Eyewear Hell

I really dislike buying new glasses. I shouldn't. This cycle of eye doctor to glasses store has been going on since my first pair of ultra large frames at the tender age of 12. Having a complete stranger tell me how cute I looked and aren't those just darling, stunted any joy of eye glass shopping out of me for all eternity.

So it was with a slightly bad attitude that I trudged to the mall and schlepped into LenCrafters. There are a few small boutique eyewear shops in town, but I can't justify $800 smackeroos just for frames that I may break or drop into Prince William Sound, step on getting out of bed, etc. I have a very poor track record with glasses and in my 20s became really good with clear tape, super glue and silly putty. The two latter, I do not recommend, but will work in a pinch. No photos please.

I don't wear contacts, so trying on frames is a ridiculous dance of finding a frame, standing in front the store mirror, taking of old glasses, putting on new found frame and putting my head no more than five inches from the mirror. Thus looking like a complete middle aged Mr.Magoo moron.

So, today, I start the dance. I am greeted at the entrance of eyewear hell by a way to perky Adele wannabe. "How's it going for ya today, can I help you find anything amazing"? Crap. I already don't like this person. No I say, just looking. I feel I am safe from perky banter for a few minutes and can continue my dance in quiet.

She comes back often. "Aren't these Dolce Gabbana just amazing"? No, I am not paying to be their walking advertisement. Oh, she says, I totallllyyyy understand. These Tiffany frames are just toooo cute, don't you think? If I don't want D&G plastered on my temple, why would I want Tiffany? No, not for me I say. She walks away.

The dance is nearing it's end. After numerous frames and nose bashing against the mirror, I think that a decent frame has been found. A simple gold and cream Ralph Lauren. Nothing flashy, no rhinestones or giant logo. I like these.

Adele Wannabe swoops in for the sale. After gushing how amazingly fab they are, she looks at them and says "I am not sure these will take a multi-lens". I look at her quizzically, with absolutely no idea what she is talking about.
"Oh"! She says. You don't wear bifocals do you?

I now hate her and buying glasses has taken me to a new level of purgatory.

A vent to my beloved.

Dear Husband,
My car won't start. Even though at 10pm last night, when it was -17 out, the neighbor put the battery charger on and I plugged in the block heater, twelve hours later, it is still a no go.

I made my way to your truck. There it sat, cold, covered in 12 inches of hardening snow. I opened the door. I am now covered in 4 cubic feet of snow. Apparently, it followed the door from the roof. I climb in, dumping snow all over your cold leather seats. Ha ha.
With fingers crossed, I put the key in the ignition. Good news, it's dinging. I wait for the engine light to turn off. Diesels and their start procedures, must not disregard the start procedure. It's a go. I turn the key. NOTHING! I have nothing. This is akin to sitting on the shuttle pad waiting to launch only to hear that it's to cold. No go. The launch has been scrapped.

Disappointment and the not so good feeling of knowing you don't have any wheels has set in.

I trudge past the boat. The boat that sits in front of the fence that is sheltering the four wheeler with it's plow. The plow I could have used during the last few weeks of heavy snow fall. The plow I can't get to. The now unused plow covered in snow. So close, yet completely unattainable for me to get out.

I then walk past the Excursion, my beastly car for the last 7.5 years. The giant paperweight. Lifeless, heartless, hunk of cold steel.

There is sits. In front of the garage. Why in front and not in? It's a garage. A heated, large garage. Large enough to fit my car. To house it from the cold Alaskan winters and keep it snow free. Why then does my car sit dead outside? Unable to move your wife and children. No movie theater today. No grocery shopping.

The day is a complete No Go.

Patience no more, part deaux.

Ten days ago I called Dr.K's office and requested my knee x-rays and cd. I spoke with a fairly confident woman in the records department. She put me on hold to double check that they had them. Oh yes, they are here. They will be ready Friday. I tell her no hurry, I can't get there to pick them up until Monday at the earliest.
Wrong thing to say.

Today, with John driving and Jack hacking in the back of the car(sick day for him) we headed to Anchorage and Dr.K's mega office. I tell John not to bother parking, the packet has been there for days. "Are you sure" he asks, Oh yes I say, no problems now.

Hahahah, jokes on me!

