Oliver Stone is a retard.

An Associated Pres article reads as follows:

Oliver Stone: 'I'm ashamed for my country'

POSTED: 9:52 a.m. EDT, September 29, 2006

SAN SEBASTIAN, Spain (AP) -- Filmmaker Oliver Stone blasted President George W. Bush Thursday, saying he has "set America back 10 years."

Stone added that he is "ashamed for my country" over the war in Iraq and the U.S. policies in response to the attacks of September 11.

"We have destroyed the world in the name of security," Stone told journalists at the San Sebastian International Film Festival prior to a screening of his latest movie, "World Trade Center." The film tells the true story of the survival and rescue of two policemen who were trapped in the rubble of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, after they went to help people escape.

"From September 12 on, the incident (the attacks) was politicized and it has polarized the entire world," said Stone. "It is a shame because it is a waste of energy to see that the entire world five years later is still convulsed in the grip of 9/11.

"It's a waste of energy away from things that do matter which is poverty, death, disease, the planet itself and fixing things in our own homes rather than fighting wars with others. Mr. Bush has set America back 10 years, maybe more."

The director of blockbusters such as "Platoon," and "JFK" said the U.S. reaction to the attacks was out of proportion.

"If there had been a better sense of preparation, if we had a leadership that was more mature," he said. "We did not fight back in the same way that the British fought the IRA or the Spanish government fought the Basques here. Terrorism is a manageable action. It can be lived with," said Stone.

Stone rejected allegations that U.S. authorities may have known about the attacks in advance and said the real conspiracy came after.

"I think that conspiracy-mongering on 9/11 is a waste of time," he said. "The far greater conspiracy occurred after 9/11 when basically a neo-cabal inside our government hijacked policy and went to war. That was as broad a conspiracy as we can get and it was about 20, 30 people. That's all, they took over and all these books are coming out and they are pointing it out," said Stone.

"This war on Iraq is a disaster. I'm disgraced. I'm ashamed for my country," he said. "I'm also ashamed that America has attacked itself with its constitutional breakdowns. I'm deeply ashamed."

In the United States' favor, Stone posited that it's not responsible for all the world's problems.

"You can't see that the United States is responsible for all the evil in the world because you can see so many dictators and so many bestial acts all over the world now. .... There is something in the human heart, the international human heart, that is evil," said Stone.

"That's the evil that turns its mind and ears on humanity and is able to say 'I can kill a person in the name of God or religion.' This is not a human being, this a fanatic. And I fear that fanaticism is the result of our overreaction to 9/11," said Stone.

MY critque reads as follows:

First off, Oliver Stone, kiss my ass. You're a class-A idiot. Seriously. Leave my country now and go live amongst the Afgan hills with your peeps.

I am no George Bush fan by any means. People who know me know I'm hardly in love with the guy. Do I think he could have done some things differently with regard to the war? Yes. Do I think he could have had a better overall strategy? Absolutely. Do I think he also had some pretty decent ideas? Sure. Do I think somebody out there could have done better? Not Sen. Kerry--but yes, I think there are people more qualified to have gotten the job done in a more efficient manner.

But if you'll notice the first paragraph I have highlighted in blue text, you'll notice a lovely quote by Mr. Stone where he says, "...Terrorism is a manageable action. It can be lived with."

Oh, really? Because last time I checked, people really didn't want to fucking LIVE with terrorism. I was under the impression that we wanted terrorism to actually...like....GO AWAY.

And if terrorism, especially to the unlimited extent that Muslim Extremists are willing to go, is SO MANAGEABLE, why the FUCK did we have 9/11 in the first place? Obviously it ISN'T manageable if we have people who fucking HATE US flying into our buildings on purpose and murdering thousands of completely innocent people!

People like you, Mr. Stone, make me sick. You come out with your bullshit notions on how terrorism can be so easily managed. Really? How would YOU have handled 9/11? Through "diplomatic talks?" I'm personally all set with the notion of sitting down with Islamic extremists and trying to be nice. But Mr. Stone, hey--if you're cool with the idea on a personal level, you can fly your fat, hypocritcal ass out to the Middle East and give it a shot. I'll bet that they'd give you a shot, too--right to the forehead with an M-9, you toolbag.

Terrorism, specifically Islamic-rooted terrorism, can only be managed in one way:fighting fire with fire. We do not have to simply tolerate the horrors of living in a world where you step on an airplane and instead of being excited for you and your children and their first trip to Disney World, you have to worry about which building your Boeing could fly into. We have to do out damndest to FIGHT terrorism, not "live with it." I may not agree with the overall strategy President Bush has taken with the War on Terror, but I simply have to give the guy props for stepping in and doing something--unlike Mr. Stone, who has no REAL answers for dealing with these extremist savages--just constant, un-educated criticism.

And yes, they are fucking savages. I don't give a damn if people think that's politically incorrect. I regard it as FACT. Islamic extremist terrorists are people with no regard for innocent life whatsoever. Did these people ever make an attempt to sit down and converse with America in a civilized manner? No, because if I recall correctly, they just decided to fly planes into buildings here on our soil. They strap bombs to their own bodies and blow up their own fucking people--their own country-mates--simply because they are of a different branch of their own religion, or of a different region of the same country. Their leaders are DICTATORS, their women are oppressed, their children are killed--all in the name of Allah. There is NO REASONING with these non-humans.

