TL Boehm - Writer

Welcome to my blog archive - random posts from multiply and Y360. I hope you enjoy these random thoughts on life, spawn, and the obligatory day job. Peace.

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One of the things I've learned about bein' a Tammy is that there must be a psychic gyroscope in my heart - because if I am anything after everything I am always trying to find that middle ground. That point of balance. When life is a pendulum I am standing there dead center waiting for it to stop over my head. I don't know why...but that's how I roll. So I often examine my little peabrain thoughts - after the past few smarta** blogs I find myself on the eve of the anniversary of a life changing event. 9/11. And like many of you...it just happened a few days ago didn't it? I can close my eyes and see the second plane - while I was putting on my panty hose and getting ready for my anonymous day...I remember what I wore. I remember driving to work and seeing no airplanes in the sky...I remember...

So many good writers define the pulse of a nation. They bleed current events. They rail against the indefinable wrongs...They protest and purge. And some of us - spew personal angst, forlorn moments and selfish love. I am mostly in the latter category, sad to say. And I often wonder if what I say is worth saying.

I dug through my vault of poetry from the dork side and found two lonely semi protest poems. The first was actually a song. A reggae song. Came complete with words and a melody - which is very rare for me. I still remember it. I remember writing it.  The second - I shared once with a guitarist who set it to music. Unfortunately like the moment in the grass - the guitarist and the music are gone. But again. I remember the moment...I ain't Dylan. But occassionally I do have a few things to say. peace.

Just Gone

Almighty God

And the government

Tell my people

How their moneys spent

It be gone yeh yeh

It be gone

Im stuck in this little

Situation

Got a hand on me theres

Complications

I be gone

One law

For you and me

Nother law

Set the killer free

Where's justice

It be gone, yeh yeh

It be gone

One child

Go off to war

Mama's son

A child no more

He be gone yeh hey

Just gone

TL (Hughes) Boehm

8/31/87

Fighting For The Cause

Oh its Brutal and its gory

And the wretched shed so many tears

For the benefit of glory

And the end to mankind's fears

Do you see that man over there?

The one who lies in pain

Wipe the blood from your hands comrade

They;ll never notice the stain

Whats' the point in dieing?

Fighting for the cause

Leaving the children crying

Lives trapped in terrorist jaws

We stand in the light of glory

Oh the honor and the fame

While so many sons play with toy guns

And from the tombstones learn daddy's name

How many lives are shattered?

Loved ones killed in a foreign land

They give the flag for consolation

But can they really understand

Ooh the memorial services are beautiful

But it doesn't explain the reason why

So many lives are turned upside down

And so many people must die

Don't forget the survivors

The ones who lived to tell the tale

The ones who fought so valiantly

Whose courage didn't fail?

See the burnished medals

On the twisted skeletons of war

Who's heroism we worship

Who's tortured souls are no more

TL (Hughes) Boehm  Music: Dave Madsen

©10/23/83

For the members who died as part Of the Beirut peace keeping force

and for Americas fallen sons

And daughters

___________________________________________________________ 

0900806 

I see a frightening theme emanating from the cesspool that is my page....sigh. Oh well. Its very early here - sunlight just sifting through the windows - shifting patterns of mango, peach...lemon. Gimme some green chile and bacon and we got a breakfast. Dave is already sitting there in that nappy bathrobe. (note to self...find bathrobe. Kill it. Bury it in back yard under 70's vanthatdon'trun.)

After a dinner of way too much artery bustin' chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes I found myself prostrate on the couch whilst Beyonce did unmentionable gyrations in banana leaves and a sparkly bra thingy. And my ever so reformed and proper husband says - "I would like to see a shake off between Beyonce and Shakira..." Well I am sure he would. I however don't know if my aging brain and flaccid semi comatose sexual identity could watch something like that and remain unscathed.

