Why Am I Here?

At least once a day I ask myself this question-although not in the Purpose Driven manner of Rick Warren or in the naval-gazing custom of the highly evolved. No, I ask myself this with the hope that it will remind me of why I suddenly find myself in different rooms of my house.

When I discover myself in the kitchen, I always search the refrigerator first, hoping that a clue can be found in the pudding section. Failing that, I return to the last room I was in, confident that I left the reason or perhaps a clue there.

I’ve devised some techniques that may help others who have these senior moments or what I call Brain Farts.

1) In route, chant your quest as a mantra: I’m here for the phone, phone, phone. It's a good idea to include the name of the person you wish to call. Otherwise you'll spend the rest of the day trying to figure out why you're carrying a phone.

2) Create a song by including at least two other items with the same first initial but with completely different purposes: Basket, Bible, Ball. (Get it? Bibles and baskets don’t bounce well.)

3) Repeat the reason you need an item: Cut, cut, cut.
(This one can be tricky as I have gone in search of cuticle scissors and returned with a chainsaw.)

4) Write it down. (At the end of each day I frequently find my pockets crammed with little slips of paper with the number "8" scrawled on them.)

5) If none of these are helpful in jogging your memory: Return to the kitchen. Eat the pudding. Eight of them.

Captured!

Like a trapped animal, I sit in a corner. The walls shield me, allowing me to see approaching danger. I am watchful for any sudden noise or movements.

The Hunter’s eyes narrow in examination of my every breath, always vigilant, searching for a sign of surrender.

My nerves and muscles are rigid. I’m prepared to escape should the opportunity present itself. An hour, then two pass by with no relief in sight.

My head pounds with my brain’s commands of Run Now! Run! Thoroughly aware of the Hunter’s domination, my body refuses the order. I force my spirit deeper into the corner, a futile attempt at invisibility.

The Hunter’s voice echoes across the room with a command. I cannot flee and must, at last, succumb to the Hunter’s will.

I lift my head and respond, "Yes, Mother."

Pretense With All Offense

I survived another "visit" with my mother. No fresh wounds but a shit-load of scabs were picked at quite ferociously.
Don't ask, Don't tell was not created by Bill Clinton. It's been a standard in dysfunctional families since time began.

8 Freakin' Hours!

Rather than give up a Saturday to sit in a windowless room for 8 hrs with 20 strangers, I chose Online Traffic School. I thought that would be faster and easier. I was very, very wrong.

The lure of the internet was the ability to log in and out of the site, allowing me to complete the requirement an hour here, an hour there, in the comfort of my own home. As a rather fast reader I figured I could get through the course in half the time. Apparently the state of California takes that into consideration. It takes 8hrs. No matter how I break it up it's still 8 freakin' hours.

I swear, I will never break another traffic law for as long as I . . . can remember this torture. Or until I'm in a really big hurry. Whichever comes first.

American Veterans

For all those who have served and those who continue in service, you've proved these words are true:

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!

Cartoon, My Foot!

We all know our borders are more porous than water. I do not encourage illegal immigration so imagine my horror at discovering a secret portal into our land via my 6-yr old granddaughter’s bedroom! Even more shocking is the identity of the "Coyote" who assists them in their unlawful entry: Nickelodeon's cartoon character, Dora the Explorer.

America has been lulled into a false sense of security by Dora’s charm and alleged educational value to our children. It is propaganda, pure and simple! The program began with Dora teaching our children some basic Spanish words and phrases. It has now blossomed into signage in Spanish at that great symbol of all things holy: Sears, Roebuck & Co.

As a result of Dora’s indoctrination, my grandchild knows the correct pronunciation of the card game UNO. Worse yet, Brittney can identify Ecuador on a world map! This child has been schooled in the United States- she shouldn't know where Nebraska is located!

Are you aware that Dora became the first Hispanic character in a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in 2005? Did you know that the majority of illegal immigrants are from Spanish-speaking nations? Coincidence? I think not! It is my theory that all Spanish-speaking illegal immigrants are somehow related to this 7 yr old Latina girl and her friends.

There has been an attempt to steer us away from Dora’s true plan (bringing all Latinos to the U.S.A) by pointing out that Mattel manufactures Dora and her compadres in China. A red herring, my friends. Or should I say a pescado de rojas?: the lead paint is just a ruse to keep us from looking at our neighbors to the south.

I am in no way a "Chicken Little-the-sky-is-falling" fear-monger, but the U.S.A. is in grave danger: Dora is reaching cult-hero status in the manner of Che Guevera. According to her website, Dora is claiming to have saved the mermaids! Children already wear clothing bearing her image. Soon, Hollywood Liberals will sport Dora’s face on their $1000 handbags, T-shirts and man-purses.

My immediate plan is simple: Brittney’s birthday will soon be here. I will provide a piñata of Dora and allow the children to bash it with a stick until the little interloper spills her guts. I'll let you know how it all comes out. So to speak.

That’s another thing: this tradition of blindfolding children and encouraging them to wildly swing a stick at a beloved image so they can get candy. That didn’t come from the hills of West Virginia my friends!

Officer John Q Citizen

I recently saw/heard/read that in some community the Police Department is giving citizens radar guns with cameras to record speeders.
Pick me! Pick me!