And now, our government and our president decides to take action and actually do this innovative thing called DEFENSE, instead of waiting for them to just fly some more planes into some more buildings and killing thousands more innocent men, women and children. WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH THAT?

I think that America needs to be more aggressive, if anything. Less American boots on their soil, more bombs and long-range missiles on their soil. If a nuclear bomb is needed, so be it--you won't hear me object. As for the thousands of their "innocent" people getting killed everyday--well, I hate to sound childish here, but you started it. You're the ones who decided to act like savages, don't be surprised when you have to pay the price for your actions. I'm sorry innocents have to die. Really. I get very upset when I hear of children getting blown up. But when you decide you don't want to hide liquid bomb-making materials in Gatorade bottles, then we'll talk. I won't apologize that my first priority is the good ole U.S. of A and our true allies, namely the Brits.

And as for Mr. Stone's final comment, also higlighted in blue, where he feels "...fanaticism is the result of our overreaction to 9/11," I have this to say:

If 9/11 in and of itself wasn't fanaticism, I don't know what is.

If, God forbid, a plane is to purposely fly into another building in this country, I hope it flies straight into your home, Mr. Stone.

Asian Zombies.

I am going through a rather long bout of insomnia. Insomnia, especialy in weeks-long-at-a-time doses, is pretty rare for me. I really like to sleep. I think I actually might have a problem because I like to sleep so much. I get a little paranoid about that sometimes, thinking I have some God-awful disease when in reality there's likely nothing wrong with me.

So, as you can well imagine, this insomnia is absolutely awful for me, since I REALLY enjoy sleep. And let me inform all of you who do not already know this: if I do not get at least 7 hours of sleep per night, within a couple of days I get extremely bitchy. And I've been in a bad mood anyway for the past several weeks, so being bitchy from lack of sleep on top of that is dangerous for the world. Very dangerous.

For example, yesterday morning, I lost track of time and was late to work. I'm on fucking Main St. in downtown Lowell which is an absolute atrocity because someone in a damn enormous disgusting van always parks next to the Portuguese breakfast place on the right side of the road and screws up traffic. So, a road that's only about a mile long, from my entrance point to the bridge, takes about 25 minutes to get through. Annoying enough, until a Red Taurus comes barrelling down one of the side roads and, without stopping, thinks he can instantly cut in front of me--barely missing what would have been a pretty nasty crash.

Now, I fully admit I'm not the most patient driver. But then and there I aboslutely lost it. I know I swear a lot, but I spewed out language that even shocked ME in retrospect a few minutes after the fact. I gave both fingers numerous times (considering I was in back of him for a couple of blocks), opened my windows, cursed some more (like that terrible word that rhymes with 'blocksucker' ). When he smiled a mischievous smile at me as he passed me, I went even more crazy and followed him for a few more blocks even though it was not on my usual route to work. I hated him so much that if he had died right there in front of me, I might of laughed. And that may sound harsh, but if you had been there and lacking in the sleep department for a week and a half, you would have been thinking the very same thing. Trust me.

I get to work about 25 minutes late (thankfully my boss was in a meeting and didn't notice), still semi-insane from my drive in. I have a ridiculous story to work on. Maybe it's just ridiculous to me because I'm tired and I find anything that has to do with the Air Force boring, but still--I don't want to do it. I want to focus on fuming for the rest of the day because maybe fuming will leave me exhausted enough to sleep that night.

But alas--it needs to be done for the next day. So, I gather my information and my quotes (which takes hours because you can never reach people when you actually NEED to) and my lovely boss decides he doesn't like one of my quotes. He thinks I made up the information in the quotes. This pisses me off to no end because believe me--I'm not smart enough to make up this information. So, because I'm apeshit at this point, I decide to go to the individual from which I received the quote and the subsequent information, make her locate this information in print form, print it out and throw it on my boss's desk, only to hear him exclaim, "Oh, I haven't heard of that program before. Guess you didn't make it up, huh? Haha!" I glare at him, wordless, and walk out of his office, deal with the finishing touches of my article and he decides he finally likes it enough for print.

I hated him yesterday.

So, it takes me another hour and a half to get home because of the traffic and I decide I want some Taco Bell. Fuck it. I know it's not good for me but I want it. I deserve Taco Bell today. I pick up my Taco Bell, take it home and find it's the wrong order and it's actually some flat chicken thing that tastes like ass. Lovely. But I eat it anyway because I'm starving from not eating lunch and would actually eat ass at this point. And my father walks in and asks me why I'm eating "that crap." I glare at him and he backs off.

I watch "All My Children" with a glass of wine and a quarter of one of my Mom's Ambien and finally head off to bed at 10-ish. I fall asleep eventually (it was after 1, though), only to dream of Asian zombies coming after me. Real restful. I wake up at 3:40 a.m and start this bullshit all over again...

Welcome to my life--zombies and all.

Fred.

So, I kinda hate my job. Like, I'm not ABSOLUTELY miserable and I suppose I should be lucky to have a job that isn't working at pizza joint for minimum wage, but there are elements of my job that just suck.