I step off the elevator and a nice young lady asks if she can help me. This is promising. No 25 minute wait, to be told it will be another 50.
I tell her why I am there. Oh just one minute, I'll get them. Several minutes later I am handed a tiny manilla envelope. Uh, this isn't my cd and x-rays, I say. She is dumbfounded. Let me explain, my x-rays are in an x-ray type gigantic envelope. It is marked X-RAY.
What is in the mystery envelope? Nothing but paper saying what kind of goo was shot into my knee. This does me no good. I know what kind of goo it was and which knee it went into. I need my cd and x-rays.

She asks several kind of useless questions. Who did I speak with? When did I speak with them? Were they in records? Don't know, ten days ago, yes.
She leaves me again.

She returns. We don't know where they are, it could take awhile to find them. No, I say. I need them now. I can talk rude because I left my regular glasses in the car and I am inside an office building wearing dark Jackie O glasses. I am incognito.

She leaves again, another woman returns and asks the same dumb questions. I tell her nicely, but firmly. "I need my x-rays now. My appointment with my NEW doctor is tomorrow".
She leaves.

Six minutes later a very nice woman hands me a very large envelope marked X-RAY with my name on it. She says the cd is there too and walks away.

Note to self. Self, dark glasses inside can be a good thing.

Patience no more.

I am done, fed up, cooked to seething.

Six times in the last twelve months I have had doctors or dentists keep me waiting. Not the usual, ten or fifteen minutes. Even though keeping anyone waiting should never, ever be the norm. With health care providers it is. It never used to be like this.
I am talking twenty, thirty or the occasional seventy-five minutes!

The boys dentist kept us waiting 30 minutes the last two visits, I only gently complained. Before it got out of hand at the third appointment, 10 minutes I chimed in. Only to be apologized to, led into the back rooms and left to wait another fifteen.

My dentist, left me waiting 20 minutes. On my way out I received a coupon for a loaf of free bread from the nice bakery in town. Note. If your health care provider has free bread cards on hand, you are probably in for a wait at least once. It's hard not to tell some one where they can put their loaves. But my teeth were shiny and I was out the door, so I say "oh thank you" and bend over.

Two months ago I was left to wait in the small exam room of a doctor I had seen previously.
At thirty minutes I stepped out and asked when the doctor would be in. Oh, just a few more minutes, I was told.
At 45 minutes, I grabbed my coat and purse and headed down the hall. Oh, it will be just a few more minutes, please have a seat, can I get you anything, "Yes, I said my lost time". Ha ha.
Sixty minutes, I am again, walking out the door. This time a new person stops me, apologizing, he hands me a five dollar coffee card. Wow, awesome! Thanks, now I have something to drink with my bread.
Seventy five minutes, my coat is on, purse in hand. Doctor walks in. Apologizes and let's me know I am his last patient since it's now his lunch time and I can have him for however long I need. REALLY! How about you keep your crappy coffee card and give me back the last 75 minutes of my life!

What I need is a doctor that cares about their patients and not just their MB car payments and spousal support for trophy wife number three.

Today, I walked out.
A doctor whom I had seen three previous times before let me down.
At twenty five minutes past my appointment time I asked the nice girls at the counter when I might get in. Just one minute, we'll check. One is now scanning the computer, they give each other the look. One goes down the hall I won't get to see today. She comes over to me. I am really sorry she says, Dr. K is in with a patient and there is another patient in front of you. What the hell! So, I calmly ask "so about how long do you think"? Probably, maybe, another fifty minutes, she says. Are you F'n kidding me I yell into my own brain. Well I say, I can't wait that long, I have to go.
Then I am let in on a little tid bit. This yahoo, has the receptionists overbook him on purpose. I am quietly told that out of all the doctors, he demands to see the most patients.

Well, Sir, as I am out of patience and you are now one less patient.

All we wanted was dinner!

After a wonderfully chaotic evening of watching the boys run in the Cross Country Jamboree last night, we continued a tradition with Grandpa and Grandma and went out to dinner.

6:45pm We arrive at the new place in town,the E.R.Ale House, it was busy, but not full. Jamboree night in Eagle River is usually a pretty busy time. People that normally would be giving their kids baths at this time, have all grouped together in the interest of watching their little ones run through the trees and into a gauntlet of cheering family members. All of whom are hungry and do not want to go home and make dinner. Someone should let the owner of the new joint in on this little tid-bit of information. It's a good night to be full staffed.

