The Curse of the Intelius

I just discovered Intelius today which in itself is an almost-funny-if-it-weren't-quite-so-creepy story, the essence of which is that I was checking to see if there was public record of a certain someone having died.  If this person has died, then this person has successfully kept this person's passing a secret from every Internet-based public record mechanism.  Keeping one's death under the radar would be a spectacular feat to accomplish posthumously, therefore I can only conclude that this person lives on, albeit with greater ignominy for having failed to maintain contact with yours truly.  The point is that I was directed to Intelius through a series of searches whereupon I, most reasonably, chose myself as a test subject and entered my own name in the available fields.  

What I found is that there are three Jennifer Sassers in California, myself being one of them.  Not content with acknowledging my existence, it also lists my relatives, by name, and if you click upon the "more information" button as I did, you will find that you can order reports detailing, among other less interesting factoids, my personal history of lawsuits, sex offender status, small claims filings, address history, and criminal history all for the spectacularly low price of $49.95.  For less that 50 bones, you too can violate my privacy.  So perhaps you see why I've entitled this post as I have, although I was a bit conflicted about using the word "curse."  It's not like they've wished a pox upon me (however, in my experience proclaiming a pox upon people is wildly ineffective), but nonetheless I am experiencing a bit of leery anxiety.  As a matter of fact, I actually get chills when I think about it too much... then I realize it's probably just from the shadow Big Brother casts while he looks over my shoulder.

M'Lynn, You Got a Reindeer Up Your Butt?

I just woke up to ubergrossness: dog barf.  Our sweet little princess, Zsa Zsa was nicely snuggled up next to me for awhile - then got up and left.  Upon waking, I discovered why: DOG PUKE.  The little mongrel regurgitated some nastiness and fled the scene.  My bedding is all in the washer right now, but I am not done pouting.  I mean really?  Canine vomit? EW.   

I told Tawny what happened and she quoted some tv show people who, after losing a competition claimed that the winners had horse shoes up their @$$e$.  We agreed that I must have a black cat up my @$$ considering the way things seem to be going these days.  

Ugh, I'm still utterly grossed out.  

Play-Doh vs. Plato

I don't know when this blog became my "confessional" of sorts, but it seems as though there are some things that I just can't keep to myself. To be fair, you're not really getting any of the "good stuff" when I confess - just little perturbing peculiarities that plague my days.  For example:

I do not like fast food.  There are some things that I enjoy eating, but as a general rule, I do not feel good before I eat it, nor after.  Furthermore, the satisfaction I experience while consuming it does not come close to matching how I feel when I eat things I really love, like edamame, Dubliner Irish Cheese, Pita Chips, lattes, etc.  There comes a time, however, when it is incumbent upon me to acknowledge that I crave certain things that I don't particularly love.  Case in point: McDonald's French Fries.  I've been told that they were my first solid food, so I'm currently working on a theory that draws a connection between a tangible link to my post-infancy state and the preparation of my body to carry a child.  Simply: when I want babies I want fries because I ate 'em when I was a baby.  Curiously enough there is no such correlation to explain why I need ice cream - most perplexing.  

So, my body has been readying itself to experience the wonder of procreation over the past few days - and although I keep explaining to it that there exists no immanent hope of fulfilling that expectation, it refuses to take a merciful sabbatical from its cyclical course.  Which means that tonight, on the way home from a 12-hour work day, I stopped and got McDonald's French Fries.  I did not finish them, and I already feel mildly sick, but the deed is done.  For shame, says you... and I agree - what a sad way to live... which brings me to my next point.

As I was getting ready for work 13 hours ago, I was reading through some interesting BBC News articles and ran across this one: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/7767877.stm  I could summarize for you, but I think you should probably get the full effect of the article for yourself.  Please follow the link and read before continuing.

Okay?  Now that you've read, know this: I am ridiculously attracted to intelligence.  I've been fond of some awfully strange looking men and found myself desiring them based solely upon their intellectual prowess.  It's a curse, but I've come to accept it.  Then this article happens to be written and suddenly the world makes sense!  Biologically, we tend to be most drawn to those who will be the most efficient/successful propagators of the species... Intelligent men who have better quality swimmers are (contrary to the article's conclusions) likely to be more successful breeding partners.  Additionally, men who possess such distinguishable mental acuity will ALSO be more likely to be adept at talking me down from my french fry precipice!  What a phenomenal find this is - Smart men will turn me off of french fries and give me babies.  Bad hermeneutics aside, I think we can color this mystery solved.  Until soon...

Yeah, I'm Totally That Girl.

Okay, do you ever do something that seems more than a little bit out of character... like bordering on bizarre... but it's so out there, that you just have to try?  I do.  Or, I did... just this once.  My story begins thusly:

It wasn't a dark night, it wasn't stormy, and it wasn't particularly interesting in any sense except that I was a student at an itty-bitty Bible school in Jackson, MI and had made friends with other students.  One of these friends knew of a band that was playing in Grand Rapids and insisted that I join her and others to trek across the snowy plains to hear them.  It sounded like a horrible idea, so I readily agreed to participate.  I had to be at work at 4 the next morning, then attend class, but I figured I could work it out - after all, I was young and wasn't this what living was all about?  

So we drove, arrived, were seated and in the cavernous auditorium at Calvin College, I was introduced to Over the Rhine (www.overtherhine.com).  I have been wildly smitten ever since.  They were mesmerizing in the way that only people who speak to your soul can be.  I listened, loathe to miss a single note, or lyric, knowing I'd never retain it all - but afraid that it was just something about that day and that stage and those people.  I needed to soak the entire experience into my being.  

We drove home that night and I slept for an hour or so in the very back of my Jeep Cherokee, smooshed in like a sardine.  I went straight to work when we arrived home, but still, the feeling wouldn't shake.  I didn't get a chance to see OTR again while I was in the Midwest, but when I moved back to California, they were playing in San Francisco.  Not only that, but they were playing at my favorite venue: Cafe du Nord.  This is one of those small, cramped, intimate clubs where the acoustics are terrible, but the soul is rich.  When I heard the familiar songs flow out of their fingers and mouths - I was cut to the quick.  Turns out, it wasn't just Michigan, or a certain chemistry... it was the band. There's something about this music that's just beyond my descriptive abilities.  They are brilliant.  I don't think you can quite grasp it, just by listening to the recordings, but when you see them live - it's poetry acted out in front of you.  They have all the playful, whimsical charm of an "indie" band, but there's this undercurrent of intense, visceral, slow fire.  I love them.

Which more or less establishes the context for today's events.  Are you still reading?  I hope so, because this is where it gets good.  I have been checking OTR's website periodically for CA tour dates for about the past 7 months... finally I realized that they'd be in San Francisco on December 4 about 4 months prior to the fact.  I waited to move to Redding & get my class schedules before buying tickets, and it's a good thing I waited - I don't get out of class until 6 pm on Thursdays, and there was just no way that I'd be able to make it to San Francisco in time to catch the show.  No problem, says I, I'll find the shows before & after & see what I can see... I saw a show on December 2 in Klamath, OR.  I thought I had found the perfect solution, until I got a job that had a big event on December 2, which I really would be hard-pressed to miss.  I was so bothered - the annual West Coast tour was driving right past me, and I'd be bum outta luck for both shows.  