One of those sucky elements is Fred.

I am 24 years old. I fully admit I am not the most worldly person, but I know enough. I'm a relatively educated individual. I read a lot--mainly philosophy and historical fiction and the news. I travel as much as I can afford (which isn't much when you're trying to save for a condo and a car that doesn't break down every week, but still). I've had some interesting experiences in my 24 years on this planet and they continue to get more and more interesting. And as a result, I've met some very interesting people.

I've also met some very annoying people. But none as annoying as Fred.

I don't know what it is about this man. I really don't. I joke around a lot, which probably isn't right in and of itself, but I actually have patience with many different types of people. I don't WANT children, but I like them well enough when they're not mine and I can send them home at the end of the day. I like the elderly, hence my signing up to be an elderly caretaker on a part-time basis. I have a ton of patience with the mentally challenged.

But I have no patience with Fred. None. I didn't like him from day one and as much as I try, there's nothing I can do to cause myself NOT to get upset around him. It takes every fiber of my being, every cell of my body, every atom within me, not to lose it with this man.

Pretty much every morning and afternoon (or so it seems) he comes to my office across the hall, stands in the doorway, and does the "finger guns." Sweet mother of God. Every morning he does that is when my day immediately starts going to hell. For those who cannot figure it out, "finger guns" is when an individual "shapes" his hands like handguns--pointing the forefinger forward and the thumb upward and curling the remaining three fingers inward toward the palm.

Every day, at least once and as many as four times, Fred does the finger guns. With both hands. And he makes a lame "Bssh! Bssh! Bssh!" sounds while he does it. (Supposedly "Bssh! Bssh! Bssh!" sounds like a gun going off).

I hate this. With all that I am I hate it.

And anytime he catches me eating something--which is quite frequent because he's ALWAYS AROUND ME--he'll say the following, "Hey there! Did ya bring enough for all of us?" And I ALWAYS look straight at him, roll my eyes, and make that lame little uncomfortable laugh (you know the one) and walk away.

Then there's the time he asked if he could borrow my Air Force Times publication. I told him that he could keep it once I was done with it and that I would likely be done with it the next day. He seemed to agree to this, until I went to the restroom an hour or so later so return to my desk and find the Air Force Times missing from it.

Now, no one else in my office cares about the Air Force Times. I am the only one who reads it. Yet, I ask everyone in my office if they took it off my desk. They all say no. They have no reason to lie to me. I KNOW who took it. And if it were anyone else, I know I wouldn't be so mad. I go to look for Fred. He's not in his office. I look for my Air Force Times. It's nowhere to be found.

I go back to my office for a while and am called to leave for a bit. I return to find it back on my desk.

I think the fucker went to the bathroom and took a shit while reading MY Air Force Times. The thought makes me sick to my stomach and I quickly toss it--touching only the corners.

Here's what I don't understand about Fred:

1.) Why the finger guns, day in and day out? Do I look like a cute, little 5-year old boy who would enjoy this type of banter? DO I? I HATE the guns! Can't you get the point from the look on my DISGUSTED FACE that your finger guns to NOT AMUSE ME? I am a 24 year old, grown woman, for Christ's sake! Finger guns do NOT FUCKING APPEAL to me in ANY WAY WHATSOEVER! FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR FINGER GUNS!

2.) Why, whenever I have food, do you INSIST upon ALWAYS asking if I brought enough breakfast/lunch/snack for the entire fucking building? Go screw yourself! Do YOU bring enough food for the whole building? NO! And even if I DID have enough food to feed the entire building, I would NOT give any to you. This is not because I am not generous. If ANYONE ELSE asked for my last bite of food, I would give it to him/her. It is because YOU as SO UN-CREATIVE that you cannot come up with something more original to say! You don't deserve my wonderful food! BUG OFF!

3.) How dare you take something off my desk without my permission?!?! I don't care if it is a cat turd, it is MY cat turd and you are NOT allowed to take it without asking me first! And why are you in my office snooping around in the first place?! Did I invite you? Not that I can recall. Leave now before I call the security police.

Fred--I implore you: please be more original in your phrases and actions or I will very quickly lose my mind. Perhaps instead of those lovely finger guns, you could throw me over a fake grenade? Or instead of asking for my food, you could tell me it looks terrible and you would rather lick your own ass than eat it. I'd at least get a laugh from your rude, yet creative input. And if you're going to take my Air Force Times, at least have the courtesy of leaving me a nice, fresh Cosmopolitan or Glamour magazine in it's place. It's only polite.

My weekend...

Well, I haven't posted in a while because I've been lazy. No other excuse for it, really.

Thursday was absolutely dreadful in terms of work. I had to go running all over the Base to take photos of random people to be featured in my office's online publication. Lame, but very time-consuming. I didn't eat lunch until 3:30, which is quite late for me. Then Jess and her friend, um, "Squeaks" and I went out to the Claddaugh, but it was a little lame so I was home before midnight. Not that Jess and Squeaks weren't fun, but I guess I'm at the point in my life where there's only so much time I can spend in the same bar.