Within five minutes our party of six is seated and we are ready to order our pre-dinner drinks, and I get carded ordering my wine. Awesome! I was carded, very cool. But our waitress Heidi burst my youthful bubble by saying "sorry, I have to card everyone". Now going up and down the two flights of stairs,running behind the building, digging in the car for my wallet, while parked next to the dumpster was not going to be nearly as much fun as when i thought I looked card-able.

My seventy-year old father in law refused to order a beer because the thought of being carded offended him and he thought it was dumb carding an old codger such as himself. My mother in law whipped out her ID, a beer is a beer and the woman was thirsty. Besides, Heidi, was just doing her job. Big mouth and all.

Breadsticks ordered for the boys, meals ordered, now we wait, shouting to be heard, but okay, the food shouldn't be long. It's simple stuff, nothing fancy. Drinks arrive, wrong wine for me, but still okay. I drink it. I a too am thirsty.

Waiting, waiting. "Miss, can you please bring another wine and we could use our waters filled. Will the breadsticks be long? These boys need food", I say. Heidi, dear Heidi. The glazed over look, the I don't know, look, the oh crap, I think we are screwed look. I have seen this look on servers before. It's never good.

Other tables, have been served. The table of four that came in after us, is happily consuming dinner. Even their baby is happy. My boys are hungry and are fueled only on the root beer given in cups too tall. My mother in law is holding on to Jack's glass. Smart woman, root beer in the lap is never fun and he is a tad squirmy. Other tables with children have the short cups with lids and straws. Not ours. We have Heidi for a server, Dear Heidi.

Wine arrives, wrong again. Oh well. I am now on a tour of Italy and Australia.

7:45pm, a full hour after we have arrived, the breadsticks show up. Yeah! Sustenance is a good thing. Dear Heidi, she had an hour to bring out napkins and appetizer plates. Glazed over look again. "Could we please have some napkins and a few plates"? I say. So back she comes, with dinner plates and napkins. Okay, no biggie, dinner plates will hold breadsticks just fine.

8:20pm Yippee! Food arrives. But wait, the large dinner plates are still on the table! What should Dear Heidi do? Remove them? NO! She moves my dirty appetizer plate back in front of me and plops down my thai pasta plate! "Oh there, that works" she says. I now have two dinner plates in front of me, stacked on top of each other. What the hell? She then did the same to everyone else. This was hilarious and shocking and holy crap did that just happen, funny. We now have something else to shout about at the table.

8:50pm We are done. It is time to go home and get these exhausted boys to bed. Both boys have their heads on the table. But where is our Dear Heidi? Waiting, waiting. "Excuse me sir" I say to a nice young employee, "We need our check and haven't see our waitress in half an hour". Is she tall and blonde he asks? Yes, she is. He rolls his eyes, "Heidi" he says "I'll see what I can do". Waiting, oh look, here comes Dear Heidi with the check. Plop goes the vinyl book on the table and off she goes. "Wait, can we please have two to-go boxes"? Glazed over look, "okay".

The boys are now up and trying to climb up on a windowsill. Jack has thrown a paper airplane that Daddy made to occupy him. Lucky, that nice lady dining ten feet away from us caught it with her face. Apologies given, down the stairs boys, we have to go, NOW.

10:00am Next morning. I am back at the E.R.Ale House inquiring about a missing jar of highly coveted homemade strawberry jam. This was given to John by his Mom. It is possibly the best jam in the world. In our haste to apologize for the plane in the face incident and get the hell out last night, John forgot his jam. I speak with the manager.
Oh the jam! he says. Yes, we didn't know where it came from, Heidi thought it was part of her tip.

She took it home.

It was a Fair Day.

At the suggestion of my husband we arrived at the fair 20 minutes early prior to opening. This is a very good thing and will be done in the future. Upon entering the gates of hell, NO, I mean fun fun fun for all land, Jack immediately gave me his best I want cotton candy face. Cotton candy comes after all the ride tickets are gone. All eighty tickets, costing $80 dollars. They called these the "super saver" package. I have a few choice names for it also. But they are more carney worker words and not fair going Mom words.

On to the rides.

Jack wanted to ride in the carousel carriage.