Which brings me to the morning rant. I absolutely love music with a nasty funky beat. I grew up on the Ohio Players, Parliament/Funkadelic, the Commodores, the Gap Band, Rick James, shall I go on? I personally love to shake my aging buttocks in the privacy of my own home - but Dang! Last night between Fergie, Christina - whoever the hell the female group was all in black - and our girl Beyonce of the never ending thighs - I know I am scarred for life and know way too much about the respective temperature of female genetalia whilst singing about their peeps like JayZ. Is there not anything on the turntable between flesh and Pat Boone? Must I be banned to listening to Christian Pop (which is heavy on the metal mind you) or God kill me now Country? (I would much rather die listening to P.O.D and Skillet than um, Dwight Yoakum..I don't care how cute he is in his lil cowboy hat. Tammy don't like country.) Imagine yourself in your corporate cubby - your supervisor enters the cubicle -and you are head bopping to London Bridge....um no. WHERE IS ALL THE NON HOOCHIE FUNKY MUSIC. What I wouldn't do to hear Groove Line right about now. Where did I put my roller skates.

So - I say we start a grass roots movement to take back the dance floor. We have money and vehicles. Buying power. Consumer prowess. Lets ditch the blingflingers and the perpetrators of music porn in low rise jean packages and lets bring back some stacked heels and wide collars and horn sections to the groove. Who you with?

Peace. I need coffee now.

Sadness is such an insidious thing. It doesn't always crash around you like a rogue wave....sometimes its quiet, like a soft steady rain.

This weekend Fred's (BIGSPAWN) GF's mom told me of her family member who's baby was hospitalized with hemorraghing in the brain. The dad was in jail on a million dollar bond...do I even have to continue? Do I have to say the words...to have life taken by the very hands that contributed to your creation...in a rage. I cannot imagine. I can only cry this morning. I can only hug my own children. I can only thank God that my own flawed parents loved me enough to let me live through their own moments of frustration, their own trauma. I remember being shaken by my mom - as a little girl. Even darker...I know the temptation as a mom. But I never went there.  I spent a lot of time on my front porch sobbing because my babies were little mutant screaming balls of torment - but until they were old enough to register discipline - I made damn sure the hands and the face that came over that crib were loving - and gentle. I waited till my anger past before I touched them because I bear the intimate knowledge of the damage anger can do.

My heart seethes this morning - telling my brain "there is a special place in hell for a man who shakes a child to death" all my "Christian" mentality goes out the window in a time like this. I do not understand how people can be monsters when holding a precious life. There are holes - big holes - my soul walks through them - in my trust for humans today.

If you pray...pray for this mom, this dad...the family. And pray for yourself too. Pray that if you see evidence in your own circle of someone - with uncontrollable anger, pray that you can facilitate getting them help - because no one ever deserves to be the recipient of that rage. EVER. It damages. It kills. I thank God I survived it. And I learned from it not to pass it on. I was damn fortunate. I am still capable of love. The deep love that stops my hand from harming my own babies. May we all taste that deep love - deep enough to chase away the darkness.

I wish you peace this morning. Go hug them if you got them. Kids, dogs, partners. Find something - some one to hug...to remind you that there is wonder and beauty and happiness available to you.

My thought for the day is this - its never too late - and its always too soon to quit. I know thats corny - but its my only defense against the eminent sadness I feel this morning for a baby I never met and a family I hardly know. Peace. I have to go hug a snoring preteen now. Gotta sneak in cuz he hates hugs.

Ok so how come Fiona is the only female ogre on the map? What all of us ogrefied chicas got only one green and corpulent role model who sounds like Cameron Diaz to follow. Lemme tell you I do not EVER resemble Cameron Diaz...by any stretch of ones twisted and plaque filled imagination.

Yeah I'm beyond banshee today - I am the ogress according to my ever so loving and gentle family. DO they ask WHY I want to eat small bunnies and scratch myself? No - they just name call and throw their ever enlarging shoes and socks in my general direction. They leave papers on the table and weeds in the yard  and I won't even go into what I find in the bathroom left for me...chingao but its nasty.