Friday, I decided to take the day off and be a snob and arrange for an hour-long massage in the morning. It was wonderful. I felt like I had the crap beaten out off me, but I like that, you see. I have arthritis in my hands and feet and neck, so she got out all the knots. I try to squeeze in a massage every month and a half or so because when you sit at a desk day in and day out, you get more sore than if you actually had a job that required getting up and off your fat ass once in a while. Then I had lunch with Jess and Auntie Wawie which was nice. Laur introduced me to a candy store I had not been aware of and thankfully it was AFTER lunch, so I was pretty full and didn't feel the need to buy any candy. The temptation was definitely there, though. I still may go back and get some maple creams.

Laurie, you're a bitch for bringing me there. :)

After going to Maine for a few hours to see my parents, I finally met Doug and Lana for the first time on Saturday night--and lost my UFC virginity, as Doug refers to it.

I enjoyed the bloody violence of UFC, but enjoyed their company more! You guys are so awesome and we've got to hang out and talk about Swedenborg and Kant sometime over coffee and vodka, preferably not at the same time because I'd barf. Harvard Square beckons us this weekend, I think?!?!

As for Sunday, a boring day. Did nothing but watch movies. Watched "Ray" for the first time--all about Ray Charles. Jamie Foxx did a great job portraying him and while it wasn't exactly a new favorite movie, it's something people should probably take a look at one time. It's long, though. Prepare to be there a while.

I had no idea sweet lil Ray Charles was such a dog, though.

Then in the evening I watched "The Green Mile" for a second time and absolutely bawled. Now, everyone who knows me knows I rarely cry. I cry over significant relationships breaking up. I cry when my father is a real asshole to me. But I don't cry at movies. I cried over this one. If you haven't seen this, watch it. You will, too.

If you don't, though, keep it to yourself. I'm ashamed enough. :)

All My Children

I recently got harassed by a friend of mine ( who shall remain nameless) for watching the soap opera, "All My Children." He asked me why I wasted my time watching such "drivel." Here are five good reasons:

I rest my case.

Grumpiness.

I've been in somewhat of a yucky mood for the past several days. I don't know what it is--the weather's been beautiful, I haven't gotten into any fights with friends or family, and work has been going as good as can be expected. I don't think I've been taking it out on people, as I've been trying not to do so by joking around and maintaining a smile. But it's just been a feeling of overall melancholy.

I think that overall, I've just been frustrated with the way my life has been going in general, and have been focusing too much on the negatives of it. I know, I know...I've been doing that for a while now, but it's increased gradually over the past couple of months.

First, there's my job. It sucks. Most people would relish doing nothing all day, but it's honestly very tedious. I begged for things to do around here for so long, and since change just plain doesn't happen in the government arena, my boss will just tell me that policy dictates to leave things alone. So, frustrated, I go back to my desk and play solitaire or surf the net.

Before you tell me to look for another job, believe me when I say that I have searched for months only to find nothing very interesting in my field. I love my general area of study--communications/public relations--but the problem with these jobs is that they are creative and people tend to enjoy them so much that they have no desire to leave, so positions rarely open up.

As for my love life, or lack thereof, I've had a few dates in the past six months or so, but none of them have panned out, really. Plenty of nice guys, plenty of crazies and just plain nobody suitable for me. Also, I don't want children, so it's very hard finding someone you'd be compatable with and attracted to who also doesn't have the desire to have kids. Actually, it's next to impossible. That, and I keep focusing too much on the two absolutely horrendous relationships I've had within the past three years, and I'm hesitant to go down the relationship-road at all. I just don't think I can go through all the bullshit again, you know? But at the same time, I don't want to take the why-don't-I-just-be-a-whore-and-get-laid route, because at age 24, I'm kind of past that stage.

I'm not desperate for a man--and I'm not saying that in some uber-feminist type of way. I can take care of myself. I'm sure I can live on my own and survive just fine. I can cook, fix things around the house, install appliances, mow the lawn, pay bills; I rarely need someone to do things for me. But I'd just like someone to share life with. That's all. Someone who isn't going to use me and who will actually make an effort once in a while to make me feel like I mean something to him. If I sound bitter, it's because I've never really had that before and I'm just coming to realize it now.

I'm happy for all my friends who have found significant others to care about and who care about them. But part of me is a little jealous, too. Not of THEM in particular, but because I want that, too. And so, every so often it gets to me.

So, in the meantime, I'll continue my volunteer work at the animal shelter because that at least brings a smile on my face. And I look forward to actually getting BEYOND the training portion of my part-time job to actually work with the elderly. I'm working on my music and my writing a lot more recently, and am saving up as much money as I can to buy my own little condo within the next year or two.

I know my life isn't all that bad and that I should be more content. I have a job. I don't have terminal cancer (to my knowledge, anyway). I have friends and family that care about me. I try my best to do things to help out a few good causes. I shouldn't worry as much as I do; I should appreciate what I DO have more.

But I guess, every so often, I think about the grand scheme of things...how can I make any sort of difference in this world? And as much as I try, I simply can't figure it out.

Arthritis.

I'm too tired/hungover/pissed that this weekend is pretty much over to post anything meaningful. Therefore, I'm posting a cute little joke that my second Mom, Sandy sent over to me in an e-mail from Texas. Enjoy.