I looked at a map, wondering how I could arrange ANY possible way to catch the group's show - when it occurred to me that they would, literally, drive right through Redding between gigs.  I did what no normal person would ever do.  I emailed the band and invited them to stop by for a couple of glasses of wine on their way through.  I also included the caveat that I was painfully aware of how creepy this could all sound.  They replied, graciously, that they weren't sure what their schedule would allow, but would certainly consider the pit stop.  I thought that was kind, and moved on with life, content to look forward to another show for the duration of 2009.  Then today, I walked into work and my buddy Will said, "Hey, Mike from some group called & said they'd be here in about 20 minutes."  That's when my guts started seizing like an overactive epileptic.  I went about my business until I saw Karin and Linford actually walk up to the front door.  SERIOUSLY!!!!!!!!  This amazing troupe of audio artisans walked into my place of work & sat down & tasted some wines.  They whole crew hung out for an hour or two and we got to chat and just be for a little bit.  I didn't want to gush too much - so I tried to joke around and relax a wee smidge.  I guess I could close with this: there's something about humble, genuine, kind artists that restores my faith in the beauty of humanity.  When beautiful people create beauty, the world seems right again.  And, at least for tonight, right it is.

Oops, My Bad Mr. DARE Officer

Darling, faithful readers: I apologize for my absence.  There can be no real excuse, just pathetic appeals to your good natures and merciful benevolence.  First off, I dislike being pathetic.  Secondly, I have reason to question the goodness of your natures and merciful benevolence.   As it turns out, I do not hold those qualities in high regard in this particular forum... your attendance, attention, and accolades are really all I care about.  Speaking of which - why no comments?  Speak up, good people!  Let me know that you're out there! Moving right along...

I have had a rough patch these past few weeks.  Please refer to my aforementioned distaste for pathetic-ness and accept it as reason enough for my sparing you the details - suffice it to say, sometimes life will grab those proverbial cajones, twisting and mangling all the while, for the sole purpose of leaving one (figuratively speaking) utterly immasculated.  Well, color me eunuched.  I was bemoaning my difficulties to Tawny, who is ever the patient listener, and managed to sneak in this bit of sartorial gold: "I'm just tired of school... I've been going my entire life, living for the approval of subjective standards, writing redundant papers, going deeper in debt without any promise of lucrative future earnings and I am just plain tired of it.  It's all a scam.  One, big, fat, sleazy scam.  I think I need to start taking drugs." 

I expected that to be more or less the end of it until Tawny burst into hysterical laughter.  Through her mirth she managed to eek out an explanation, "Do you realize that you just reviled school and advocated drug use in the same sentence?"  Indeed I had.  Decades of "Hugs, not Drugs" indoctrination had failed in that single train of thinking.  My "DARE to Keep Kids Off Drugs" certificates, filed away in some cabinet full of meaningless accomplishments must have been decaying to dust under the disappointment.  It's remarkable what life will make a gal think.

As it turns out, I've lived in such a way to avoid drug dealers.  I don't even really keep in touch with any pharmacists.  Alas, my days of wanton chemical abandon are postponed yet again.  Perhaps I'll look at Berkeley for grad school...

Finally, Something Funny Again

Okay... I work at Vintner's Cellar, a custom winery in Redding... it's just fantastic.  I host wine tastings, help create batches of wine, mingle with customers, prepare food, etc... it's a perfect fit for me & am loving it.  Tonight, I lived through a brilliant example of why working with people is such a hoot and I wanted to share.  

We were hosting a wine tasting party for ten people who were fairly mellow for the most part.  My boss and I were both pretty tired, so we were a little on the subdued side as well.  At one point, an elderly man walked inside and I took him a menu and seated him at a table.  We were officially closed, but it's not such a big burden to serve one little ol' fella while hosting the party - and so we welcomed him into our midst.  Now, I should probably tell those of you that I haven't met face to face that I'm a rather tall gal.  I've met taller women, but I've also met many, many more who were shorter.  I also love high heels which is usually irrelevant when I'm dressing for work.  I typically choose function over sacrificing the balls of my feet to the lesser gods of taut bums and shapely calves.  Today was an exception.  When it's all said and done, I loomed large at around 6'3" as I greeted the gentlemen who was notably shorter.  

God bless his heart, this poor guy just couldn't get over my height and was saying all sorts of charming things like, "All that beauty wrapped up in one large package" and "I love big girls" and "You're not married?  All this woman going to waste?!"  He introduced himself as Kelly and I think I needn't dwell too much on how obvious it is that we became fast friends.  I brought him a glass of wine and he reciprocated with this gem: "You know what makes big girls a lot like mountains?"  Clearly, I did not, indicated my ignorance and was gratified with his response: "It doesn't make sense to many people, but you want to climb up all over them both, just because they're there."  Good people, I do not tell you fibs.  

Mt. Shasta

Belay on... 

Now, lest I be misunderstood, I am a staunch proponent of the rights of the elderly.  After tonight I am ever more in favor of their right to settle their randy selves on down before they break some hips or pop a denture or some other ghastly mishap befalls them.  I still haven't quite finished chuckling over the whole business, but I will say this for Kelly - he's got a solid place in "Jen's Book of Life Records" as the oldest guy who ever hit on me.  He's almost 90.

America Has Spoken

I really never intended to be overtly political on this blog, but I did intend to speak what's on my mind which is this: America has its first African-American president.  I am simultaneously elated and nauseated.  I am elated because, seriously... it's about damn time.  In this county, the land of opportunity, the gates of accomplishment are to be wide open to all people.  Barack Obama has pushed his way through those gates that despite the forces of tradition and bigotry that set their shoulders against him.  Which leads me to address my nausea: how is it possible that we've waited this long to see a black family in the White House?  It speaks volumes to me that a black president indicates a turn of the tides - we have not come so far as we think.  My chief hope for the Obama presidency is that it serves to bring us many steps closer to a right understanding of equality in which Dr. King's vision is realized: that our president may be judged by the content of his character rather than the color of his skin.  I have hope.

Here's To Life

I received a card in the mail today from one of my dearest friends, and as the missive came to a close she wrote, "Here's to life."  Through my tears, I halted, struck by such a simple phrase.  In that instant I remembered that life means so much more than just existing... it means thriving, feeling, grasping, holding, slipping, losing, thrilling, aching, reveling, breathing... it means being.  Sometimes, when life is more something other than I care to deal with, I have this sense that I'll just stop being for awhile.  I'll refuse to answer my phone, or look others in the eye.  I'll just pretend that I am not.  I don't want to die, or be finished - I simply don't want to be for awhile.  But that's hardly what life is about, now is it?

To do life is to take note of what one is and how one is.  I thought today about how quickly life can change.  I considered how very, very little it takes to corrupt one's perspective, or realign one's dreams.  I pondered the grossly tenuous state of being - that really, we are all so fragile, so easily damaged and so easily healed.  It requires but a moment to shift reality from point "A" to point "B," and furthermore, life seems to throw more than a couple of those moments my way.  I suppose it should be said that I resent the vertigo of those moments... 