Today my coworker is on vacation - we have a Department of Labor Telehearing - Only God knows if we are prepared (see once apon a time I had a big boss and a slightly smaller boss and the big boss let the little boss go so the little boss is being a vindictive mutha and suing even though he stole stuff and so it goes) and every time my coworker is gone the big boss asks me for stuff that he should and could ask her for - I truly dread my job - and besides. Some stirrings are happening. Some ancient novel like stirrings are bubbling and brewing in my jiggly brain. Some scenes....some dialogue. Yes. And its a day from hell because I will have no time to get into anything. (Tam curses under her breath...adjusts her yak skin shawl...pounds her club on the ground.) But I am supposed to be the loving and giving princess of the abode. Hey when you live under a bridge - you don't get many princesses coming around.

So I am off to hell with plexiglass - that's the problem with writing anything longer than three pages. My brain wants to continue and life does not allow the time....so the subconcious tries to minimize the angst by saying sh*t like 'who'd read it anyway....uh....

I'm not a tease. I don't post my novel here because - well my target will be teens, not adults. See I reeallly want to publish - so I picked a genre and a market that I am hoping will be easier to break into. Not that I am JK Rowling - but teen fiction is more open than adult fiction. SO.

Peace (Tam shuffles off page picking stickers from her scaly ogre feet...)

Uh yeah. Things Tammy doesn't like to do - besides most sexual endeavors as many of my more 'erotic' blogfriends know - (as well as that wonderful man I married....If I wash your socks - I love you. If you want anything else from me - consider flowers, a meal somewhere besides Soup'r Salad and alchohol....word. Also consider cleaning something in the house. ANYTHING! perhaps your damn pile of books on my table. Maybe you could paint a wall. How about FINDING the BACK YARD) (yes he's on the list...sorry)

So Tammy doesn't do - impromptu appearances. Tammy has a face for radio. That's why she is an accountant in a small company rather than STEVIE NICKS PROTEGE. Dang. So I get an email from my boss that I have to go today to a hearing at the law offices. Me in my jeans and hippie shirt. Didn't curl the hair. No lipstick in the purse. damitol.  Oh yes. HAD I KNOWN I would have worn the GREEN OR BLUE POWER SUIT but NO! I get no warning. Thank God I am not paid for my appearance. (although Dave might give YOU money if my face suddenly showed up on a milk carton...I'm on his list too. Sigh.)  So I am deeply disturbed - totally unprepared and stressed to the hilt. AH. Must be Tuesday.

And here's the serious side. Yesterday even though I got into the yellfest to end all yellfests with the small and irritable spawn -I had no erroneous chest pain - nor did I cough up any internal organs. Today? Yup - half a lung in the shower before I even soaped up - and I have a kink in my um...chestllike area. yeah. Could it be STRESS boys and girls? I need a damn vacation. I need tequila and a cabana boy named Bjorn. I need therapy. years and years of therapy on a soft couch in a quiet room....with Bjorn and amaretto. Ok.

So here's the deal. After talking with Miss Sharon and CC - I'm gonna do my thing. And my thing will be mirror posting on multiply - my summer home - which means I need a new RSS feed. I just feel like I am not being real there. I mean I'm real - but theres your Sunday church clothes real, and then there's the rib suckin' beer swillin' scratchin' kick the arse of anyone who messes with a friend real. And that is closer to the real that I am...scratchin' and belchin' and carryin' on. No really.

I still have this whole issue with time. Between the two meltdowns I had this weekend (will I didn't have them. My kid had them) and all the appointments - maybe y'all are sayin' what is her malfunction? Is she suffering from multiple personality disorder? No. You just see one small side here.