Arthritis.

A drunk man who smelled like beer sat down on a subway next to a priest. The man's tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, and a half empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading.

After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked, "Say Father, what causes arthritis?" The priest replied, "My Son, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with prostitutes and lack of a bath."

The drunk muttered in response, "Well, I'll be damned!" Then returned to his paper.

The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized. "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?"

The drunk answered, "I don't have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does."

Help out a homeless animal!

Not many people know that I volunteer for an organization called the Salem (NH) Animal Rescue League. We are a non-profit, non-kill organization dedicated to finding new, loving owners for homeless pets.

Visit our website at: http://www.sarl-nh.org/ and please consider adopting one of the many wonderful creatures who need a new forever-home. If you'e unable to adopt, please consider making a donation to the shelter. Even $1 goes a long way in our efforts to help these animals.

Not to be a downer, but please read the following story. It's about backyard breeders and how they often sell to pet stores. The passage was written by J. Ellis, an animal activist:

From a Pet Store Puppy by J. Ellis © 1999

I don't remember much from the place I was born. It was cramped and dark, and we were never played with by the humans. I remember Mom and her soft fur, but she was often sick, and very thin. She had hardly any milk for me and my brothers and sisters. I remember many of them dying, and I missed them so. I do remember the day I was taken from Mom. I was so sad and scared, my milk teeth had only just come in, and I really should have been with Mom still,but she was so sick, and the Humans kept saying that they wanted money and were sick of the "mess" that me and my sister made.

So we were crated up and taken to strange place. Just the two of us.

We huddled together and were scared, still no human hands came to pet or love us. So many sights and sounds, and smells! We are in a store where there are many different animals! Some that squawk! some that meow! Some that Peep! My sister and I are jammed into a small cage, I hear other puppies here. I see humans look at me; I like the 'little humans', the kids. they look so sweet, and fun, like they would play with me!

All day we stay in the small cage, sometimes mean people will hit the glass and frighten us, every once in a while we are taken out to be held or shown to humans. Some are gentle some hurt us, we always hear "Aw they are So cute! I want one!" but we never get to go with any. My sister died last night, when the store was dark. I lay my head on her soft fur and felt the life leave her small thin body. I had heard them say she was sick, and that I should be sold as a "discount price" so that I would quickly leave the store. I think my soft whine was the only one that mourned for her as her body was taken out of the cage in the morning and dumped.

Today, a family came and bought me! Oh happy day! They are a nice family, they really, really wanted me! They had bought a dish and food and the little girl held me so tenderly in her arms. I love her so much! The mom and dad say what a sweet and good puppy I am! I am named Angel. I love to lick my new humans! The family takes such good care of me, they are loving and tender and sweet. They gentle teach me right and wrong, give me good food, and lots of love! I want only to please these wonderful people! I love the little girl and I enjoy running and playing with her.

Today I went to the veterinarian. it was a strange place and I was frightened. I got some shots, but my best friend the little girl held me softly and said it would be OK. So I relaxed. The Vet must have said sad words to my beloved family, because they looked awfully sad. I heard Severe hip dysplacia, and something about my heart... I heard the vet say something about, back yard breeders and my parents not being tested. I know not what any of that means, just that it hurts me to see my family so sad. but they still love me, and I still love them very much!

I am 6 months old now. Where most other puppies are robust and rowdy, It hurts me terribly just to move. The pain never lets up. It hurts to run and play with my beloved little girl, and I find it hard to breath. I keep trying my best to be the strong pup I know I am supposed to be, but it is so hard. it breaks my heart to see the little girl so sad, and to hear the Mom and Dad talk about "it might now be the time". Several times I have went to that veterinarians place, and the news is never good. Always talk about Congenital Problems. I just want to feel the warm sunshine and run, and play and nuzzle with my family. Last night was the worst, Pain has been my constant now, it hurts even to get up and get a drink. I try to get up but can only whine in pain. I taken in the car one last time. Everyone is so sad, and I don't know why. have I been bad? I try to be good and loving, what have I done wrong? Oh if only this pain would be gone! If only I could soothe the tears of the little girl. I reach out my muzzle to lick her hand, but can only whine in pain. the veterinarians table is so cold. I am so frightened. The humans all hug and love me, they cry into my soft fur. I can feel their love and sadness. I manage to lick softly their hands. Even the vet doesn't seem so scary today. He is gentle and I sense some kind of relief for my pain. The little girl hold me softly and I thank her, for giving me all her love. I feel a soft pinch in my foreleg. The pain is beginning to lift, I am beginning to feel a peace descend upon me. I can now softly lick her hand. My vision is becoming dreamlike now, and I see my Mother and my brothers and sisters, in a far off green place. They tell me there is no pain there, only peace and happiness. I tell the family, good-bye in the only way I know how, a soft wag of my tail and a nuzzle of my nose. I had hoped to spend many, many moons with them, but it was not meant to be. "You see," said the veterinarian "Pet shop puppies do not come from ethical breeders." The pain ends now, and I know it will be many years until I see my beloved family again. If only things could have been different.

