my passport's cherry has officially been popped), and met up with Tiny Dancer, who happily informed us that he had not been plagued with any of the problems we'd encountered. (There was a minute there when I maliciously contemplated gathering all the luggage and setting fire to it. But that would have been spiteful.) The next bus to the base wasn't scheduled to leave until 8:00 PM Asian Time (again, not the real name of this time zone; Google the shit out of it), so we still had a little over an hour. I knew we wouldn't get to the base in time to hit up the Base Exchange for a fresh set of clothing. So it was the craziest luck in the world that, directly across from the ticket counter for a bus, was a store that had not only all the toiletries I needed to get through the night (minus deoderant), but also single packages of underwear. Woot!! (I checked, they were clean.)

I can't wait to fill out my expense report to get reimbursed for those panties. It's gonna be hysterical, I tell you.

We're in billeting, and if I may say so, this is genuinely the nicest base inn that I have been in. It felt amazing to take a hot bath and wash away more than 24 hours of stress and put on a fresh pair of underwear.

Now, friends, please keep your fingers crossed. It would make my month (since, you know, I'm here for a whole floggin' month) if my luggage is delivered today. Then I can really relax, put on clean clothes that do not reek of traveler's sweat, and look forward to meeting new people who are probably gonna piss me off, and then forget about said people and go sight-seeing. After all, it's not every day a girl like the Dread Pirate Davi finds herself in Korea.

Got a number for them there explanation points? Submit them via blog comment, and I will announce the winner and the Mysterious Prize in my next blog post...maybe.

Quickie updates.

Local time: Sunday, 1 August,  8:20 AM.

I have not blogged in an unforgivable amount of time. Forgive me!! I plan on going off on a rant on here, but I figured I'll save that for the next post, and use this one to update you.

The meds they have me on for my narcolepsy are AWESOME. They keep me awake and focused for HOURS. Win.

Fiance got a job!! He's on base working nights, yay!! I like him so much better when he isn't around 24/7, ha ha. (Baby, if you're reading this, I love you!)

My parents got the CUTEST little kitten, a snow leopard kitten. Google them. These cats, coming in different colors (theirs is white with gray spots, and named Bagheera), are the fourth-generation-and-on results of the small, wild Asian Leopard being bred with the domestic house cat, resulting in the gorgeous wild looks and the lovable and playful domestic temperament. They're INSANELY expensive, but my parents got theirs comparably cheap from a show breeder because the white color isn't as popular as the darker colors. I'll post more later and share pictures. I WANT ONE.

The Sister has returned from her semester in Peru. She loved every minute of it and did not want to leave EVER. She got to visit Macchu Picchu (sp? help me out Trish) twice, and also got to fly over the Nazca Lines - - again, hit up the Googles. She was incredibly lucky and very grateful for the experience.

Weight Watchers was a partial success, and I say "partial" because I haven't attained my final weight goal. I did, however, lose the 14 lbs that I had gained over the holidays. I feel healthier than I have in months and months, and I can fit my clothes again. I've decided to take a break from the stricter aspects of the diet, though I'm still making sure to get in plenty of fiber and water and other good stuff.

My best friend, Dee, had her baby boy. He was born July 15th, and he's beautiful. I'm so happy for you, Dee!!

The Sister came to visit me last week upon her return from the Southern Hemisphere. She flew in Thursday and was here till this past Tuesday. We tanned at the pool, and spent our Sunday at Cahokia Mounds (almost killed myself on Monk's Mound) and then finished up the afternoon with a drive down the Meeting of the Great Rivers Scenic Byway.

And now I am in South Korea...but we'll save that for the next post.

Rise and shine, STL. If you're up, head downtown for the Veiled Prophet parade at 10 AM to see me with the 932 AW carrying a 30'x50' flag.

About that sleep study.

Narcolepsy. Read about it here.

Did you read it? No? Do it.

Okay, now that your preconceived Hollywood-influenced assumptions have been shattered, guess who has narcolepsy? Yours truly, duh.

It explains so much. Fortunately, they gave me these really kick-ass pills to keep me awake. I LOVE THEM.

'Bye.

Weekly Update: Part...um...

Yeah, it's been a few weeks. I weighed in this past Sunday at 126.8; that's 7.4 pounds down. Yay!

I'm currently in the middle of a sleep study. I came in last night and had a bunch of wires and taped and glued and strapped to me. Here was the result:

I look fabulous.