Brodie was enchanted with the black stallion. Pure joy.
Now on to the kids roller coaster. Not sure why it costs 4 tickets each, but oh well, the boys had fun. I don't know the people in the car behind Jack and Brodie, but the look on the little girl's face is priceless. Poor thing is not happy.

Brodie was all thumbs up on the copter, it had a horn. Horns are cool.

This will probably be the last copter year for Jack. He kept yelling at the operator "go faster, go faster". Apparently his didn't have a horn to occupy his 60 seconds of fun.

With the Gravitron, Tilt a Wheel, fun slides and numerous other rides under their belts, we headed to buy cotton candy and then off to the Kid Zone. A big thank you to friends that loaned me some money. I didn't know you could only pay cash for ride tickets. I was down to ten bucks and didn't know the pass code for the Visa card. Ooops, rookie mistake for me!



Since we got their early this place wasn't jammed packed. So the boys got to use the robotic cars and topple hockey pucks and then on to the Leggo table. They each built a robotic Leggo machine(no help from me) and stood in the middle of the walk way to show off their mad Leggo skills. Daddy, they did good!

So after seeing the kookaburras, kangaroos, and emu. In the, oh crap this building smells like crap area. I had to con Jack to walk through the doors it was so bad. Not sure how those Aussies down under can live like that.
We headed to the Pirates for Hire show. This gave the boys a stable place to finish off their cotton candy and continue rotting out their pearly whites.
In the presence of skeletons, cotton candy is now pirate booty.
And mustaches.
I swear this child was not coerced to stand with the pirates. He went up on his on free will and then stood there as if he were invisible or scared stiff.
Until he go to hold a real metal sword and fight of Capt. Hook.

Jack being, well our Jack. I was afraid he would try and give ole Hook a run through. But he listened very intently and had a lot of fun.
Kudos to the men and women of Pirates for Hire. They put on a good show and were great with the kids afterwards. I wish they were local and I could hire them for a party.

So, it's off to the stinky fat pigs, bunny, cow, reindeer, giant scary turkey barn.

And GIANT pumpkins!
Then off for fair food and snacks and working our way out to the gates to release me from this, fun fun day. This is a good thing. The wind is now gusting and blowing dust and after five hours my knee and feet are starting to hurt. But, it didn't rain. Thank the heavens above, not a drop!

I was wrong. We are not done yet. With the gates in sight Brodie spots puppies! Not just any puppies. Puppies owned by Iditarod champion Martin Buser.

Martin Buser saving Brodie from the frisky pup.
Thirty minutes later and I have now realized the highlight of fair day was sitting in a 10x10 foot pen playing with Martin Buser's sled dog puppies. I am thinking next time I should just pay Martin a few hundred bucks to come over to the house with his pups and entertain my boys. It would be cheaper than going to the fair and my feet wouldn't hurt. I may even throw in some corn dogs and popcorn for effect.

Geocaching-Alaska style

With the boat in the shop last month John and I decided to catch up on some geocaching out at Eklutna Lake. So we packed up the boys and headed North.

Fashion forward BrodieLooking for ways to cross the stream. It must have seemed like a raging river to the boys.

If you can't go over it, go through it.


Time for a break. Otherwise known as waiting for Mom and Dad to catch up. We are old and slow. They are young and spry.
After about 30 minutes of searching, we found the cache. This was a good thing because it was starting to sprinkle and none of the men folk had jackets. I was smart enough to wear a big cotton sweatshirt.
Note to the Farthings, the geocache is not under the tree!

And then the clouds opened up and it didn't just rain it poured buckets. Every lake sized mud puddle had to be run through. Brodie said he was a puddle monster, Jack was a 4-wheeler.

We made it back to the car in about half the time it took to find the geocache location. It was a good thing I wore my tie dyed sweatshirt. I looked like a waterlogged hippie just leaving Woodstock. Note to self, fleece may be a better rainy day choice.

A Sad Day is on the Horizon

August in Alaska.
Everyone is trying to cram all the amazing things they were going to do this summer into 31 days. Good luck people. If you didn't go kayaking down the Yukon or climbed Denali, you are too late. But don't worry. You will have the next eight, cold, dark months to dream up more fabulous plans for next summer.

The days are shorter, the bugs are big and the spiders are fat with nasty baby spiders.
Autumn is near when the spiders make the big gushy splat when swatted with your husband's shoe.