(This story may be published or reprinted in the hopes that it will stop unethical breeders and those who breed only for money and not for the betterment of the breed. Copywrite 1999 J. Ellis)

You can now actually POST comments to my blog!

Being able to post comments to a blog? What an innovative concept!

Now you can do so. Originally, because I am an idiot, I had accidentally indicated that only a small group of folks could post to my blog. I have since set it so that registered members can now do it.

So register with Blogger and make comments! It only takes a minute of your time, it's free, and comments make Karen very happy.

I'd love suggestions on humorous topics to write about, too. I don't mean to sounds like Katie Couric looking for sign-off suggestions, I'm just asking for what the people want! :)

I'll write later, but I have yet to have my caffeinated International Foods Mocha "pussy coffee" and am more than slightly tired at the moment...

I'll fit back into that bikini in no time!

So, I've been doing some research on some easy ways to lose a few pounds. I know I'm not fat by any means and I'm not looking to lose much. Just a few pounds. I know it's vain. I know it's because I look at thousands of advertisements each year and see ridiculously skinny models and something in my brain goes off and says, "Karen, for the love of Pete, you NEED to look like that." I know that society places too much of a focus on weight.

But I don't give a fuck. I want to be a size 3/4 again. I realize that I was Auchwitz-material when I was a size 00 only 4 years ago and I don't want to go back to that. But when your own parents start saying, "Wow...when did you get an ass?", something needs to be done.

They should talk, though.

I've been going to the gym somewhat regularly, yes. Not as regularly as I should, but still--enough to where I should be seeing some results. It's my damn appetite, though. It's seriously out of control. I eat almost constantly.

I'm pretty sure I'm eating mostly out of boredom, though. I stuff my face every half-hour while sitting at my desk at work and I'm usually bored there to some degree. On weekends, however, I don't eat nearly as much. Typically one larger meal and a snack.

So, logically, the key to losing a few pounds is to find someway to kill my instatiable appetite.

I don't want to take any of those infamous diet pills with Ephedra in them and all. Slimquick, Farenheit--no thanks. I don't want to die, thanks.

And if you read the post below, I refuse to go on the Nutrisystem diet for fear I will become dependent on Easy-bake oven meals and will grow a penis. I like penises well enough, but I don't want one, thanks.

But being less bored at work isn't exactly an option, either. We're ALL bored here.

So, I'm doing my research and come across something called Hoodia. I'm reading about it and it says that Africans have been using it for centuries (here I am thinking they were so skinny because of famine or something; how silly of me!). Supposedly, men go on several-month-long hunting trips and take this herb/plant to suppress their appetite so they can cross gigantic deserts and savannas without eating.

I call my doctor and ask if it's safe. I take a few prescriptions so I don't want to have a massive coronary or have my brain explode because something didn't mix well. He said he honestly didn't know much about it, but based on what he DID know, it seemed okay enough.

So, I've been taking Hoodia for a couple of weeks now. Almost immediately, I noticed my appetite wasn't nearly what it was.

But in the past week or so, I've also noticed something else.

Everything I DO eat tastes like shit.

No, really. Not that I've eaten shit (to my knowledge), but you know what I mean. Foods I used to love are now repulsive to me. The only thing that still tastes good is fruit. So, for lunch I much on apples and mangoes and grapes and drink orange juice like it's my job. I basically just eat smaller quantities of other things to mix it up a little and avoid the runs.

God, I love hoodia.

Pets.com commercial...with the dog puppet? I miss you! Come back to me!

So, it's 1:30 pm on Tuesday, and I have gotten all of my work done already. Since I'm bored with Craigslist, I've decided to put the TV on in my boss's office. I don't typically watch anything on it, really--I just like the background noise. I always keep the TV on when I'm home by myself. For some stupid reason, it makes me feel safer. I also figure that if a would-be robber/rapist/murderer sees one of the many episodes of "Cops" where an officer tasers a suspect and he collapses to the ground in a trembling heap, he'll think twice.

That, and I'm crazy. This means that I'm not afraid to stand in the window he's peeping into with an 18-inch seraded-blade knife in my hand and an extremely insane look on my face. That's enough to scare off any robber/rapist/murderer.

But I digress. Anyway, the tele's on in my boss's office and I'm listening to commercials. Awful commercials. I hate 95% of all commercials. But who doesn't, right? But there are some that make me downright angry. They make me want to dropkick the boob tube.

So, because I'm bored, I'm going to list my top ten most annoying commercials. Most, if not all of these are currently on the air.

10.) Jewlery Exchange in Sudbury. "Diamonds direct!" Reminds me of a shitty flea market where some Chinese guy is trying to convince you pieces of broken glass are valuable gems. No GOOD 1 ct. diamond solitaire will cost you $599. It just won't. Period. That's not even me being materialistic here. It's me telling you not to buy your girlfriend an engagement ring from the Jewelry Exchange for $599. It's crap. Trust me. I'm doing you a favor here, boys.

9.) Burger King. I have nightmares about that enormous, plastic-headed King handing me a Whopper while I'm on the shitter or something. Fuck off, your heiness. Your Whopper is probably why I'm on the shitter in the first place.