Let me 'splain. On Friday I asked my spawn to sweep a flipping four by four area of floor and the little troll ran into the kitchen - teeth grinding and put his hands on my neck - saying he hated me. Then I get the third degree from the viejo about how I need to be more patient and ask nice....demmit I'm the MOM - I shouldn't have to grovel and pee like a puppy to get the fam to help with housework. I am not the indentured servant for God's sake. So on Saturday - We have a que at the GF's house (older spawn is dating) and it wraps up with GF, Fred and a bud hogtieing the little spawn and putting a pink bra, thong (there's your thong reference) and rouge on him. Needless to say - Bigspawn was in trouble and little demon spawn was threatening to kill him in his sleep. On sunday - we had church - a potluck for Fred's school and a concert. All I flippin wanted was to write something - anything of substance and my family spat on me all weekend.

And that brings me to this morning. Thinking - I need to streamline my time - I need to give to my fam more. I need to commit to my job more. And IT is a gremlin all the way to school. I get to work and my cubicle copeepscoworker can't follow simple directions (charge the credit card..."well I dont know if the machine is hooked up. I don't know where the paper work is - FIGURE IT OUT!)

So that's more like how my days run - and the reason I am such a mutant over there on multiply. And the reason I need my friends over here to talk to me and not diss my hindparts* every second of the day because I get that at home and at work.

I have a plan. I am getting some info on graphic art/design. I do draw. I don't know if I have the ability - but I do love to draw. I do write. I still have time. and its so much better to bust your butt doing something you love (that's why I blog) than doing something that is like getting a constant green chili and boulder enema.

So I love you who visit - and I hope I don't lose any of my multiply peeps the mirror postings but at least I will be able to keep my face in the same snarl its usually in.And there will be bad poetry on both pages. That's a given.

Peace.

Subliminal vision

Limited possibility

Encased in space between this

Abyss of spirit

And brain

Quantum logic

Finite Time

Objecthood of your emotions

Nullified

Odd property

Of a mundane existence

Causality devoid of dreams

It seems I am the mirrored fear

Lurking half heard

Absurd

In my circumstance

The dance of light and dark

Marked by linear thought

Caught prisms refracted

Reality defined

By a series of loops and lines.

TL Boehm

07/10/06

our realities are twisted in the retina and remembrance of the beholder the assignment was simply to use the seven highlighted words in a poem...peace.

Today I consider my own reality. Signed on to AOL and the first thing I see is "Steve Irwin dead at 44" because the cessation of a life seems so much more noteworthy than the life itself...Odd how we cater to the media mediocre - isn't it. 

Do you read your blogments? Yesterday a good friend on 360 said I seemed even more hopeful and cynical at the same time than I was when I was in my 20s - which I take as a compliment - thinking that perhaps I have not been numbed by 20 years of deferred dreams. i'm just going through another one of those "odd times" I suppose.

My teen spawn has decided to start a band. If you know me - I wouldn't have to say anything else - and you would walk away quietly - muttering prayers and voodoo incantations to protect yourself from the inevitable banshee...but most of you - don't know me that well so here it goes....HEY GOD THATS MY DREAM DEMMMIT! I made a secret promise to never live vicariously through my children. I promised to support them. I prayed that they take something I did - and do it better...BUT THAT DIDN'T INCLUDE MY DREAM. I'm not supposed to covet the destiny of my own child. God today I hate being me. I hate having what I wanted thrown back in my face. I wish I were happy being a mom, an accountant, a wife. Why can I not settle for the life I was given. WHAT IS MY MALFUNCTION? 

Secretly I hope my boy becomes everything he wants with a side of green chile/cheese fries too. But I also deeply, deeply wish - for the resurrection of my own dreams. It comes back to that thing. That thing I felt this weekend. That restoration thing. I want restoration. But I am afraid to try because I have never been successful. Yes, I am both more hopeful and cynical at the same time because my world spins faster now. My time is more limited - from my perspective. I fear more because I know more. But I still dream. Occassionally when my family sleeps and Stevie Nicks is on the radio...I forget what the mirror and the calendar say - and I go back to a time when I thought I could sing....thought I was a good writer....thought I would rise....and I remember. 

