Won't you be my neighbor?

It's been another day that reminds me how much I love my neighborhood... My friend Lori came over this afternoon to find me sitting in the back yard staring at a tree, and she had her kids with her. The kids got out their scooters and had some fun in the newly paved cul-de-sac while their mom and I talked on the porch and sneaked cigarettes (I am quitting again on Monday, people. I mean it.)

We drank tea and met the neighbors down the way, who I've never met before. There were fascinating and very friendly, in a sort of christian/schizophrenic/stuttering kind of way. Lori's daughter (13 years old) eventually laid down in the middle of the cul-de-sac and meditated, while her younger brother rode in circles around her. He let me ride his scooter for a while, and luckily I didn't hurt myself.

Soon a charming gentleman riding a beautiful black horse rode up and chatted for a bit. Howdy, cowpoke! His horse was stunning and she let me pet her for a while. He said that he rides her in town to get her used to traffic and people so that he can ride her in parades.

I think the white horses across the street were a bit jealous, as they stood and watched us talk for a long time. A guy from the city was mowing the field across from my house and I convinced him to come mow my front lawn, since I purchased a mower last year that doesn't work. Never started again after the guy delivered it to me. Rat bastard. I gave the mowing guy 10 bucks and told him to go buy some beer and enjoy the rest of this lovely day.

Batboy showed up a while later, full of advice on my yard, but not concerned enough about it to actually do anything except point out the areas that need work. He sauntered around the yard for a while with a stick, poking at things, then rested in the hammock for a bit after all that advice-giving had worn him out.

He and I walked over to Mr. Rose's house, he has the two white horses and the most precious little farm right here in town. He's a sweet man, and he stopped his mower for a while to chat with us as we pet his rowdy dogs and admired his huge vegetable garden. His wife's been ill for quite a while, and we neighbors worry about the two of them, but they have kids here in town to look after them also.

In general, it was a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Great in bed...

Last night M spent the night at my house after an evening of wine, whining, and a sad attempt at building a fire in the firepit. We got in bed and watched Dawson's Creek... nothing like a girls night sleepover. The beagle loved it, and positioned herself in bed right between us, her back to me and all 4 paws squarely pressed up against M's back. When M woke up this morning, she said "Your beagle is great in bed."
And she is. She's an excellent sleeper and cuddler.

Other fun facts about the beagle:
10. She smells like a corn chip.
9. She eats her own poop.
8. She's very mouthy and bays at anyone who will listen to her.
7. She's a leaner. She never just sits next to you, she leans on you.
6. She likes chew sticks as treats and tosses it around for a few minutes before eating it.
5. She's a digger. I am constantly on the prowl in the back yard for beagle holes in the fence.
4. She's a sniffer. She sniffs me and everyone else thoroughly upon returning home after a visit into the world.
3. She's a princess, and wears a rhinestone collar to prove it.
2. She'd rather die than allow anyone to clip her long lovely nails.
1. She's a moaner. She moans and groans often.

Be afraid, people. Be very, very afraid.

http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/news/article.adp?id=20050429161009990014&ncid=NWS00010000000001

I am so glad we're not becoming a nation of paranoid dumb asses.

Goddesses, Queens, Vaginas, and Weenies...

Things are looking up, I suppose. waaa. Tomorrow is a long day of phone calls and whining and budget making, but perhaps it will work.

I am constantly amazed at the outpouring of support during my weepy dreary woe-is -me time. This is worse than the breakup with Fester, really. I am so grateful that women are so supportive of each other… and the occasional man… Scott is upset that everyone else has a secretive name in my blog, and prefers that I now refer to him as “Batboy” as he has heretofore been referred to by his actual name, and he desires his own made up name.
https://w1.buysub.com/pubs/SR/WNS/hard_sub.jsp?cds_page_id=21274&id=1114582129059&lsid=51170108490036687&vid=1&cds_response_key=INNS45P&cds_mag_code=WNS

It suits him. He is the original bat child, and I am proud to claim him as Goddess Batboy.


Welcome to one of my oldest/best friends. She’s not really that old, but she’s one of the good ones that have been around awhile. Less Filling!! Tastes Great!! Yayyy!

http://twofirstnames.blogspot.com/

And a special confidential shout-out to “D”, otherwise known as Rebound boy… no one is reading this. It’s all fiction, and if I had called you a “freekin’ weanie” in my blog, it would have been actually spelled “freakin’ weenie. Oh, I guess that is how I spelled it. Anyhoo…
Thanks for reading.

Dead End?