8.) Target. Sweet Jesus. What's the point of your commercial again? You have random people jumping around on trampolines wearing stupid-looking, poorly-matched outfits, drinking Kool-Aid with camping gear strewn around them, all to stupid U2 music. Everything's red and white. And then the camera focuses on that poor dog who looks as if he wants to drink a bottle of antifreeze. I sympathize.

7.) Ford. Those Taylor Hicks commercials. Oh my God. I own a Ford product. "PossiBILities!" The only "possibility" is that your Ford product will break down every goddamned month for one mechanical reason or another. Fuck you, Ford. I'd rather gauge my eyes out with flaming toothpicks to become legally blind so that I'd never have to drive again than buy another Ford product. In case I haven't said it before: Fuck you, Ford. Kiss my soon-to-be-driving-a-Toyota ass.

6.) Bernie and Phyl. People living in New England have been tortured by this pair of shitheads for years. I loathe them. They may have wonderful furniture, I don't know. But because of their commercials, I wouldn't take the finest piece of furniture in that place for FREE. Your accents are annoying. You're both not exactly pleasant-looking. No one knows for sure which one is Bernie and which one is Phyl. You've got NOTHING going for you except that you probably have a fair amount of bank for owning numerous furniture stores. SO WHY APPEAR IN COMMERCIALS? I knowI'm not Cindy Crawford, ergo you don't see me auditioning for commercials! I KNOW people don't want to see my ugly mug every time they turn on the television! Hire someone less annoying, better-looking and with a gender-specific name to represent your company. Maybe Cindy Crawford would do it for you. You've got the bank--pay the girl.

5.) Bob's Discount furniture. Holy horse shit. These ads are atrocities of nature. Bob, you suck so much ass I hear a whistling sound every time you come on. "Do ya think you'll finda soft, leatha-like-butta sofa fa only $599? I DOUBT it!" And just WHO is that blonde woman anyway? Wife? Daughter? Mistress? Whoever she is, tell her to shut the hell up. Your furniture sucks, your salespeople are pushy and I don't care if you offer me coffee and donuts and candy when I walk into your store--you still suck. Fuck you. Both. I may buy your Bob-o-pedic, though.

4.) Nutrisystem. I hate that bitch. For one thing, you're NOT a size 2/4 (depending on the commercial and the girl). You're bigger than I am and I'm a size 6. So cut the crap. Secondly, you both look like well made-up drag queens. Seriously. You both have penises. It's cool--just don't go lying about it. Thirdly, Nutrisystem's food looks horrible. Seriously. The pizza looks like it came out of the easy-bake oven I had when I was 7. And they say you can lose weight for a mere $10 a day. So, let me get this straight--and correct me if my math is wrong. $10 a day is $70 a week. $70 a week is $280 a month, right? So, I have to pay YOU $280 a month to feed me easy-bake oven, mediocre, microwavable crap-"food?" Shove it up your ass.

3.) Foxwoods. Anyone who knows me knows I'm not a fan of midgets. Now, before you call me a "little-people hater," I want to tell you that I just can't help it. It's an irrational fear, I know. They make me uncomfortable. I apologize profusely. So, you can imagine that the Foxwoods commercials make me anxious...their little midget/leprechaun voices singing about "the wonder of it all." I'm nervously sweating just thinking about them. I'd have to be awfully drunk and winning an awfully lot of dough to find those "creatures" wondrous.

2.) Dunkin' Donuts. This commercial was annoying the first time I saw it. But because of the number of times it is on the air, I find it increasingly annoying. You know the one I'm talking about: "KARATE!" I hate that woman. Just shut up and drive your lil brats to all their lessons. And Dunkin'--your smoothies suck. Seriously. They taste like fruit-flavored Elmer's glue. But it's amazing I convinced myself to try one in the first place despite your stupid-ass commercials. Ditch the smoothies, stick with coffee. You can barely do THAT right.

And the most annoying commercial?

1.) Head-On: "Head-on: apply directly to the forehead. Head-on: apply directly to the forehead. Head on: apply directly to the forehead." IS THERE REALLY A NEED TO REPEAT IT THREE TIMES IN A FUCKING ROW? I HEARD YOU, FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST! I UNFORTUNATELY HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!!!
How about this? SHOTGUN: APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD.

"Thank you" is not enough.

I usually consider myself a pretty humorous person. I try to make light of the ridiculous things that so often happen in our everyday lives.

But today, on what marks the 5th anniversary of September 11. I just can't find it in me to make light of things. Today is just plain too somber, too serious.

Instead, I try to focus on the thousands of people who have perished as a result of the September 11 attacks. I don't mean just the folks that died on that dreadful day, but all of those who have fought to preserve our freedom and safety, only to selflessly give their lives in the process.

I try to focus on those who haven't given their lives, but are in harm's way as we speak in an attempt to protect our great Nation.


I try to focus on those who are willing to go at a moment's notice, to these God-forsaken countries, to make sure we are safe.


Thank you. It's not enough, but it's all I can offer right here, right now. Thank you, from a grateful Nation.

God and I aren't exactly on the best terms right now, but I hope He'll listen when I say: God Bless you all. God Bless America.

Little People have feelings, too.