I gave the boy a short 'don't do what I did' speech and told him to have fun. I'm trying not to ask questions....I smile when he pens a new set of lyrics or thumps out a phantom bass line against his stomach with his thumb. I try to resist the pull of my past...Don't tell him ok? It will be our secret. 

Peace.  

I find it fascinating

So quickly provokes

Derisive talk

Tainted words laced with acid and tears

Salacious sentiments and wicked lies

When all you ever promised was rebirth

Kiss of life for the intrepid soul

Uncertain and afraid

What makes you appealing to the seeker

Enigmatic to the false prophets and fools

Capricious in their realities of the moment

Never grasp the delicious life eternal

Its a quiet day in blogtopia - everyone must be out putting some delectable bit of critter on the grill. I'm thawing hamburger as my dear candy stocking man is working - the bigspawn is out shopping with the GF and I am taking a break from brainstorming my NOVEL....oh yes. The procrastinator extrordinaire is finally so incensed with life as she knows it - she is working on the NOVEL. (you gotta wonder about those who blog in third person...)

So often I feel like my battery is corroded. It is so much easier to operate from a place of darkness. Of primal instinct and fear - casting shadows and doubts like flinging seeds for chickens. My words not even pearls but a bitter spray of caustic vapor emanating from that rotten place that was my soul.  A broken girl unable to fill up anyone else - I can barely lift my head up past that place, that barren ground to meet the gaze of a passerby. And I was never created to be this way...

Why is it that the bearers of light tire so quickly? Allowing themselves to be sucked into the vortex of the mundane...the profane...the vulgar? I can piss off an erotic nasty bit of flotsam and pass it as poetic - but to describe the blue of my child’s eyes...the dance of leaves across a sunlit sky...the love inside...I am dry. Not that I consider myself a torch or even a sputtering slab of whale blubber - but darkness gets so much more attention than light.

Today the primal force that rises in me desires the pure light of restoration. To cast off the sludge of mediocrity. To be bold in my love. To set fire to your soul and mine. To inspire you...uplift you....to facilitate change.

In its simplest terms...I truly believe life will dole out enough pain. Katrina, Iraq, disease, broken relationships, shattered dreams... I don't need to feed it the manure of my bad poetic muse. So I'm working on some changes. I recommit to penning light...penning laughter...penning life. 

It’s not so much here but I am becoming a bit of a nasssy girl at my summer home and truthfully - I'm about as erotic as a tax return. Why waste my time trying to titillate when I could be really touching your soul? Joonuper, this is all your fault anyway with that song lyric exercise...I was reminded of my own voice...and my limited amount of time on the planet.  And its time to shed some things that are too heavy to carry.

Don't panic - there will be lots of angst and bad poetry cuz that's how I roll. But maybe there will be some good stuff in the mix....yes?

Peace - I hope you have a wonderful weekend. I considered ranting about my coworkers  who do not understand what a holiday is - but I stuffed the banshee back under the bed.

So its noon and my head is pounding and that dang ramen I just had is sitting like a pound of stryroworms in my tummy. I must have a case of Mondayitis.

I could not for the life of me come up with a topic this morning of relevance, irreverence or any other ence so I waited and waited - thought of beer and nachos - but since I'm not in Wisconsin or Oregon - I had to downshift to the land of tacos and manana to find something bland to post today...so here it is.

Labor Day is fast approaching albeit not fast enough for a lazy chick like me - which reminds me – has anyone ever heard of Mike the headless chicken? Ay chica.  Oh sorry.  And the event dujour out here in the land of green chile chicken lasagna is (you should try it - green chile chicken lasagna...its quite good) the Bernalillo Wine Festival.  This year you can take the Railrunner (www.nmrailrunner.com) from Albuquerque to the pleasant burg of Bernalillo and walk around in your shorts and tank top sipping free wine until you are pleasantly pickled. Get this. Even though I could actually fall out of my yard, stumble across the tracks and wander across the street - in the fifteen odd years I've lived in Bernalillo - I've never gone to the wine fest. I do love wine of course and would actually enjoy a nice port and a glass right now - I have this thing about hot sweaty people in tight miniscule clothing. Especially on Harleys. So - if you're ever in the neighborhood on Labor Day - check it out. And then tell me about it.