I don't actually like roller coasters.  I tried to, for awhile - I tried to love the feeling of anticipation when the machine climbs hundreds of feet in the air.  I tried to love the sudden loss of stability when the machine hurtles to the earth and pistol-whips me back away again.  I told myself that I loved it, and I rode many a coaster in an attempt to verify my claim - but really, I don't love it.  I feel the same way about life.  I try to love the forced exhileration of drastic heights, and I try to embrace the plummet back into reality - but really, I don't love it.  It just seems so absurd to me to wait all that time in line for a few minutes of ups and downs, only to get off the ride and go wait in another queue in order to do it all over again.  I prefer a life that's like walking along a river bank in the cold, quiet drizzle of autumn.  For the most part, my feet carry me along with only minimal maneuvering around obstacles, but every once in awhile I stop and I look up.  I raise my face to the coming wind, and I breathe it in, and I know - in those moments that I am.  I become aware of me and my prerogative to be.   That's the life I love.

Murphy's Law

I think we're all familiar with Murphy's Law, but if you're not I suggest you give it some time.  Sooner or later, Murphy will rear his ugly head and demolish your best laid plans.  I do, however, think that "Law" is a misnomer... it's more of a governing principle, really.  I'll give you an example:  at work we have three printers, one of which is purposed for printing labels.  We also have two foil sealers among other various & sundry electronic equipment.  Tonight, we had scheduled three bottling parties and a wine tasting group all of which require the use of the aforementioned equipment.  The foiler malfunctioned and melted its own wiring (I'll probably never know what prompted its self-destructive tendencies) which in turn triggered an electronic chain of events that culminated with the complete failure of all of the printers.  "Whatever can go wrong will."  So there were roughly 5 cases of wine all without the custom labels and foils promised.  So far, it's only irritatingly inconvenient.  But because Murphy, not unlike distempered leprechauns, was exerting his demonic influence, we also had several guests who stayed throughout the evening, rather than leaving at 7 (closing time) which meant that we had to balance a party of 10 for tasting and several tables with a staff of 2.  To compound the stressors, we also ran out of several of the menu items. 

The thing about this evening was that I got to leave it all behind.  It's no longer my problem, indeed much of the troublesome business was resolved before I left.  I might be tempted to thumb my nose at Murphy and his blasted principles except that as I worked my magic throughout the evening I realized that he had surreptitiously infiltrated my personal life as well as my work!  Tricky devil that he is, I hardly recognize him until I'm already spun by the tail into some incomprehensible mess of a woman.

You see, for the most part I just do life.  I've got my own drama, but typically I've got the sense that I've got a good handle on reality and a pretty decent perspective on how to engage with people.  Then, every once in awhile, somebody throws off my balance.  It makes me wonder exactly how stable I actually am.  It also concerns me that my version of reality is perhaps not as rational as I'd like it to be.  The question is this:  what do you do when you've become the person that you never thought you could be?  What do you do when you're not even sure what you feel or what's real?  And why the hell is Murphy so interested in messing with us!

My Politics

It's an election year, which means that I'm once again faced with the dilemma that democracy presents.  My friends, I am deeply conflicted about more than a few of the issues forming my ballot, and if you have got the time to read, I'd like to explain.

I fervently believe in the right of the American people to voice their collective opinions via the democratic electoral system.  I believe that it's good and right that individuals choose how and by whom they will be governed.  Frankly, I also believe that there exists reasonable biblical precedent to defend that statement.  I respect and honor the tradition of American justice that protects my right to vote, and as such I take my responsibility to participate in democracy very, very seriously.  I vote, and I work to be informed so that I cannot abdicate my right through the lame excuse of ignorance.

Perhaps it's because I am so firm in my stance upon voting that I am particularly conflicted about the implications of my vote.  The big two are California's Prop 8, and the presidential election.  

Prop 8 - I have to say that I'm relieved that this isn't a cut and dry "If you're a Christian, you vote yes" issue for many of my friends.  Certainly it is black and white for some people, but I think we've crossed a threshold of sorts in this current generation.  It seems to me that we've begun to understand that morality simply can't be enforced by laws.  These United States uphold constitutional measures that reflect the values of the people, not define them.  The changes I want to see in society will never be made through legislature... they'll always be made on an individual basis.  So, for me, this is not a matter of legitimizing homosexuality, it's a matter of reflecting how Californians view the rights of all mankind.  I've enjoyed the statement "If you don't like gay marriage, don't get one," and I've appreciated the perspective of many of my more conservative friends that marriage is a sacred institution.  In this sense, I think the proposition has been clarified for me.  Sacraments are strictly spiritual, proprietorially speaking.  The State has no business defining an institution as sacred, or not.  It can only go so far as to make a legal standing available without discerning eligibility.  It is the business of the church to determine the boundaries of such a sacrament (and I question the modern American church's ability to do so).  My concern here is that defying such a proposition as 8 will effectively provide an umbrella to lionize those private institutions that limit the eligibility of a particular sacrament.  So the question becomes one of foresight rather than strict ethics.  Do you share in this dilemma?

And now for the presidential candidates - what a crap shoot.  It's like asking, "Would you prefer to have your left eye put out, or your right?  Would you rather scoop out your spleen with a spork or a tuning fork?  Would you more enjoy sitting on molten lava or the surface of the sun?"  Do you see my point?  Damned if you do, indeed.  Barack Obama and John McCain are equal evils, they simply differ in variety.  Both of the candidates promise a future of 4 years of corruption and war, unrestrained greed for power and lust for money, defiling of the American image on a global stage, haphazard care for the disadvantaged on domestic soil all at the cost of taxpaying, idealistic American citizens.  Have we not hoped for men and women of character to run this country?  Have we not desired that the collective interests might speak louder than fiscally-endowed special interests?  Have we not longed for the betterment of our society?  Have not all of our presidents and their posses failed to deliver a suitable answer to our pressing questions?  We are at preemptive war, still.  Our reputation as a just super-power is tainted by imperialism and our children are just as hungry as they've ever been.  The right-wingers swear it's the consequence of morally-depraved, back-slidden whore-mongering Democrats and the left-wingers confidently assert that our bumbling, backwoods President has lead us astray.  I say that you're both mistaken - the failure of democracy to provide for the needs of America lies solely within the failure of every politician's character.  The moment your own interests and advancement displace the needs of "Joe the Plumber" you have forsaken your right to govern.  

So then, for whom do I vote?   Has jaded realism really overcome the promise of democracy's ideology?  I suppose I should come up with an answer before November 4.  In the meantime friends in California, please visit this website for a synopsis of the issues at hand:

http://www.smartvoter.org/sv/2008/11/04/ca/state/prop/

Other visitors, be well and feel free to feed back!

I Think I'd Like to Move...

to Portland, Maine.  It's very far away from here, but when you think upon it - it's also very close to there, and somewhere in my mind I always want to be there.  

I found this image at the link below.  Check it out yo.

http://www.portlandmaine.com/

I'd Like to Tell You a Story

But before I do, does anyone else think the rules for titular capitalization are peculiar? That has nothing to do with the actual purpose of this post which you will discover, if so inclined, upon reading the text that immediately follows this nonsensical sentence.

More than a couple years ago I worked at a non-profit organization in Virginia.  I had been there for a year and a half when my boss' wife and the wife of another co-worker went into labor on the same day.  The same day, in the same hospital both of these ladies began a tortuous process of delivering their babies with a singular difference: Neil's wife was doing so with the knowledge that her baby was not healthy.  Only a few hours before being admitted the doctors realized that Neil's baby girl was in critical condition.  Forgive me for not remembering the details (such as Neil's wife's name)... this was years ago and I was close to this couple neither before, during, nor after the birth of their child.  David's wife Julie, by contrast, had carried her child to term perfectly and delivered a marvelously well-formed baby boy.  The progeny entered our world only several hours apart and after a few prayer-filled, tear-stained days Neil's daughter grew stronger until she was out of danger.  Together we celebrated the providential healing of one child, but almost simultaneously we found that Dave's son, Caden was not altogether well.  He was taken to the hospital where it was learned (over the course of several days) that he had swelling on his brain that only a permanent shunt would alleviate the pressure and allow him to develop.  I remember being captivated by the range of emotions in both sets of parents, and us - their community as we suffered and rejoiced, alternately, with all of them.