I found this ad on myspace while being bored at work. I found it hilarious so I'm going to post it here:

MIDGET SEEKS OTHER LITTLE PEOPLE FOR TENNIS & HOPPING AROUND
Hi, I've been a midget all my life. I also have loved playing tennis. My problem is that I've just recently moved to Boston, and seem to be having some difficulty locating other little people to play tennis with. It's not that I am against playing with big people -- I really don't have anything against big people per se, even though they've been brutally cruel to me all my life, especially when I was in grade school and they would make fun of me, or hide the yellow pages book I would carry with me to use to boost myself up in my seat -- but I would just prefer hitting with people of my own kind who don't hit those high bouncing balls way over my head that there's no way short (no jokes!) of being shot out of a cannon straight up in the air that I could get my racket on them. I also am open to other midget activities like frolicking, hopping around, singing as we hop around, scuba diving in puddles, looking up big peoples' skirts during lunch hour, going on Paul Williams sightings tours, and, of course, short walks along the beach.

Chances are, I'll be bored again in an hour or so...so expect another post. :)

Where your taxes are going...hey--don't blame me!

So, anyone that knows me is aware of how much I hate my job. Well, I suppose it's not the job per se, but more or less the ENVIRONMENT. The people in my little six-person office are usually somewhat tolerable. I actually really like some of them. But working for the AF is not exactly stimulating work for someone with a noggin so damn full of creativity with no place to use it. And colonels and generals typically have giant hairs across their asses. Not all of them, but most.

I have had countless droves of folks telling me how exciting my job sounds. "You work for the AIR FORCE?!?!?! Like, oh my GAWD! That sounds like, so COOL!" Yeah right. Kiss my ass. Spend a week here. In this office chair. At this desk. You'll have put a bullet in between your eyes by close-of-business, Tuesday. Then tell me how "cool" it is from your casket, bitches.

Let me run through a typical workday for Karen:

Approx. 0730-0820: (That's military time, kids. If you're too stupid to put two and two together and figure out military time, just off yourself now. Or look it up on Google. One of the two.): Get into work.

0820: Go to bathroom. It's been an hour-long ride at least. Longer in winter. I need to go.

0823: Get back to my desk.

0824: Realize I forgot to fill up my electric teakettle.

0825: Pick up teakettle. Go to bathroom. Fill with water. Return to desk. Plug in said teakettle.

0827: Watch water boil.

0828: Fill Las Vegas mug with International Foods powder coffee (I like to call this "pussy coffee" because my stomach can't really tolerate the real shit).

0830: Water is boiling. Fill mug with water. Stir powder coffee.

0830-0840: Look at full mug. Wait to drink said coffee because electric teakettle always makes the water too damn hot.

0840: Drink coffee. Ponder suicide. Doze off for nap numero uno.

0900: Wake up only to realize I had a Military Affairs Council meeting at 0800 that I needed to attend. Subsequently realize I don't give two hairy shits.

0903: Military Affairs Council chief calls to tell me I should have attended the meeting. I stick my tongue out at the phone receiver and say in ever-so-polite phone voice, "It will never happen again, sir."

0905: Ponder suicide.

0927: Pee. Return to desk.

0930: Check craigslist--one of the few websites to which the Air Force gives us access.

1000: My boss asks me to type a letter because he types with two fingers. He claims the letter is very long and will likely take me quite a while. He chuckles, knowing in his mind he will keep me busy for many moons.

1010: Letter typed and reviewed. Submit letter to boss for approval. Boss is in shock and awe that I "type so fast."

1012: Pee. Return to desk. I've already washed my hands so I might as well eat something random in my desk. Maybe I'll have some marshmellows today.

1015-1120: Read Boston Herald. Laugh at the ridiculousness of said publication. Wow. Angelina looks pregnant again. Who gives a fuck? Brad gave her a fuck, apparently.

1120: Eat brown-bag lunch (I'm trying to save money, kiddos).

1215: Pee.

1220: Go back to desk.

1221: Ponder suicide.

1250: Check craigslist.

1315: Pee. Return to desk.

1320: E-mail everyone I know the most ridiculous stuff I can find online.

1350: Check Boston.com. Read ridiculous posts with such titles as "Share your worst job experience EVER!" Instantly feel better after reading about people who took jobs as pig farmers or NYC strippers just to "get by."

1430: Check craigslist. I may have missed something.

1445: Doze off for nap numero dos.

1500: Awaken. Look at clock. Big hand on 12. Little hand on 3.

1551: Doze off for nap numero tres.

1610: Ponder suicide.

1630: Post annoying posts on craigslist looking for "Hot and handsome men--600 lbs+ ONLY!" in the pets section. Laugh as all posts get flagged.

1631: Check-out time. And look! One minute overtime! Schweet!

So, with a few exceptions, this is my day Monday-Friday. Granted--there are some days I work a fair bit, so I exaggerate a LITTLE. And then there are other days when my boss comes into my office for "story time" and asks about how drunk I got over the weekend and whether I got laid or not. After I reveal every detail of my personal life (mainly out of joy that I have someone to talk to), he then proceeds to tell me of his (maybe if people are good, I'll post details about this in a later post).

I'm done for now. Besides...craigslist awaits.