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Kid Rock (ne' Robert Ritchie) and Pamela Anderson are divorcing? After only four months? My belief in marriage has been shattered! SHATTERED! 

Oh so many things to ponder.

• Did you know that I’m old enough to be TWO college students? A sobering thought that occurred to me while I was in amongst a flock of them recently. Their special song seems to be “like, like, like, like”.
• Children’s toys are designed to either emit high decibel songs destined to be stuck in your head OR come apart into so many pieces that assembling them together in one spot is nigh impossible.
• I’m struggling with an addiction to the internet. Yesterday I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t read any blogs at work and only check my personal email a couple of times. I was on the phone listening to my client think to herself and type and without my knowledge my browser suddenly popped up with Perezhilton.com. FILTH FILTH! DAMMIT!
• Apparently, my plan to not alter my diet or exercise plan has resulted in  me still being pudgy. I’m beginning to resemble those two college students. If they were smashed together and wearing one set of clothing.
• I have been considering various careers to varying degrees of seriousness: balloon animal artist, coffee cart owner, real estate agent, freelance designer, photographer’s assistant. A combo platter might be the way to go, pick 3 all for $7.95 plus all the chips and salsa you can eat.
• I still haven’t won the lottery DESPITE my purchasing a subscription to the “Win for life” lottery. What?  You’ve never heard of a lottery subscription? You send off your money and SUPPOSEDLy they’ll contact you if you win anything and send you checks. Have I received a check in the 6 weeks of my participation? NO. maybe I should just consider that money my donation to education. I’m not gonna do another subscription either. I like having those little slips of paper in my wallet that I can pull out and caress now and again. Caress and plan what I’d do if I didn’t have to consider one of the above career choices.

I'm planning to pull an intervention on my ass. I'm going to sit myself down on the sofa, no, on the ottomon, no. The sofa, definitely the sofa. I'm going to look myself straight in the eye and tell myself what many a stern parent has told many a wayward child "straighten up and fly right, boy-o." Except I'm a chick and there's no female equivalent for "boy-o."

I shall write the following over and over on lined notebook paper in penance.

• I shall NOT surf the web during work... much.
• I shall NOT write blog entries while at work. well, not often.
  
• I shall NOT inwardly call clients "dumbass". Perhaps i should say that I shall TRY not to call them names. much.
• I will NOT clean my plate.
  
• I WILL go to the gym at least twice a week.
  
• I shall refrain from shopping online. except for gifts. for christmas. and then I'll totally stop.
• I shall tell my family that I love them. even if we make eachother crazy sometimes.
  
• I shall stop this post so i can go brush my teeth and go to bed!

Today I saw a photo of an Iraqi man wrapping up his dead son. And it made me weak for a moment. Sadly, it’s nothing new to see a dead body on news sites, a tragically too common sight. This morning I lingered too long and witnessed the slightly curled hand of the son. Although an adult, he seemed so vulnerable and as his father wraps him, you see that one never lose tenderness for one’s children. And in that curled hand, I saw the man’s humanity. Son. Brother. Husband? Father?

I don’t consider myself overly sensitive. In fact, my coworkers would adamantly disagree with any allusion to my having ANY sensitivity, for my sense of humor can be a little rough and scathing. Sensitive. What a loaded word! To say someone is sensitive is to declare them delicate and incapable of bearing up to the world’s weight. But shouldn’t we all be sensitive to others? Maybe the word has inherent self-absorption?

Whoa! Revelation just struck! As a teenager, we’re very sensitive about how the world treats us, when we’re older we’re more sensitive about how we treat the world and its inhabitants.

A few years ago I was working on an annual report for a very large UNICEF-type charity. This organization uses upbeat smiling images of children but their library was an endless barrage of crying, neglected and abandoned children. I nearly cried going through page after page. Clearly, having a child of my own has made me realize that everyone of the world’s children is as sweet and special as Ruby, but by trick of birth and location they end up in heart-wrenching situations whether by war or famine or politics. I guess I've gotten a little sensitive.