They had me sleep for seven hours, and I don't feel like I slept well. I remember constantly shoving that thing back into my nose. Half the wires were removed this morning; the ones attached to my scalp and face are still there. The cables run to a rectangular box that I wear around my neck on a lanyard when I'm not in bed. When it's sleepy time, they attach a cable to the box to monitor me. I've had two naps so far today. I can confidently rule out severe sleep apnea; if I had it, they would have put a mask on me in the night to help me breathe, and sent me on my merry way this morning with a machine. Doesn't mean I don't have sleep apnea in a milder form, though.

My second nap was kinda bizarre. I felt like I had trouble staying asleep, as if I were mostly dozing. Towards the end of the nap, voices were keeping me awake as I lay with my back to the door. A nurse came in ten minutes before I was supposed to be done with the nap to bring me a sandwich to eat before they discharged me. I sat up and looked over to see that while I'd been struggling to sleep, they'd brought in a young girl in a wheel chair to take the bed next to mine. I saw she had a couple of family members with her, which explained the voices I'd heard. And then...

...I woke up for real.

In my single-bed room.

With no food.

It was all a dream. A very, very real dream. Those are the worst. For the past few years, I've almost always been able to tell that I'm dreaming. I can usually force myself to wake up if I find a dream unpleasant. Every once in a while, a dream sleeps past my dream detector, and in the dream I feel as if everything is real. Ugh. Hate those ones, because they're confusing and disorienting when I wake, because sometimes I dream of myself in bed with things happening around me...like hearing a noise, or seeing a cat run around, only to wake up and find that the cats where never in the room and that I'm alone in the house. Like I said, confusing.

I have a headache, and I'm hungry.

Book reviews.

Just finished reading a couple of great books. The first one is Brainless: The Lies and Lunacy of Ann Coulter, by Joe Maguire. Mr Maguire takes all the crazy nonsense that Ms Coulter spews on a daily basis and dissects it to reveal, well, the lies and lunacy. (For those of you who "like what she has to say," as one co-worker put it, she is on the record as stating that women should not have the right to vote. This surprised my co-worker. She is also on the record as dismissing the theory of evolution while endorsing creationism as valid science.)

My impression after reading this book? Ann Coulter sucks at life.

Also just got done reading Escape, by Carolyn Jessop. Carolyn spend her entire life as the fourth wife of a man old enough to be her father until she grew some cajones and got the hell out of dodge with all eight of her children. Her last four pregnancies were all life-threatening, with the last resulting in an emergency hysterectomy. Her husband, her sister-wives (except for one), and her step-children could not have cared less. When she went to their prophet, Warren Jeffs (yeah, that creeper), to demand fair treatment from her husband, the man dismissed her because while she had listed all her husband's abuse, she had not admitted to any sins of her own. But never fear, there is a happy ending!

My impression after reading this book? FLDS sucks at life.

Enjoy your week.

Weekly Update: Part IV

Scale says I gained .2 lb.

I say, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..."

Weekly Update: Part III

What happened to Part II?? Um...I was being lazy about updating. Sorry!!

Here are the stats.

Weight loss after week one: 2.6 pounds.
Weight loss after week two: 1 pound.
Weight loss after week three: 1.6 pounds.

Yes, I have lost my first 5 pounds (5.2, total)!! As a result, my daily points have been adjusted, from 20 to 19. Somehow, I'll live.

Some of my recent favorite Weight Watchers recipes include Rosemary Roast Beef Tenderloin with Vegetables, Lemon Corn Muffins with Raspberries, Baked French Toast, and Fast French Dip. Yum, yum, yum!! Let me know if any of you want these recipes.

I've been lazy on the workout front. I got lazy about it half-way through week two, and I was only tracking walking activity points because of how far I've been parking my car from my building. But yesterday I got back in gear with a one-hour walk on the treadmill, with speeds ranging from 3.6 to 4 miles and hour. It was pretty rough. I knocked out about 3.8 miles, and burned 380 calories. My legs were jell-o for the rest of the day.

Today I'm having some friends over for a buffet-style dinner. One of them, KJ, is a friend from my deployment. I haven't seen him in three years, and I'm pretty excited about having him over. My two favorite girls will be in attendance as well (speaking of which, I got to feel Dee's baby kick the other night, yaaaay!!!!), along with a friend of KJ's that I met after he moved here with his wife, Chuck and Alyssa. Alyssa is also pregnant, but hopefully poor Fiance won't be overwhelmed by the amount of estrogen in the house.