I remember this because last night, two babies were being born mere hours apart... Daniel and Charlene brought Emogen to us while Brian and Dora were busy birthing their child.  Charlene was released from the hospital this evening, but Dora was in danger for some hours while doctors addressed her precariously low blood-pressure.  Two children, starting life under vastly different circumstances, hold all the promise of hope in their tiny hands.  

I know I've been curiously devoid of humor these days, but forgive me please - sometimes life seems to bring these serious circumstances about and I'm apt to put aside mirth in favor of considering the chain of events.  I certainly can't say what any of it means, I just believe more and more that we must be correlated to something beyond ourselves; that our God, our Yahweh, our "Other" exists not simply to provide some confidence of intersubjectivity, but to give us a tangible fragment of eternity that we cling to together.  

Jennifer Sasser and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Espresso Machine.

You see immediately above this text a simple, innocuous machine.  Stainless steel, simple operating functions, standard espresso brewing form - it all looks so innocent yes?  No.  What you see above is the image of promise turned plague.  I thought to myself, "Self, I enjoy espresso and steamed milk far more than I enjoy a regular cup o' joe, and this particular indulgence is becoming costlier than I care to admit.  Is there, perchance, any solution that would allow me to get my fix while driving down the ever rising costs of frivolous affectations?"  The answer was yes!  An investment in a decent espresso machine would pose a one time bulk fee, but would result in a lifetime of savings.

I shopped around, considered my lifestyle and anticipated future mobility and finally selected a machine that would prove flexible and durable over the course of my next few years of life.  The Breville Cafe Roma was supposed to be the answer to my coffee query.  Supposed to be.  I got a whole 2 lattes out of the blasted thing before it triggered some electrical malfunction in our house.  Before I digress into a stream of gripes, let me just say that I do not think it's unreasonable to expect that there might be some consistency between home electrical wiring standards and home appliance wiring standards.  Apparently my version of reason is not palatable to the common espresso machine industry.  At any rate, I returned the machine and am now hunting for another... all the while paying exorbitant amounts for my fix.  Welcome to the life of an addict...

Caution! Graphic Content

Sometimes when I can't sleep I read cracked.com.  I'll warn you ahead of time - it's not for the faint of conscience.  Crass, inappropriate and often insulting, cracked.com is the least politically correct website I've ever seen.  It's like onion.com, but more honest... and it's hilarious.  Well, tonight I ran across a little ditty that revealed some of the worst dating sites on the web which ranged from inmates to crazies (they're for real, too), but the one that left me dumbfounded was a site intended for people afflicted with STDs.  I am in no way mocking those whose actions have rendered them plagued by, well, plagues - it's just that the author of the post noted that the vast majority of profiles on the STD site were of people who were insanely attractive.  I haven't verified his claim, but it occurred to me that there is a logical flow worth examining:

1.  Attractive people who are prone to promiscuity contract diseases at a higher rate than ugly people who can't find "partners."

2.  Many of these diseases can, if left untreated, result in sterility.

3.  If disease ridden lookers are left to mating each other, then it follows that at least one of the pair has a higher than average chance of being infertile.

4.  Attractive people are possibly procreating at a lesser frequency than the uglies

5.  Pretty genes are not propagating

6.  Promiscuity could be lowering the attractiveness of the human race exponentially

I can only conclude that if these trends continue, we will all be dog-butt ugly within two generations.  Therefore I implore pretty people: LOCK DOWN!

I need to go to sleep now, but not before I research the sexual appetites of smart people - if we become ugly & dumb there may very well be no hope for our future.

ZsaZsa Some More!

I'd like you all to meet Zsa Zsa Bullock... the newest member of our ultimate girlie household is here and loving life.  She's 8 weeks old, as sweet as can be and can't get enough of us - which is really all I ask.  

Geez Louise

At this very moment I'm winding down from my evening, preparing my sweet little head for slumber.  I'm a wee bit wound up because tonight I attended my ten year high school reunion.  I had been hit upside the head with a migraine this morning (it's about my second one ever - they are TERRIBLE) and every fiber of my being wanted to save 30 bucks and just stay in.  Alas, as I've never been very trusting of my inner voices I decided to make the 5 mile trek to downtown Modesto and brave the social elements.  Within moments of walking in the door I wanted to leave... my healthy self-talk dwindled to a murmur, then a mumble, then a merest hint of whisper until I simply couldn't hear it.  All those grandiose ideas of my having lived life well (see two posts below) were not only irrelevant, they seemed hopelessly naive and idealistic.  As a wise man once said, hopes and dreams might get you out of bed in the morning, but they don't keep you warm at night, and they sure as the devil don't pay the rent.  Nevermind the fact that I overheat while I sleep and my rent's pretty cheap (thank you Cathy), hopes and dreams also don't buy you street cred when you're called upon to validate your last decade of existence.

Here's the kicker - I saw some people that I really enjoy, made some promises to keep in touch (some of which I intend to fulfill), and even refrained from making a fool of myself... but at one point I walked away to respond to a text message and as I stood there alone, I looked around and realized that my life - in whatever form it takes - is independent from these things.  My friends, whom I love and by whom I am loved - they weren't there with me...  I had a profound sense of freedom, knowing I could walk away and go be with people that fit in my life.  And so I left.  I took in my surroundings and, in that moment, cut my ties with the past in order to grab onto the present and hope for the future.  And I left, albeit without my 30 bucks - but at this moment I think that what I lost in cash money, I gained in wisdom.

Here's hoping, sports fans... until next time...

The Starbucks Quandary

If I meet a man and he's gay, and married and then I try to seduce him to "turn" him... is it adultery?  Good people, I'm just aksin'. 

It's just that today, I had a daydream - I saw a beautiful man drive up to Starbucks and then saunter in, order his coffee and, for a brief moment we made eye contact.  Then his venti soy mocha, (no whip) was up & he was gone.  Of course, my first reaction was "He's probably married."  Then I thought, "No, he's gay."  Then I thought, "He probably has a terminal illness." Then I thought, "He's probably gay, married & has a terminal illness... a veritable trifecta of unavailability."  All that got me thinking about my damned if you do, damned if you don't approach to men.  Tawny and I were just discussing that if they don't sidle up to your table, unbeckoned, on the strength of their own initiative we must only assume (from the argument of silence) that they are emotionally damaged, gay, taken, or otherwise preoccupied with various and sundry world issues (i.e., solving 3rd world hunger, curing cancer, terminating terrorism).  Of course, should a man display the unadulterated gall to speak to us while we're existing in a public place, unattended - well then!  I cower in fear, Tawny experiences a swell of residual indignance and we both present what amounts to the least amenable countenances possible... perhaps so unpersonable that we could solve the aforementioned global issues simply by staring them down, Chuck Norris style.  So fellas, sorry - you might be just bum outta luck.  To be fair though, I haven't been approached by anyone under the age of, say, 80 in the past several years... so it really isn't my problem.  

I should be doing homework...