We’re getting a cul-de-sac at the end of our street. It’s very curvy and turn-aroundy. I think I like it. So now am I on a dead-end street, or a turn-around? Something has got to turn around here soon, as I am actually on the verge of a nervous breakdown or something. My anxiety level is insane, and those of you who know me know exactly why, but for the rest of you I’ll just say… I’m in over my head… people who I thought I could count on are currently unavailable, and yet many others surprise me with their willingness to be right there with me, being supportive in so many ways.

Strange things to do when your anxiety is out of control: Cut plastic shopping bags into strips, tie the strips together, and knit an ugly bag out of them. Crochet some handles and hang it in the kitchen to hold all the rest of the plastic shopping bags that you have left over. http://crochet.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?site=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.marloscrochetcorner.com%2FPlastic%2520Bag%2520tote.html


What’s next??
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0312152906/qid=1114544871/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/102-9975058-6152158?v=glance&s=books

I know that things will work out soon, and I am trying to resist the urge to hide under the covers in the meanwhile.
I guess this is a turning point of some kind or another, and hopefully not a total dead-end.

Good Dog.

Welcome to the EASTSIDE, bitch. East Lawrence rocks…oh yes it does.

http://www.mikesilverman.com/precinct_map.gif

And while you’re there, check out http://www.mikesilverman.com

I don’t know him, but he rocks too, and he has what appears to be a SUPER beagle (yay beagles!) who wee-wee’d on the new Time/Ann Coulter cover. Good dog.

Warm Fuzzies

It scares me that I saw this headline on AOL’s home page today.

“Chili Finger Finder Arrested.”

Say it 3 times fast. It also scares me that I knew immediately what the story was about. Ick. http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/news/article.adp?id=20050422025809990006&ncid=NWS00010000000001

From
http://www.merriam-webster.com****************************************************************The Word of the Day for April 22 is:callithump \KAL-uh-thump\ noun : a noisy boisterous band or parade Example sentence: The town is trying to enlist one of Hollywood's most famous leading men to serve as grand marshal for this year's Memorial Day callithump.
Did you know?
The callithumpian bands and parades of today are more organized than those of the past, but they retain an association with noise and boisterous fun.

Last night was Scott’s birthday dinner extravaganza and callithump. It was noisy and boisterous fun. His gf, “T” decided to get out all the nice china his mom passed along to him and set a table that would make Martha Stewart swoon.

I brought my friend M (who is now the former “GF” and good for her for cutting that one loose…and no, I will not be picking up any of those pieces from him (Rebound Boy) thankyouverymuch. ) See February 23rd in my archives if you have any questions about that. http://kallipalooza.blogspot.com/2005_02_01_kallipalooza_archive.htm

Anyway, M and I put on our Thursday best and traveled out to the west side to cook stuffed mushrooms, crawfish etouffee, and drink up the host’s wine. We were noisy and boisterous.

At the last minute, I made contact with an old friend who Scott and I used to pal around with back in the early 90’s, and happens to be living closer than we realized… I felt somewhat foolish that we hadn’t had more contact since he’s been living 30 min. away for 2 years, and hasn’t had the easiest past few years, either. I resolve not to let another 8 or so years pass with such little contact. He joined our dinner soiree last night and I assume by the smile on his face that he figures we’re all still a little weird and crazy, as usual.

Our party included S and Puppy, who are Scott’s other bff’s besides his T and myself. Snippets of the dinner conversation included stories that were absolutely inappropriate for the dinner table, but I will happily share here.

One person revealed that once as a child s/he had been fascinated by their dirty bathwater enough to put it in a jar and take it to school for show and tell. I’d love to hear what the teacher said to that one.

Another person revealed that as a result of a young spring break sunburn, s/he had peeled a very large piece of skin from their back and had thought it prudent to save it in a baggie in their bathroom drawer until Mom found it and intervened. I’d love to see the look on that Mom’s face, and wonder if this resulted in any extra deposits in the child’s “Therapy/Psychoanalysis Fund”.

I think this is a fund that every parent should invest in, by the way, as it seems that we all go to therapy at one time or another to get an accurate reading on how screwed up we are and find out who made us that way. This should simply be another parental responsibility, as it was them that messed us up of course.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll just tell ya’ll what my weird story was. Or maybe I’ll save it for next week’s post.

Kidding. Anyhoo, in the 3rd grade Mrs. Whiteman requested that we all purchase or make “warm fuzzies” to keep in our desks for some sort of “warm fuzzy time” that would occur randomly throughout the year. I don’t know why.