I'm making more Weight Watchers recipes for dinner. I'll be one later to discuss them, and maybe share my favorites. 'Bye!!

Weekly update: Part I.

I weighed in yesterday at 131.8 pounds. I lost 2.6 pounds during my first week. I exercised daily, getting in at least thirty minutes; I did an hour on the treadmill on Saturday and Sunday after drill. I'm already noticing one or two pairs of pants that are not quite so suffocating. I've been drinking plenty of water, eating lots of veggies, and enjoying the food that goes in my mouth. Cheese-stuffed chicken burgers, asparagus, carrots, broccoli, steak, corn, bacon-egg-cheese sandwiches, oatmeal, blueberry muffins, oranges, yogurt, Parmesan-crusted chicken breast...all delicious!! (Except for the carrots...I just can't dig 'em, raw or cooked, unless they're part of a roast.)


That's one week down. Woot!!

Feeling good so far.

Day Two of Change.

I feel good about today. I had another grab-n-go egg sandwich for breakfast, and brought a big bottle of water to work to sip on all day. For lunch, I had leftovers from last night's dinner: chicken breast (4 pts), broccoli (0 pts), and asparagus (0 pts) with a can of Coke Zero (0 pts). I did a total of twenty minutes of walking today, earning me 1 activity point, and did 30 minutes on a stationary bike at the gym, earning me 3 activity points. I finished up my workout with 15 minutes in the sauna, and headed home.

Now I'm working on dinner, making some Parmesan-crusted chicken breast (6 pts), fried redskin potatoes (2 pts), and canned corn (2 pts) for myself and Fiance. That leaves me 2 pts for dessert, and I'm probably gonna have one of the Weight Watchers ice cream treats sitting in the freezer.

I feel so motivated!!

Off to a good start.

Day One of Change.

Started the day off right with a breakfast sandwich totaling four points. I won't know until I go to the meeting this afternoon how many points I'm allotted each day, but I still feel that's a good start.

Grab 'N Go Breakfast (from a Weight Watchers recipe book)
1 egg
1 tsp of bacon bits
salt and pepper to taste
1 slice of Weight Watchers cheese
2 slices of Weight Watchers whole wheat bread

Spray a 2-cup plate with nonstick cooking spray. Mix the egg, bacon bits, and salt and pepper in a small mixing bowl. Pour the mixture onto the plate and microwave on high for one minute. Place the cheese on top of the egg. Using a fork or spatula, lift the egg off the plate and place it on the bread. Wrap it up in plastic and go.

It was pretty tasty. If I get hungry between now and lunch, I'll eat some baby carrots; ten of them are zero points.

Back on the wagon.

Today I renew my Weight Watchers membership. I gave it a shot back in October, weighing in at 122 at my first meeting. At five-foot-two, the minimum weight for me is 109. I was shooting for 110. Then I went to Alaska, fell off the wagon, and never went back to the meetings after returning.

This morning I weighed in at 134.2. The max weight for my height is 137. I still remember the first time I realized that I had broken the 130 mark. I have never in my life weighed this much, and while I am by no means obese, or even really fat by medical standards, I have had to go up a pants size, and jeans that fit me three months will not go past my thighs now. I have BACK FAT now, and love handles...and MUFFIN TOP, ugh! My military uniform is feeling tight, too. I can't button the top two buttons of the pants; I only have one set, and my unit will not purchase more uniform items for me until I've been with them for six months. So I have to wait until at least April's drill weekend to get them.

At last month's drill, I failed my PT test. This is a first for me. I knew I was gonna fail it; I haven't done PT in a year. It was the first time I didn't max out my waist measurement, too. Thirty-one-inch waist; it used to be twenty-seven inches. I have up to six months to retake the test; the earliest I can is April. I'd like to get in shape in time to do it in April; May at the latest.

I want to be in shape; I want to fit my clothes. I was asked by a lady selling purses if I was pregnant. An asshole at work had made fun of me not once, but TWICE for looking pregnant. My stomach is almost the same size at Dee's, and she's five months pregnant. I hate how I look in the mirror. Change starts today.

Setting the record straight...again.

A re-post from last year. I know Laggin enjoyed it.