Which means it's about time for me to blog!  Now that all this blog traffic has died down, thank you Tawny (and really... who are you people?  Bucharest?  Buenos Aires?  What are you googling to get here?!), I feel like it's time to recap some recent developments.  I haven't got any lovely anecdotes, or tantalizing quips, but what I have got is looming dread.  On Saturday, I shall attend my 10-year high school reunion.  This, dear reader, means that I have been released from the cocoon of adolescence for a full decade, expected to unfold my tender wings and soar upon the winds of life.  Like the butterfly I have metamorphosed from unsightly chrysalid into new creature, vastly altered from its pupa state.  Unlike the butterfly, I have become something of a cautionary tale - a ghastly warning to those who ponder treading upon my worn path.  WALKER BEWARE!  DESTRUCTION AND UNAFFORDABLE THERAPY AHEAD!  

Okay, so I'm being dramatic... it's not so bad really.  I've had more fun than I deserve in my ten years since graduating.  As a matter of fact it's mainly due to the fun I've had that I'm quasi-terrified of the upcoming celebration.  I've accomplished less than I intended to, but the curious thing is that I've lived more than I expected to.  When trying to figure out exactly what I wasn't looking forward to this weekend, I realized that all I really dislike is the parade of achievements.  I don't know that I have so much to brag about except this: I have learned the power of discovery.  

Some people call it life-long learning, but I think that phrase may have become trite through overuse.  It misses the crux of the issue - seeking and finding, investigating and solving, questioning and answering - this is what it means to learn.  Whether or not I have achieved what my peers have achieved I now understand that this process of discovery is available to me at every phase and stage of life.  Whether emerging from a cocoon to a brave new world, or finding that I can still fly when my wings have been damaged, or beginning to grasp what it is to have unique beauty... there's something to be appropriated and gleaned.  And although I am indebted again, encumbered in school again, cloistered in life - again... I believe that I am richer and deeper for it.  Ten years on, I might not be winning the rat race - but life is sweeter, and I am better.

When I just can't focus...

I blog. Let's talk about today, shall we? I woke, bright and early to the promise of a new day filled kicks and giggles. You see, I had promised my Tawny that I would accompany her to her appointed day in court - strictly in the interest of justice (less strictly in my own selfish interest... I was kinda hoping for some gruesome mishap brought on by the questionable ethics of the long arm of the law). Without going into too much detail, it turns out I might be rooming with a criminal - a real life, hardened con, convict, criminaloid, crook, culprit, delinquent, desperado, evildoer, felon, fugitive, gangster, hoodlum, jailbird, malefactor, miscreant, mobster, outlaw, thug, wrongdoer - in my very house! Of course, justice being blind and all, I suppose we can presume her innocence until the matter is settled by court system of these United States as found in Redding, CA.  All I know is that when she talks about becoming somebody's ball & chain, this probably isn't what she has in mind. 

At any rate, off we trot to the county court house, intent on Tawny meeting her destiny on time.  One must never be late when destiny is waiting.  It should be noted that the court house sits atop a hill paved with 14% grade walkways.  I am fully convinced that the laborious hike to the doors of due process is designed to make one mull over the grievous acts committed (if, indeed guilt is the state of affairs) and through the pain of physical exertion vow to never trespass the boundaries of right behavior ever again.  Luckily, I've been working out so the steep climb extracted no such repentance from me.  

Tawny checked in with the bailiff who, although a fairly nice looking lady, seemed to have but two facial responses to every human interaction the first of which was a malevolent rancor etched into her marvelously uncreased face.  How one contorts one's face to resemble the leprechaun and then effortlessly revert it to a more or less pleasing visage is a mystery to me.  I should have asked for pointers, however any attempts to relate to the woman were met with the second response: an exasperated rolling of the eyes.  I can imagine Ms. Bailiff sees the same brand of riffraff day in & day out - I only hope that she remembers to roll her eyes equally clockwise & counterclockwise.  I'd hate for her ocular muscles to be unevenly developed.  

The judge, defying all expectations, was a kindly, humorous and thorough man with what seemed to me to be inexhaustible patience.  If the wheels of justice turn swiftly in Redding, it's only because His Honor has a can of sartorial WD-40 ever-present.  God knows the other players were less than stellar.  But I digress - this man exhibited such grace & wit, I couldn't help but smile and nod enthusiastically as he gave instructions.  Then I'd remember that I was seated among the ignobility and cow my head in assumed shame.  That's neither here nor there... and this is getting tedious.  We heard how a deal is being negotiated in which the public defender is working diligently to counteract the vile absurdity of the DA's office and that the proceedings will be delayed yet another month.  The judge is hoping for a resolution that accurately reflects the character of the defendants, as is the public defender whereas the DA's office in keeping with my suspicion that the occupants are little more than colossal pricks is working hard to stick it to the (common) man.  I have every hope that my roommate will be vindicated and the question of her innocence will be resolved permanently... otherwise I'm moving out.

My Monthly Cycle

If you guessed that this post would deal with the ebb and flow of my female hormones, you guessed correctly. Congratu-freakin-lations. My darling roommate and I were discussing these difficulties earlier today and I don't really remember who said they'd blog about it... so I'm jumpin' all over this beeyotch. Moving right along - while discussing the pervasive hazards of life we happened upon the curse of menses. I doubt that any men read this here collection of musings, so it seems more or less safe to air what ails me. You'd think that after a period or two, we'd start to get the hang of this menstruation thing, right ladies? I mean, I only had to fall off of my bike a few times before I realized that it sucked & that I had to maneuver deftly to avoid the crash and (road)burn. Not long after I learned how to stay atop the bicycle, I was hit upside the uterus with a different cycle - and this one has been kicking my ass ever since. For sixteen years now I've been dealing with my period, averaging at once a month that puts me at roughly 192 womb-sloughing epochs of hell and hormonal fury - I wince at the thought. So you'd think that by now I'd be pretty good at this, right?

If by "good at this" I mean something like "I have yet to give in to the irrational, demonic wrath that infests me fully, and maim harmless bystanders," then yeah, I suppose I'm good at it. Except that's not what I mean. I mean to say that every month I ought not be blindsided by the bone-wracking pain, Goodyear-worthy inflation of my joints, nor by the fact that every cell of my 6' frame is on hiatus from osmosis, but because I've retained so much water that none of it can diffuse to a lower pressure environment... there is no lower pressure to be found. Have I mentioned that by the time I become cognizant of the tenacious misery overtaking my physical members my blood has converted to white-hot magma, coursing through my veins in a kind of "scorched earth" tactic designed to reduce me to a ball of quivering goo. I ought not be surprised when every muscle that I previously expected to hold my torso upright seizes, contorts, and mangles itself beyond recognition. Right around the time I start to look like Quasimodo on acid, I think to myself, "I suppose my period is coming." I've said precious little thus far about the emotional and psychological malfunction I experience somewhere in this chronological vicinity. I don't imagine that I can quite capture it with adjectives alone, so allow this to suffice: I begin to feel like the Incredible Hulk... and the only antidote is a hug, if perchance you could get close enough to attempt it.