So - the daily question is - what's your local hoo ha? Tell me all about it. I'm bored and my head hurts. I need some interesting stuff to take my mind off my - uh head.

Put your hands up if you remember Bill Cosby's Noah schtick. Well I do. My parents had it on vinyl.

Don't get it all twisted about the desert blooming - because all that's really happening here is people whining about mud and mosquitos - but we are getting rain every day - in large amounts. My car in fact will go through running water up over the hood without stalling....(boo yah)

My question is this. For thousands of years, if you have ever been to the desert or an arid place and notice the topography..., water will follow a natural course. Sure - it may be an old dried out canoncito - but if it looks like it had water in it EVER - rest assured that if it rains enough - you will see water in it again. SO. DONT BUILD A HOUSE IN IT!  We got all these people in Rio Rancho who have built on sand and dirt - next to arroyos (ditches) and now they are freaked because their dirt roads in front of their 750,000.00 home is washed away. Gimme a break. I have flood insurance - come wash my freakin’ house away. (I'm up on blocks people. It aint never gonna happen.) Now I can see if you've been watching the news - Alamogordo needs help and FEMA is being a butthead - but Rio Rancho? Please. All those Sandia Lab and INtel lab rats in bunny suits - didn't you get enough common sense bestowed upon you NOT to build in a ditch?

I saw a woman who's caddy got stuck in a mudslide this morning at four am. On Eubank - which is pretty close to the Sandia mountains and has already flooded out a couple of times. So la la la shes out at four in the morning during a flash flood and wonders why a three foot wall of water pushed her caddy off the road.....DANG!

Sorry. I'm sitting here with my weeds up to my arse and cloudy skies - concerned for my friends - hatin' the weekly commute - mad at the fam....ooh that's another story. The spawn took a walk last night - across friggin' town but I am not supposed to worry when it dons a stupid hoody and stomps off in a nit....noOOOOOO. Anyway. I sign on to search for cool pictures of stupid people driving through standing water and I get caddy woman scratchin' her head..."it was quiet and then I heard a roar..." Yes it was the sound of AIR going through your BIG OLE ears you idiot driving around during a flash flood....Here I am - wash me away, please.

How long can you tread water...ha ha ha....I got two kids, two dogs, two parrots...I'm off to find some lumber now and a good working definition of a cubit.

Peace

I could rant about my lousy day yesterday - still the same old same old. I got people lin my life who won't, don't or can't listen - who have no sense of urgency – who won’t take "no" for an answer which means -eventually I get asked the question everyone else already answered - normally on a subject of which I am ignorant because I was never meant to have that knowledge. And I'm tired of it. I just want to stay home today and work on my novel. (codespeak for blog all day)

But I got more pressing issues. I have a dear friend who just got some life changing news. Terry and I have this history. She was part of that thing. That band thing. She's an awesome singer/songwriter - but she outgrew it too. Anyway, I've known her since I was 14 - and we still talk...Imagine THAT. I'm asking - if you pray. Pray for her and her husband. They recieved a "positive" diagnosis this week of prostate cancer. Here's my spin. It’s not a death sentence. It’s never a death sentence till they close the box and throw the shovel of dirt on you. But it is scary. It is real life - and it is her soulmate. 

I have a random poem - thinking of Tigress this morning - again - but wrote this yesterday before I knew what was up with TerBer....peace.  Don't get it twisted. I'm talking about the band, not the chicas.  Terry....we won't say goodbye. ever.