My family was in a pretty rough financial time, and I’d overheard enough parental conversations about money that I chose not to ask for this “warm fuzzy”. You know, they were the little pom-pom creatures you could by at card stores and stuff, that you’d typically stick somewhere by the little feet. They had googly eyes and came in a multitude of colors. Mrs. Whiteman had assured us that a homemade warm fuzzy was just as acceptable, but I didn’t understand her directions for how to make them.

As a crafty kinda girl, I went my own way and came up with my own solution. Unfortunately it involved scotch tape and dog hair, lovingly donated to me by our sheep-dog mix named Daisy.

I was proud of my warm fuzzy, and Mrs. Whiteman seemed cool with it. My mother returned from a parent-teacher conference a few weeks later mysteriously unimpressed and mortally embarrassed by Mrs. Whiteman’s story of my homemade warm fuzzy. It turns out these little things cost like 89 cents or something, and if I would have asked Ginger would gladly have purchased one rather than have me going to school with my scotch tape/dog hair concoction. Oh well, I think you get your warm fuzzies anyway you can, and a little creativity never hurt anyone. On that note, have a fabulous Friday, go have yourself a “callithump” and drink one for me.

Saturdays

I love Saturdays. I calculated today that I may live to be 79, according to http://tools.apollolife.com/agetool this calculator. That means approximately 2250 Saturdays are left, including today.

Today I resolved to accomplish so much with my Saturday, and I did. I planted a few flowers, bought some tomato plants and looked at the ground where they will eventually be planted, cleaned up around my yard, began to dig a fire-pit for burning those pesky branches that pile up in my yard, and made some sun tea. I also transported home a lovely free-standing hammock and set it up in a little grove of trees and lilacs in the corner of my back yard. I had much more than this on my to-do list today, but the hammock was calling me, so I took my latest book http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1400034566/qid=1113689090/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/103-8462098-8480646

And read. And napped. When I woke up the beagle was curled up in my “fire-pit” napping, too.

There’s still a lot on my Saturday “to-do” list, but I have 2249 still ahead of me.

Plastic Daddy

Yesterday was my parent’s 30th anniversary.

My mom and I were having a little trip down memory lane on the phone last night… I was a “bridesmaid” in my mother’s wedding, as she and my biological dad had divorced when I was 2 and she met my (step) dad when I was 3 or 4? We wore strange long aqua polyester gowns and had daisies in our hair… it was a sort of 1975 bourgeois hippie kind of thing.

At that time in my life, I had an imaginary friend named George so when my mom told me she had a date with a man named George, I was apparently quite excited. Until he arrived to pick her up, and was not who I had anticipated. I think I may have shut the door on him or straight-out told him that he was not George. Something like that, so the story goes.

As time went on, I decided he was pretty okay, but I still went through some adjustments, and in my world adjustment often means vomiting unexpectedly. Seriously, I have issues with my stomach… it’s where stress always ends up. I remember puking on the carpet at his bachelor pad apartment near Wichita State University, where he was finishing school after his stint in Vietnam. I remember 3 things about that apartment; his extra large overstuffed zebra striped floor pillows, his super cool reel-to-reel stereo system, and vomiting macaroni and cheese on his floor one night when he had to pick me up after my mom worked late.

Poor guy. Somehow he stuck it out and married my mom in 1975, when I was 5 years old. Last night my mom reminded me that right after the wedding, we were at the reception at the Wichita Country Club, and I loudly asked “Can I call you Daddy now?”
I referred to him sometimes after that as my “plastic daddy”.

I’m glad they met. (I don’t think I am at liberty to say how they met, but suffice it to say it was rare in those days and incredibly common now… Ginger didn’t even tell me the whole story until recent years.) He was and still is a great daddy and would do just about anything for me. Unfortunately he had to make up for a lot of disappointments from my biological father, and did well at it. On a side note, my biological father and I have been working over the past few years to forge our own relationship, and I value knowing that he’s in my life, although in a different capacity. In the end, though, I only have one “Daddy”, and he’s put up with my mom and me for 30+ years. For that he deserves an award.

My new favorite site...

Naturally, my new favorite site is all about messing with others. It provides hours of entertainment, particularly on a Friday afternoon. Give it a try: http://www.msnsearchspoof.com/index.aspx

In the interest of fairness, I'll include an example that was kindly created on my behalf by my friend Scott:

http://www.mymsnsearch.com/results.aspx?q=Kalli+Sanders&FORM=WKNz3lrPN4uI

Enjoy!