So all that glorious child-bearing preparation takes about a week... 7 full days of antediluvian hades, all in a relatively compact space. As a matter of fact, for an entire week, the proportions of misery to body mass render me not unlike a black hole - so dense that I am wonderfully able to suck the air out of the lungs of anyone near me. My aura turns kohl black. Then, for another 7 days I am curiously devoid of energy, as if psychosomatically the disappointment of not nourishing a new life sucks my present life out of my being. During this time of detachment, I also become aware of the path of destruction I've left behind me the previous week, and I am appalled at precisely how un-pretty it is. As I recuperate I form an action plan of sorts for re-entering society... which means I formulate my damage control... and that brings us to the next 7 days. Another week of cleaning up the shattered fragments of relationships that I left strewn while in a green rage. Shall we recap? A week of PMS (Pre-Menstrual-pSychosis), a week of menstrual misery, and a week of UN peacekeeping missions. That leaves me one damn week a month in which I feel like a good version of me. Maybe it's a good idea for me to not date until menopause...

I got a little buzzed this weekend...

It's true, and I'll readily admit it - I got buzzed. As a matter of fact, I was so buzzed, my entire head felt not unlike the belly of a guitar resonating with each tiny movement of the strings. It all started out when I was camping at Pinecrest last weekend. As a kind of last hurrah with some of my oldest and dearest cronies, the Labor Day camping trip is about as rustic as a Holiday Inn Express in Kalamazoo, but it always promises memories. This trip was well on its way to becoming one of the less eventful outings in large part due to the excessive number of children under the age of 2. I'm no pansy when it comes to the wee ones, but after awhile seeing so many humanoids inching around on their bellies, I began to feel like we had an infestation. In an effort to regain some semblance of pathos, I held my favorite baby, sweet Baby D, Drew Balsbaugh. You must understand that this child holds a place in my heart that far surpasses even my best expectations. He is perfect.

While cradling perfection in my arms, gazing in tender wonder at his inestimable value, a $*(Y@(*%(*#& bug flew into my ear. Once again, nobody's calling me a nancy-girl when it comes to critters. I'm not a fan of insects, and have been known to encourage the breeding of bats and lizards simply to control their numbers, but still... I can hold my own. I shook my head a bit and swatted at the offender, rubbing him out of my orifice, as any reasonable person would do. Problem solved, I returned to my contemplative state. Not too many minutes into my renewed reverie I heard, or rather felt, an invasive vibration. I assumed the mosquitoes were swarming & again waved them away from my head. Alas, the vibration didn't cease. Amazed at their gawdawful persistence I continued my previous tactic until it became abundantly and alarmingly clear that the offending party was not hovering round my skull. No friends, this dastardly beast was instead trapped WITHIN THE BOUNDARIES OF MY CEREBRUM. I realize this may sound a bit dramatic, but bear in mind that I am the sole source of support for God's most precious gift, Baby D, which would render me on par with Jezebel if I dropped him to tend to the increasingly urgent cranial matter. I passed him off as quickly as possible to a bystander who was more moved by mirth than concern. Her appreciation of the situation was multiplied when not one, but TWO of my dear friends pointed out that bugs lay eggs. Frequently. EVERYWHERE. Let's count up the reasons I slowly succumbed to panic, shall we?

1. There's a bug in my head
2. The bug might be laying eggs IN MY HEAD

I think that's enough. When shakes, shimmies, and epileptic-force convulsions failed to remove the interloper, Joy offered to help. I'm pretty sure she poured ice cold water into my aural cavity and sucked it out with one of those baby snot baster things. I can't be too sure because delirium had more or less overtaken me. To cut an already too-long narrative down to size, I continued with the remainder of the camping trip - luckily I couldn't hear all the laughter at my expense because I shoved earplugs straight through to the membrane. May God have mercy on us all.

The Reason I've Foregone Deletion

So good people, it’s like this. I’ve got a thing for Middle Easterners. I don’t know how to explain it – I just like ‘em… that is, until they pull shenanigans on me. This is a story of exactly that. Not too many weeks ago I was having a delightful conversation with two of my Assyrian buddies, one of whom I tend to trust. We usually attempt to add to my pathetically meager Assyrian vocabulary and this day was no exception. I eagerly soaked up the words “ikhreh erah” which, it was explained, is an endearing term that expresses fond appreciation for another’s aesthetic appeal… in other words, “you look pretty.”

Armed with this pleasant knowledge I went about my life, fully prepared to employ my arsenal of charm whenever appropriate circumstances arose. Today was one such circumstance. I walked upstairs to the breakroom to take my lunch whereupon I was greeted by my Assyrian friend Ramsina and her 2 ½ year old niece. The niece and I fell into easy chatter, comprised mostly of gibberish and clucking. Aware that the precious child is fluent in Assyrian only I looked her dead square in the eye and, summoning every ounce of dictional bravery I proclaimed that she was, indeed, ikhreh erah. Her steady stream of nonsense continued uninterrupted whereas her aunt, my dear coworker, blanched. She exclaimed, “Don’t say that around her!!!! Do you EVEN know what that means?!” Astounded at the reaction I intimated that apparently I did not. Gracious as ever, she explicated the terminology which, as it turns out, has far more to do with fecal matter and genitalia than anything resembling affectionate beauty. Furthermore, the weapons of wit I had discharged appear to be exceedingly appropriate for the nautical riffraff (and by this I mean dirty pirate hookers), rather than genteel company due to their excessively vulgar nature. Apologizing profusely I made my escape, shared the anecdote with two other Assyrian fellows who found a great deal of mirth in the unfortunate episode. As soon as I figure out how to retaliate I anticipate discovering a kernel of hilarity as well – in the meantime I’m reminded of the folly of believing men. Risky business, every time.

I'm kind of bored...

With this blog.  I might go ahead and delete it.  Fair warning has been issued.

The Great Dread Grow of '08

So my friend JJ is growing dreadlocks. I like the idea of tracking progress via blog & this is the best thing that's come up lately - here's phase 1:

Growing up is hard to do...

I guess I'm more or less grown up by now, but there's something to be said about the solidification of character. I read this book once that made this point: the acorn has everything it needs to become an oak tree. All of the codification is implicit in its nature - all it requires are the proper conditions to transform from mobile nugget to a mighty arbor. I was thinking on this & then thought of the latter steps in this development. Have you ever seen green wood? I'm talking about a new branch that's been around long enough to become more than a twig? The wood inside is soft & malleable - if you twist it or bend it, resist it or form it you'll find that it responds with easy compliance. What's been interesting to me is how the wood hardens in whatever shape you place it.

So what, you say? Who cares one way or the other, you ask? Good question... please track with me in this analogy. We may be "trees" in that our spiritual life is more or less grounded. We've put down some roots in our faith and are continuing a growing process, fueled by proper conditions and the all the spiritual matter we could ever require. But our character, or the shape of the tree, is ever changing. I find that lately I'm cultivating a character that I don't necessarily want to solidify in my life. I'm having a great time living the way I do right now, but when I think of the woman I want to be down the road, I am afraid that by virtue of not shaping my "branches" intentionally I'm allowing them to become something I'll have to deal with, painfully, later. I wonder if one of the great lies I buy into is that so long as "bad" stuff isn't a part of my life, that I won't have to deal with bad consequences. That's the tricky thing about trying to be an exceptional human being - it requires exceptional effort and exceptional standards. I wish I were okay with mediocrity.

I walked in on my dad doing something weird today...

watching a Jackie Chan movie originally filmed in Chinese, but dubbed in Spanish. He was into it.