It was just a dream

Fireflies and indigo skies

Spotlights and limousines

A bit of black lace round your face

And a back beat that would not die

Tap an SOS to the heart of you

As across the years I cry

Not my nature to say Goodbye

When rhythm was a rush

The hush of a backlit stage

Turn the empty page to song

I gave my life but I was wrong

Sing a broken chord to the memory

Three strands broken but Im not free

Cuz I cannot say Goodbye

I still hear you sing in sunburst skies

When the rain whispers a lyrical beat

On my window pane

I still go a little insane for the moment

A song is born immortal but yet dreams die

Now I know death is the same as goodbye. 

TL Boehm

Sometimes I am amazed at where my brain goes in a morning - or a millisecond. Buffi posted about this in her blog on Monday or Tuesday I think - the random thoughts that travel the dendrite wilderness unabated by logic. We all do it, don't we?

I was thinking of Susan - specifically now that she is on Yahoo....see Susan and Buffi and I - we had this "thing" - this music thing - this band thing. And of the three of us - I am the angst ridden w*tch who has never fully "let it go" - I still want that thing they outgrew. So I am brought back to that place this morning - the soft rain on my window reminding me of Arkansas summer days, and a time when my life was laid out before me in so many sparkling flashpoints of possibility...all faded.

And a sappy poem came to mind (oh my gawd not another implement of torture from the Tammy vault of angst and bad poetry...oh yes - I have to. I am compelled to post bad poetry all over cyberspace....ahh...the sucking sound of alliteration and overextended metaphors...)

So here it is...my random poem. Yesterday I was all pink and happy. Today - not so much. Peace

Lead Me Home

The rain falls

Pelting the first yellow leaves

Of autumn

The days grow shorter

The nights cold

A warm fire

Chuckles on my hearth

But the embers don’t warm

That freezing part of me

That used to be a beating heart

The road to your door

Is endless now

A scorched and twisted rope

Stretched taut around my heart

The miles between us

Take my breath away

Can’t believe you’d fade from my life

Radiant like a wispy cloud

Glowing in the final rays of a sunset

Now darkness wraps round me

And the light won’t come on in your window

To lead me home

TL Boehm

C: 86 and 11/94

For Evonne

Teenspawn: what is the difference between a trojan and a trojan horse...

Banshee: until you know - keep your misters in your pants...

Lovely evening Gromit. I spent quality time finding the 300 dollar error my hubby made in checking whilst watching the red X of death appear repeatedly on my screen. Yes after seven years of safe cybersurfing I was sent a most lovely Trojan.zlob. I do not know what it is but Norton hated it and I could not get it out of my PC, so I whined and cried like the weenie I am and my cybergurutechies at work are now cleaning my system and having fun doing it. I handed them personal plastic and said FIX ME....I don't ever want anything coming through again. I do believe it was an innocent pass along - kind of like when you share cooties on a desk phone. I had a buddy send me a wordpad doc....and she's new. Probably happened then. BUT I AINT TAKEN NO CHANCES....there will now be cyber eyeball scans and fingerprint checking...(insert expletive here)

Sigh - how I now miss the old days (last month) of five minutes to access the internet and multiple timeouts...a the slow and plodding dial up which no self respecting virus would approach....yeah.

So my question is now this....when decorating your blog with awesome pictures pilfered from various questionable sites out here in la la land - how do you protect yourself in the whole download to pc upload to yahoo dance that we do? Is it possible I downloaded a cootie on a graphic? Help me people. I am inept.

Peace.

I hope to return to regularly scheduled blogging tomorrow - but I am "overbooked" this evening. Gawd how I hate those school open houses....sheesh.

Another sucky day yesterday.  I am tired of the mindset that I am a universal key you know?

I talked to the Hubby who is also thinking of going back to school for a degree in something computerish  I said I was considering graphic it went over like a bee on your soda can.

This morning is not much better. I actually dreaded getting out of bed, but here I am. Last night embarrassing parts of my body cramped up right as I was going to sleep - then the dog decided she MUST BARK 4:35am is a four letter word.

