Her Blackheartedness

Fishing at Frog Alley. Unfortunately patience is one thing Lola has a shortage of so we ended up catching frogs, tadpoles and some sun instead.

You can't see her prize very well but it's a tadpole. Her "babeeee frog."

The Fox River is full of pollution. Good Mummy that I am, I let my pretty little gal play in it...but I have been checking to make sure she isn't growing any extra extremities.

Lo took a face plant practically INTO THE BEAR PIT less than a millisecond after this shot was taken. Notice the hungry bears searching for food in the background? They would have eaten my baby! Ahh, still my beating, panicky heart, everything turned out ok, she merely fell into the bushes and got a brusied nose. But still...

My child loves meat. Yuck.

Lola's getup for a wedding, along with a wedding duck.

Have Brick, Willing to Bash Heads In

I heard a conversation a short while ago that sounded something like this:

Asshole 1: The moment the US started caring about countries is when we started going downhill, Iraq has terrorists in it. The correct response should be to bomb the whole country. If civilians die, who cares? The cost of war, man.

Asshole 2: Yeah, I mean, that's how wars are won.

Me, in my head because really? why bother...: Ever heard of Just War Theory you dumbfuck? Like we need to be hated MORE by the rest of the world for blanket-bombing an entire country indiscriminately. Oh yeah, and ever heard of Timothy McVeigh? The US has terrorists in it too, are civilians still fair game?

Honestly, I am all for free speech but sometimes I wish that to qualify for it, there had to be some sort of IQ test. Or maybe a wait-time, like for buying a gun. Stupid, stupid....

Oh Me Oh My, Back With a Vengeance

Guess who just got reminded that she has a blog and should be recording some of the crazy shit that's been happening? Yes, I admit, I've been a horrible blogger and I don't even have the blackblog-screen of death to blame this time around. Instead, I blame it on laziness and sheer complacency.

So dear friends, since I'm obsessed with words, let's to the dictionary:

Main Entry:
com·pla·cen·cy
Pronunciation:
\-sən(t)-sē\
Function:
noun
Inflected Form(s):
plural com·pla·cen·cies
Date:
1650
1 : self-satisfaction especially when accompanied by unawareness of actual dangers or deficiencies

Now, when I think of complacency, I see a cute little mouse on the forest floor, happily nibbling away at whatever the hell mice eat, fruit? Let's just say fruit. This is mouse is happy, she found her snack through the judicious use of her senses, through perseverance and luck. She's congratulating itself of a job well-done when
WHAM!
the snake that had been creeping up behind it strikes. The mouse doesn't have time to be scared, it's just shocked, amazed, a tad resigned and mostly annoyed that it wasn't allowed to finish it's last meal.

This story has two purposes:
1. This is the reason I don't feed my snake live mice. I can empathize with the mouse far easier than my snake.
2. This is a parable (albeit a bad one) for my recent topsy-turvy switcheroo-shenanigans. Ummm, I am the mouse.

Since this situation is long, complex and I'm at work (shhh.) I'm going to be general but details will eventually arise since I'm full of a new determination to keep this blog going. This blog is a perfect arena of introspection and could have served as the eyes in the back of my head, which would've saved that stupid mouse/me from this situation. Right? Because if the mouse could see the snake coming... (Wow, this analogy is getting worse)

Nesto = my hard-won, sweet, sweet fruit.
Again, I am the mouse.
One of the few men that made me cry in high school, let's name him Tom- the snake.

I finally get Nesto, I enjoy him immensely. I feel all butterflies-romance-giggles-orgasms. I'm behaving myself, minding my own damn business when I go to find a buddy of mine across the bar and he's in deep conversation with someone. I'm thinking, "awww, Ryan found a friend," as I slide into the booth across from them, look up and nearly lose my bottom jaw/bladder control.

WHAM!

It's the snake, Tom.

Wow, Tom was/is my ideal. Huger-than-huge crush on this man, lost to me forever through a woman I also thought was hot. Come home. Sitting across from me. Smiling.

SHIT.

The rest they say is history. I went on the prowl, caught me a Tom and now I'm in a pickle. But y'know what? This is the best pickle I've ever had, way better than Claussens, a muthafuckin' pickle sammich!

We'll see where this goes?

**Disclaimer: I am not using snake with any intention of conveying the traits of sneakiness, "slipperiness," or any other negative connotations. I happen to be a huge fan of snakes, both named Tom and otherwise.**