Now that the holidays are coming up, I think I’m going to make a point of sponsoring a child. Maybe my $28 a month and correspondence can help make at least one child feel that someone out there in the great big world, cares for them. I think it’s the very least I can do.

Ruby will be three next week. THREE! It seems like when they're one year old they’re mastering locomotion, at two they’re getting some words and at three they’re mastering and exercising the power of language and mischief. One of her favorite things to say is NANNY NANNY BOO BOO and I made the mistake of, at first, insisting she not say those words. Stern looks, threats and recriminations have all resulted in her gleefully saying it as sneakily as possible. When getting out of the car, just as I shut my door and before opening of hers, I can hear a delightfully wicked “Nanny....[shut door]” the rest is lost except the evil twinkle and grin she bears through the glass of her door. I often hear one last boo as I open her door. Other times she will sing it without moving or opening her mouth. Somehow she believes if she’s not actually saying the words out loud I won’t know what she’s saying. Mmm-mm mmn-mm MMM-MMM. My new strategy is to gleefully and loudly sing along with her. NANNY! NANNY! BOO! BOO! Often employing funny voices and expressions. The novelty has NOT worn off yet. Hmmm. Another motherly misfire?

We stopped into the neighborhood coffee joint on our way this morning and for some odd reason she often needs to poop while we’re there. I don’t ask questions, I just help hoist her heiny onto the potty. She asks me to step outside the bathroom, but to stay close enough “where I can hear you”. So, I stand there, as new customers come by like a nightclub bouncer, guarding the door. I seem oddly placed, so people cock an eye brow at me sometimes. If you listened as you passed this morning, you would have heard a small voice behind the door singing NANNY NANNY BOO BOO while doing her business. Hmmm. Perhaps that should have been NANNY NANNY POO POO.

I was LONG overdue for a trim. I spent $40 last time and ended up with a crappy $12 haircut. Bad layers, bad bangs and then I let it get too shaggy and let my roots run amok. So off I go to the salon. Why does everyone want to straighten out my hair and give me the helmet-head-mom-look?

You can also believe me when i say that the above pic is so very much better than the criminally bad passport photo I had taken this morning. It looked like a morgue shot. seriously. DEAD. I'll keep tossin' out $8 a pop at all the passport stands in this town until I find one that makes me look 25. hmm. Maybe i'm asking too much. 

Most of us work for THE MAN. Not one single THE MAN, but many-many different THE MANs. Even if you work for a woman, you are working for THE MAN. Perhaps your THE MAN is benevolent and kind. You are still being repressed by THE MAN. You are bending to THE MAN’s will. No matter how gilt your cage, how sweet the deal, there is still THEMAN tripping you up.

My cage? It’s a nice cage. Fresh water and birdseed, clean newspaper on which to poop. Got one of those dangly chewy bird toys too. It’s a sweet gig. But here comes THEMAN. Open the cage, insert finger on which to perch. What if I don’t WANT to perch right now? I’m feeling a little peckish, I’d rather sit here unmolested, thank you very much. And I know, I know, we had a deal: you give me food and shelter, and I sit on your goddamn finger. Have you looked at your nails lately? Eck. And what if I don’t WANT to wolf whistle right now or say “hello”, teach me something useful to say, like “punk ass bitch”. I feel like singing something else today.

I’ve seen those birds outside. The ones hopping and tweeting. They got it rough sometimes. Cats. Cold weather. Rain. Stale bread. But hey, they get to put their nest where ever they please, and use whatever they like to feather it. Tempting. DAMN tempting. A little hop out and hide under the couch until the door opens, be FREEEEEEEeee!

But it’s November now, those birds look pretty cold. Gonna either have to hunker down or fly south soon. And this cage is pretty warm and toasty.... damn cage. Ask me again in April....