Sad Times

I promise I'll post a happy blog again soon, but for today it's a very sad time. We had to put our beloved dog Isabelle down last night and my mom is simply heartbroken. If you think of it, please pray for her. This sweet dog was a constant in a tumultuous 13 years of Sasser life. It's a horrible thing that she was suffering, and it's a horrible thing that only death would make the suffering stop. What a screwy, dumb world sometimes.

Some days you just shouldn't get up

Last night I was on my way to meet a friend for a good ol' cup o' joe & checked my bank balance just to make sure my mental balanced matched the actual fiscal situation as recorded by my bank. You can imagine my shock when the numbers repeated back to me amounted to several hundred dollars less than what I had anticipated. Today I scurried to the bank to ask for a printout of account activity for the past few weeks & found several transactions which I certainly did not make. I objected to the teller immediately & asked if she might look up the details. A point of sale transaction totaling $462 was made in BFE Pennsylvania at... wait for it... KMart!!!!!! Having never (ever) made a purchase at KMart (much less stepped foot in ye olde PA in over 2 years) I was confident that the economic interaction was fraudulent. I had to fill out a claim for the malfeasance, cancel my debit card & order a new one, as well as try to make sure I withdrew enough cash to pay for my three-day weekend. Just color me incensed at this point. The good news is that as soon as my bank completes their investigation and concludes that I have NOT been running a small-scale bicoastal scam, they'll reimburse my account. In the meantime it just makes for a fun little story, yes?

A Night for the Books

As the title of this blog implies, this was in fact, a night for the books. Unfortunately, I do not write books so we'll have to settle for a night for the blogs. It doesn't quite have the same ring which is disappointing, but I'll sacrifice style for accuracy anytime. That's neither here nor there. What is here is a mind that is utterly boggled by the sheer absurdity of my evening. What is there is hopefully an appetite whetted for the riveting tales to come. Lest I digress further into nonsensical idiomatic trifles, perhaps we ought to move into a retelling of the events that have so tangled my brain.

Move with me, if you will, to an evening not so long ago - the fine latter hours of May 9, 2008 in which Emily Rose and I decided that we were going out. The pub was selected as the venue of choice, Carla was notified and thusly we embarked upon a venture of frivolity and friendship. That simple gathering started out in hilarity - obese children falling off stools and crying maniacally for days on end (ah, accuracy calls - there was only one obese child and he cried for a mere 20-ish minutes, but you get the idea); the carpet was christened with malt vinegar propelled inadvertently by some wayward elbow; dueling banjos echoed from the far reaches of the establishment. At any rate, we were having a grand old time, relishing the delights of being with only single people. All three of us. Carla let us know that she had invited OTHER friends who were all single and would be joining us at any minute! The pure rapture I felt at newfound awareness of other lonely hearts is inexpressible, and when the aforementioned individuals showed up and they were fairly congenial... well, I can hardly bear to remember the heights of my joy. Moving right along... we met Yvette who is friends with Dan, and Jessica who is related to Dan, and Jordan who is friends with Dan, and finally we met Dan the missing link between them all. I should note that we had a smashing time of it, spending no small portion of our fellowship rehashing coincidental stories of our past. Does this seem laborious? Forgive me, if so - you'll soon discover how vital this context is to the greater scheme of things.

In almost no time at all us new cronies were linked on Facebook and I had received a message from Yvette letting me know that every couple of weeks on Tuesday people get together at Dan's parents' house to sing hymns and I ought to come. Now, I'm no slouch when it comes to new experiences, but everything about this seemed peculiar to me. I just met this girl, I just met Dan, had never met his parents, never been invited ANYWHERE for the express purpose of singing hymns, and in addition - couldn't fathom a scenario in which it all made sense. So I decided to go. I rang up Emily and she was game - like-minded in that it all seemed far too bizarre to NOT go. And go we did.

As we drove up to the house, Emily commented that her parents owned the house on the corner & pointed out its next-door neighbor telling me that her parents and the kindly folks that resided in the neighboring abode had, at one point, conjured up the crazy idea that Emily should meet their son. We drove on slowly looking for our location and even more slowly it dawned on us that the house we had just passed was indeed the house we were seeking. Furthermore, the Dan we had just met was indeed the young man intended for Emily. Right about now is when the Twilight Zone theme song started to echo faintly in the recesses of my abandoned brain. We walked up to the front door, took a deep breath, and ... knocked. A lovely lady answered the door & we were introduced to the sweetest people you could ever hope to meet. Yvette was there along with Dan's parents & a couple who were peers of Dan's parents. Yvette swore that there were typically tons of "young" people there & laughing it off we began to chat. During the course of our chatting we began to unravel chains of connections binding us together. Emily found that she was inextricably linked to Dan's parents through a variety of connections whereas I had grown up with their son-in-law. Furthermore, two of the people coming were kids that I had known more or less since birth at my childhood church. People that I had worked with overseas were lifelong friends of others and so on and so forth. The point is simply this: call it fate or God's sovereignty - we were bound to each other in more ways than we could ever imagine.

I suppose it's really not such a spectacular tale when it's all said and done, which, to be perfectly honest, is a little disappointing. I may have failed to capture the increasing fervor with which we discovered our ties to one another, and the delight we experienced at each new find. All in all it was a pretty rockin' evening and I enjoyed it immensely.

D to the Rama

Aight peeps, it's like this: Me & my Tawn Angel went out for sushi tonight. Somehow in the course of the day, I just flipped my freaking lid - I swung from manaic laughter to hissy fits. For example, while sitting and having a lovely conversation with my roomie, I witnessed her pick up her chopsticks & start fiddling with the napkin. I should elaborate slightly - I HATE paper. I have put much effort into overcoming my aversion to the stuff. I hate the feel of it, I hate the sound of friction against paper products. I don't mind tissues or paper towels so much, but any kind of dry friction will usually freak me out. I haven't had an episode in about a year and a half... UNTIL... Tawny scrapes the chopsticks against the napkin, which created the most subtly demonic sound I've ever heard. I tried to ignore it, but the pain only intensified. Fully aware that I was about to reveal an OCD side of me never before witnessed by this lovely friend of mine, I interrupted her meaningful story just to beg her to stop touching the napkin - to stop scraping the chopsticks on anything. She was gracious to the utmost, and after a few moments of explanation she forgave my malfunction and we proceeded through our dinner.

The food was great - good enough that I wanted to take my leftover sushi home... so as I'm packing it into the little box I realize that there is a big wad of loathsome wasabi directly impeding my transfer. In a burst of irrationality, I exclaim, "I JUST HATE THIS DAMN WASABI." Sometime between that outburst and the nanosecond directly after it I realized what a big deal it was NOT. I looked at Tawny helplessly and said, "So that was a ridiculous over-reaction, huh?" Again, to her credit she simply laughed with me.

I tried to close the take-home box, only to discover that it was defective and would not stay closed. I calmly asked the waitress for tape & thanked her while pointing out how inept I seemed to be. She replied that it was certainly the fault of the boxes with which they had ample trouble. What do I do?! Thank her for her affirming validation. WHAT?!?!?! Like she's my freaking support group?! We paid and left before anyone gets the heebie jeebies from me.

On the way home I got a weird cramp in my guts and I cried out, "Ooooooooooooooooohhhhhh.... gut cramps!!!!! It's probably those little fishies trying to hatch out of their eggs," obviously referring to the masago topping my Hawaii roll. I'm pretty sure that I'll never doubt Tawny's driving based upon her remarkable control of the vehicle while crying in laughter. I took it upon myself to further instruct the ichthoids - "You'll never survive in there fishies, stay in the eggs!!!!!" I think they listened, because the pain subsided.