So my day is already in that downward spiral I have become accustomed to. I started Pilates again for the fourth or fifth time, I don't remember. It sucks the same way each time. I barked my shin on the cooler (who keeps a cooler in front of the door?) getting the floor mat. I stubbed my toe on the bottom of my computer chair and tripped over the laundry basket (small living room) I wonder if any of that counts toward the routine? Anyway. Its torture disguised as exercise - twenty minutes of pain and embarrassment culminating in this cutesy little move where you wrap your hands around your ankles, roll back like a ball and clap your feet. Its called the seal. Well whales don't have feet and I just kinda lay there like a beached one going - if I could wrap my hands around my ankles and roll would I be doing this? Uh no. We'll see how long this lasts in the land of big footed men stepping on my mat and snickering while I moan and sweat (and that's just laying the mat out and finding the remote) Lovely day ahead.

Peace

My dear friend Buf has surfaced again. Its bittersweet. Her youngest is pregnant with twins and fell off the porch on Friday - babies aren't moving. So the family needs some positive mojo and prayer.

and to ice it all - aohell isn't working right so I am on MSN...which I loathe and fear....

Today just didn't end well. I'm sitting here because my mind is racing and my heart is broken and I have no one....no one to lament to. So the cyberwasteland gets another toxic blog.

I don't know where man came up with the inane idea that woman should do all the cleaning and carry a full time job whilst the males scratch and sniff and belch - but I refuse to go down quietly. They (the TPBs) have so many plans this weekend I am not even sure if I know all the details but we have church, a concert and two barbecues - some shopping and haircuts and who knows what else...oh yes...sleepovers. So I asked for help - domestic help in the form of pushing a broom, a mop and a vacuum. And I got a throw down rant on defecate on scream fest of the nastiest kind. My young spawn in a fit of rage came out into the kitchen, bleary eyed and lockjawed, put his small hands around my throat and tried to choke me because he said..."I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU MOM." Yes, I almost flattened him. You see - I grew up with that ish. I won't tolerate it now. Not even in jest and guess what, no one was laughing. So I am trying to remain calm as my husband tells me its my fault we have to get rid of the lizard because I am not patient when he comes out and its my fault because I can't just ask the boy without yelling - tell me - honestly - do "please and thank you and kissy wissy flower petal throwing work on YOUR boy?" If they do - I want the meds you are crumbling up in the spaghetti sauce cus mine don't even hear under a certain decibel. So then I hear the boy in the room again with the hateration and he comes out and tells me "if I would apologise and say please and thank you - he will give me my keys" To which I ever so politely tell him he threatened me - I have never threatened him or wanted him dead and I am leaving (mom speak for gimme the damn keys you insolent vermin from hell.) I drove around the block...watched some lightening and then came home. I have groveled and piddled on my tail and the son is sleeping after telling me how he wants to cut himself and his nose bled and he is still on the "please" jag and my husband is reading some inspirational book in the bedroom but will any of them even put their arms out to me? HELL NO. Even after I say - all I ever wanted was a little help and for you to hug me and tell me you don't hate me. And I get choked for two pairs of shoes and a three by six area of floor. So I am done. If the husband likes to step over crap - there will be lots of it because I only have one finger I am even thinking of raising for awhile. He can tell the ungrateful demonseed to clean up - or he can etchasketch a mural in the dust that will inevitably build up - I am done. Some things are black and white - hands around my neck - even small hands - that's a crossed line. And I can't throw it into reverse. I'm done.

On a lighter note, I suppose I will sneak on and visit tomorrow, cuz writing wonderful poems ain't gonna happen. Why does it have to be like this? Why does my own child seethe with hatred - I know hatred when I see it. I saw it in my moms eyes....now his...sometimes I just wish I could get a case of Corona and a bottle a JOSE and make it all go away for a while...but inevitably I would sober up....and I'd probably puke from mixing beer and tequila...maybe blogging in the middle of the night will have to suffice.

In the picture...thats the perp with pups. He's not throttling the cowlike canine...he's holding her face up for a portrait. He's very gentle with things he loves...and people he loves...