St Valentine's Day is a holiday in the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox traditions (celebrated on February 14th and sometime in July, respectfully) named after not one, but several men who were all martyrs when the Roman Empire was still the big cheese in the known world. Stabbed, maimed, fed to lions, crucified, beheaded, what have you, for worshiping a guy who pissed off the Pharisees and ended up dead on a cross two thousand years ago.

Oh, swoon.

I don't know what Geoffrey Chaucer was smoking, but he is the one to blame for this day being all romantical. (It's a word in the dictionary. Don't ask which dictionary, just take my word for it.) He lived and died in the Middle Ages when courtly love was popular. I define "courtly love" as "pretending to be in love with unattainable members of the opposite sex". As opposed to real love.

You still with me?? A holiday named after brutally murdered martyrs in honor of horny teenagers lusting after much-older married women.

And then Hallmark was born, heralding the Apocalypse and the End of Times. Head for the hills!!...

 It's friggin' snowing. Which irritates me, but it's not snowing in St Louis according to weather.com, so that doesn't really ruin my plans. I want to go with Fiance today to the Science Center to check out the dinosaur exhibit they have going on. Something about a feathered dinosaur...google it. We were gonna go yesterday, but he got almost no sleep the night before, so I spared him and went to a wine tasting with Becks and hung out at her house all day.

Tomorrow I plan on taking Becks and Sayrah out for lunch, because their significant others are on the other side of the world right now and can't be here to celebrate this commercial holiday with them.

And now I leave you all to place my freshly-washed jeans into the dryer.

Happy Sunday.

About my hangovers...

...they're totally not as awesome as I thought they were. I was OBLITERATED Saturday night. I puked when I got home, and puked again in the morning, had to take Pepto several times throughout the day to calm my churning belly, and had a pounding headache by 5 PM when we headed over to Becky's for the Super Bowl. Fiance was a sweetie and took care of me. It'll be a while before I drink like that again...

In other news, Dee has confirmed that the fetus she is carrying in her abdominal region bears a penis. Because of said penis, Dee's husband now insists that he is more entitled to choose the name. She happily informed me that she has an ultrasound photo of the penis. Good for you, Dee. Now let's plan a friggin' shower!!

Tomorrow, I set out to buy a Valentine's Day present for Fiance. I meant to get it today during my lunch break, but instead went to play with my friend Branc's six-month-old kitty named Trudy who likes to sit on his shoulder while he walks around his apartment. I wish my kitty would do that...SoCo, that is, not Simi. Simi is too large. Branc related to me how once in the middle of the night, around 3 AM, Trudy decided she wanted to play, so she sat on his chest and proceeded to smack him across the face for a while.

I promised some recipes a while back. I will be posting those, I'm just too lazy right now. The end.

Fun-filled day of action planned with the ladies.

I made a new friend the other night. Her name is Carrie, and her boyfriend the Sprint Salesman (ha ha...I'll tell that story one day) is a drinking buddy of the Fiance's. I'm gonna pick her up this  morning, then pick up Becks, then finally Dee. I volunteered to be the driver today because we plan on going to a Corgi rescue place in the city across the river, and while in the area I plan on making a stop somewhere to surprise a certain lady who is going through a rough time.

First things first, though...breakfast at IHOP to celebrate Dee's new job!! It's a lot of money, a lot of travel, and we're all stoked for her. I like to think I had a hand in talking her into it, ha ha. After breakfast is when we'll head across the great river to see some Corgis and surprise some peoples. Then we'll head back this way so I can get my hair did (red streaks, red streaks, red streaks...) and hopefully get my awful-looking nails done.

So the east coast is being slammed with snow right now, which I'm only aware of way out here in the midwest because I have too many east coast "pals" on the Facebook and it's all they're talking about in their status updates. This morning I woke up to see about two dinky inches of snow, but that wind is not playing around. It whistled alllllll niiiiiiight and is now whistling allllll moooooorning, and it's making me want to punch a baby.

Dear Wind,

Please stop fucking whistling right the fuck now before I go on a baby-punching rampage. kthxbi

Love,
Dread Pirate Davi

Fun fact about the Dread Pirate Davi: Her hangovers do not consist of headaches, nausea, and a burning desire for death. They instead consist of a very intense thirst and a very, very, very intense hunger. On Thursday, I ate mozzarella sticks and curly fries from Arby's before cleaning off a plate at Houlihan's consisting of an 8 oz filet mignon, asparagus, and mashed taters. And I was still somewhat hungry after. Moral of the story: Hangovers are bad for my waistline and my bladder.

The end.