Well, there were countless other funnies over the course of the evening, but those will just be between my Tawn Angel and myself :) Til next time, kind readers...

They just keep coming today...

It's About Time For...

A new funniest thing EVER:

A Magnificent Display of Genius

Today in class I witnessed the brilliance of a man under duress. Sitting in my class on the Synoptic Gospels we went around the entire class with each student illuminating a historical contextual issue that's relevant to the book of Luke. I mean, we're talking Herodian dynasty, rich vs. poor and so on. With five minutes left in the session there are only two of us remaining. The professor turns to my new hero & asks what he learned in prepping the contextual issue. Hero says, "Can I ask a different question real quick?" Upon receiving the affirmative response, Hero replies with, "When did women start shaving their legs?" WHAT?!?! Collectively we dissolve into laughter and class ends. Walking alongside him I had to know, "What made you think to ask that?!" and he says... "Actually, I just didn't do the homework and didn't have any information to present." The level of creative intellect in action so impressed me I think I'll never do homework again. Just kidding - I'll do homework, but it will be in memory of the most amazing display of emergency wit I've ever witnessed.

MySpace is killing me

Again... seen on the m'space inbox circuit:

just wanted to say hi cuss i say hi to all the girls i think are cute oh and cuss i said hi u can hit on me now

and...

your so sexy marrie me

Two random strangers sent these messages to me last week. SERIOUSLY!??!!? What did I do to deserve such whacko treatment. Okay, I can think of a few things I've done to deserve it, but nothing to warrant it. On what basis do men place their assumptions that approaching women in such a manner will result favorably for anyone? I've met quite a few decent blokes in my day... I just wish they'd share their wisdom with the lesser evolved laddies.

The NEW funniest thing ever...

Party Like a Blogstar....

We're so totally famous, my Tawny & I, it's simply preposterous. Thanks to all my anonymous readers, I've been thoroughly humiliated in the new knowledge that you exist :)

So, add one more bit of brilliance to the "I-Couldn't-Make-This-Stuff-Up-If-I-Tried" files:

Received this evening on myspace, the following missive, "new to myspace,31 year old gaymale looking for female friends,in my opinion everygirl needs a gaymale bestfriend to listen to your boytoy problems, pick out your shoes, clothes purses/handbags and KEEP JERKS AWAY he he get back girl HUGGS=)"

I'm not kidding. Some random fella decided to offer his queerness for my benefit. If I knew who he was, I'd consider taking him up on it.

Til next time...

At some point I just wonder...

... if God isn't just barfing with the stupid things I do. I had this experience tonight that seemed awfully allegorical to my experiences nearly immediately prior. I'll share only the former. I was driving home from Sacramento & ran into a wee bit of rain on the interstate. I saw a car that was behaving rather erratically, no doubt the result of erradic guidance on the part of its driver. I pulled back a teensy distance to ensure safety, and not a mile later saw that very same car drift across lanes, overcorrect, hit enough water to lose control & spin into the car parallel to it. They both careened out of control, across the two lanes of traffic & coasted downhill towards me while spinning into the guard rails. I'm watching this happen & trying to stop slowly enough so as not to lose control of my own vehicle, nor to create a point of collision for the car behind me - and yet halt quickly enough to not smash into the already distressed vehicles. I manage to do so successfully, smack on my hazards & pull to the side to help. By this time I saw another car stop & race to the drivers & so I thought it best to call in professional help before attending to the possible wounds. I stepped out of the car in order to assess the situation better & was put in contact with the world's DUMBEST dispatcher. The wind nearly drowned her out & I was relieved when the call dropped due to inclement weather. I was not so relieved to be out in the frigid rain and otherwise unpleasant elements. I made my way over to the drivers & ensured their well-being before being on my way. For all the drama, they were both physically unscathed. I returned to my car and cautiously made my way home.

During that last leg of the trip I found myself marvelling at the impotent prescience I seem to possess. Indubitably I was aware of the pending disaster this moron driver posed. Furthermore, I was certain that I do not inherently contain the skills necessary to address all incidentals. For all that, I still couldn't bring myself to not partake of the flow of events. Even though this situation ended relatively well - I was still ill-equipped to be a player in "the game." And I wonder if God was just shaking His head, knowing full well that I drove full-speed ahead into a chain of happenings that I'd be horribly unable to cope with. I suppose I just think it's sad that I make as many mistakes as I do and that they're the same kind of mistakes - over estimating my abilities and engaging in arenas in which I'm hopelessly inept.

Wow, my first serious blog ever. Tawny, enjoy :)

Ode to Tawn Angel

I should preface this with the following: I love my roomate - she's the most fun ever. And as she's also the only person who reads this, I feel that it's safe to express my delight. Please see below.

Oh how I love thee,
Let me count the ways
First is how you call me
While shaving your legs

The second is like the first
When I think of life here without you
It's the absolute uttermost very worst
It simply wouldn't do

I love you a third way:
When you swing by to chat
After I've seen you all day
There's still more for that!

Number four is just this -
I can laugh and car-dance
As if nothing's amiss
With no glances askance...

You join in my fun and
in so doing it doubles;
This year's looking up
If we stay out of trouble.

Sleep well :)

Here's something funny

I keep writing things as if someone were reading them, which I'm fully aware that they're not. I think Tawny may well be the only one who even knows that I have a blog!!!! How about that?

In the meantime - this is my precious roommate whom I adore:

I just googled myself for fun...

And here's what I found:

Jennifer Sasser, your friendly neighborhood cyber crime slayer

I'm not making this up, although I wish I had.

Life as I know it

Okay, here's the deal-i-o: I'm back in school for my third go of it. To be fair, I finished the second go of it - now just pulling all the loose ends together to see if I can emerge before thirty with an accredited degree. So far, so good. My stress for the week includes catching up on nearly a decade worth of lost brain power when it comes to Greek (which I may not have been that good at to begin with), difficulties with my financial aid package, a terrible job market, being stood up, and not quite sure where to go for friends. Redeeming factors include: beautiful relaxing house, good natured & VERY easy to live with roomates, great classes, and hopes for a bright future. I just found out that there are several great trails to jog/hike along in the Redding area which thrills me to no end. It's supposed to stay cold for awhile which also tickles me to bits.

Stay tuned for new and exciting happenings :)

My First Blog

It's like my very first easy bake oven, except that I never really had one of those. I had to ghetto-rig a lightbulb to a potato & hover over cake batter smeared on a cookie sheet until some semblance of baking occured. That's a lie - I never did any of those things. I did, however once make a lightbulb with an upside down Coke Glass. Actually, my father did it while I observed. So again, I've never done any of those things. I'll have to make a note to remove "light bulb maker" from my resume.

I've recently decided that I oughtn't post anything of value here. My values tend to be rather dry & I'd hate to lose subscribers before I really build up my fan base. Instead I think I'll start writing falsehoods and calling them fiction. I'll start here:

There was an earthquake today... not a very big one, but large enough that I saw snow shiver and quiver before abandoning post on top of Mt. Shasta (see, right here you should know I'm lying - Mt. Shasta is 60.7 miles away from me on google maps - way too far to see snow in action). I lost my balance for a brief moment & when I regained some semblance of equilibrium it was only to discover that mythical animals ate my car.

I give up - this blogging isn't good for me until I have something to say. Until then little readers - be well!