I'm so embarrassed...

http://www.ljworld.com/section/election05/story/201167

I am so sad for the state of Kansas. It appears that we voters in Douglas County were the only ones who voted not to amend the constitution to ban gay marriage.

WTF?

One of my first boyfriends was a fundamentalist Christian. He was a college student attending (duh) K-State, and I was a junior in high school. Looking back, I remember thinking how cool it was to date someone older, but now I realize that he was a serious doof for dating a high school girl.

But that's beside the point.

He and I used to argue and argue about the "salvation" of gay people. He would send me letters quoting biblical passages and directing me to read this or that verse in the bible to prove his point, and I would do the same. ( I was quite the fan of the bible as a high school student.) Ultimately, he broke up with me because I was "tempting" him too much, and he was afraid he would walk the path of sin with me. This was the beginning of the end of my stint as a fundamentalist Christian.

It's interesting to me, because I think our parents' views reflect so much of our own, but I don't recall it ever being a topic of discussion in my family, one way or another. In the same light, I was shocked and appalled when I read "The Diary of Anne Frank" because I just couldn't understand why?? Why?? I still believe that prejudice is taught, by words or action, and if it isn't taught it does not occur naturally.

Maybe generations from now will not experience such prejudice or intolerance? I seriously doubt it. Especially after reading the results of yesterday's election.

So there...

I swear to gawd, ya'll, I didn't write this, but would have if possible. It was sent to me with no known credit to the author by my mother, and therefore, I am assuming (not really) that she wrote it. Although it should be interesting to see if that does actually hold up in court. (I'm just kidding, Mom, I swear!!)
Anyway, it's a light touch on a crappy subject and I thought I'd include it here.

(From an unknown source)
New Living Will
I, _________________________ (fill in the blank), being of sound mind and body, do not wish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means. Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of peckerwood politicians who couldn't pass ninth-grade biology if their lives depended on it.

If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to sit up and ask for a cold beer, it should be presumed that I won't ever get better. When such adetermination is reached, I hereby instruct my spouse, children and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes and "call it a day".

Under no circumstances shall the members of the Legislature enact a special law to keep me on life-support machinery. It is my wish that these boneheads mind their own damn business, and pay attention instead to the health, education and future of the millions of Americans who aren't in a permanent coma.

Under no circumstances shall any politicians butt into this case. I don't care how many fundamentalist votes they're trying to scrounge for their run for the presidency in 2008, it is my wish that they play politics with someone else's life and leave me alone to die in peace.

I couldn't care less if a hundred religious zealots send e-mails to legislators in which they pretend to care about me. I don't know these people, and I certainly haven't authorized them to preach and crusade on my behalf.

They should mind their own damn business too. If any of my family goes against my wishes and turns my case into a political cause, I hereby promise to come back from the grave and make his or her existence a living Hell. _______________________________________ Signature _____________________________ Witness

Welp, I guess that just about sums it up, huh?

On another note, a good friend of mine has the same name as a religious republican zealot in our community who really digs writing letters to the editor of the paper here in Lawrence http://www.ljworld.com and Kansas City. I think this may actually be written by a man, and my friend is a woman. Her name is spelled with an " i " at the end, and his? is spelled with a
" y ". And their last names are slightly different. Anyhoo, he (I am going to assume he's a he.) apparently regularly writes fairly inflammatory letters, and she is frequently asked about her "views". Wouldn't that SUCK???? I am glad my name is so ummm. different. Kalli.

Although I hear that there is actually a seventh grader in our community with the same first and last name as me, and I hope like hell she's not growing up to be a loudmouthed conservative right wing nutjob, cause this town's just too small for the both of us. I wonder if I should look her up and offer to be a "big sister" in the ways of growing up to be liberal, annoying, kind (I try), crafty, underdog lovin', social, friendly, fun person with an interest in all types of people, places, and ideas?

Yes, I am a hypocrite. I love people, as long as they don't piss me off.

I'm a Sheltie!!

If you were a dog, what kind would you be? I took this quiz:
http://www.gone2thedogs.com
(click on "What kind of dog are you")
Apparently I am friendly, playful, and sensitive. I like to be petted. Mmmm hmmm.
For the record, I do NOT eat my own poop, like some beagles we know.
So, what are you, and why? Post a comment...
I'd rather be cat, anyway. I like the nap, a lot.
I would also rather scratch you silly than put up with any shit.
Give me a good sunbeam to lay in and someone to gently stroke me, and I will purr happily.

It's warm and it's spring, and the Porch http://www.freestatebrewing.com is calling, even though I said I wasn't going. I'll only stop for one...