Most kids will be in school this Monday. Jack and Brodie are younger so their school starts in one week. There are new sneakers in the closet and creased clothes hanging, with strict orders attached "Mister,don't even think of wearing that new surfer shirt until school starts". Not sure why I bother. It's only going to take one ketchup laden hot dog and it's a wipe out. Why break tradition now? My Mom said the same thing to me. I never really cared for school. But the anticipation of wearing all the new clothes, the forbidden fruits of a summer gone. How could I not love the first day of school!

The worst part of summer's passing, is the boat. Our first summer on Stor Fisk is winding down.
One more three dayer on the boat with the kids and that's it for overnights until next April. Maybe a few weekend days in September? I already told the guy that married me I am not interested in seeing Prince William Sound in November. Freezing my arse off in gales is not my idea of fun. Been there, done that, got paid. Won't do it again.

Never have I enjoyed a summer more than this one. The storing of the Stor Fisk, will be a very sad day. But the anticipation of April 2012, will be like the first day of school so many years ago.

Let it f'n rain!

Screw you old Sorels buried in the closet for years. Kiss arse ugly Xtra Tuffs, you now live on the boat and only the boat. So long Columbias, I have had you so long your once cute pale blue hue has turned to an odd washed out grey.

Move over old and ugly. There is a new pair of boots in Stephanie's closet world.

I would like to thank Mr. Weitzman for making fabulous rain boots. I love his shoes, but his boots are like fine driving gloves for the feet. Even the rain boots, no leather, just rubber and sparkles.

Opening a heavy, dark blue, Stuart Weitzman box is like opening a Tiffany's box for the feet. You know before lifting the weighty lid and pulling away the layers of tissue that something wonderful lies just below. A surprise, like biting into a Godiva truffle.
Slowing lifting the treasures out of their tissued tomb, will they fit? First the right, then the left. Perfect, they fit perfect!
Bring on the rain and a Burberry umbrella.

Me in a tutu? Yeah right!

I have admitted to most that my one and only television vice is Dancing with the Stars. I try and watch religiously and if I miss an episode I am on youtube searching for the flubs, dumps, falls and fails.
While watching many of my Facebook friends are doing the same. During commercial breaks FB is often a flurry with our critiques. Such as "oh no she didn't just fall on her ass" or "I can't believe hes still in it". After an evening glass of vino it can get really catty.
And that was my downfall.

Kirstie Alley, a champion to all aging, women of size. I really wanted her to win. She had moxie and sass! Every Tuesday, with her Spanx moaning, she went out there and shook her voluptuous tatas and swung those birthing hips. It was awesome. She rocked it.

And then she wore a tutu.
She danced away in a gorgeous, made for TV, sparkly, purple, black and fuchsia ensemble. I am sure it would make the skinny bitch in Swan Lake envious, but it's hard to watch TV when your barfing in the toilet.
It was agreed on Facebook that the tutu was fabulous! "Wouldn't it be fun to wear a tutu"? I asked. Oh yes, we all agreed.
Then with vino in hand, I set my tutu fate. "I'll enter the old car in the Bear Paw Parade and we can all walk along wearing tutus"!

Fast forward eight weeks.
15 yards of tulle
1 Bedazzler and 300 cheap rhinestones
1959 Lincoln
7 children
4 moms
480 pinwheels

If I am going to walk a mile in a parade with a good 3,000 people watching it might as well be for a good cause. So I bought the pinwheels for the national Child Abuse Awareness Center.

Day of.
What the hell! I should never be held too what is written on Facebook while drinking wine. That is wrong, just wrong. I am an overweight, five foot nothing girl, now swathed in tulle and sparkles. Nothing good can come of this. Nothing at all.

But what a rockin fun day!

Livin the good life.

It occurred to John and I this last weekend that we are living the life that most Americans want for their dream vacation. That somewhere in New Jersey a fat guy in an ill fitting dress shirt is pining away for the day he retires. Until then, he boldly peruses the internet when the boss is out, looking at Alaskan fishing lodges, bears eating salmon, whales fluking and in general, all the amazing things that we, right now are experiencing.
Our hope is that our children realize how amazing their life is.

shrimp, PWS style

lunch break
Cepholapods rock! And eat our shrimpDaddy break.

Living the American dream.

A horse of course.

So, those in the know are aware that Jack hasn't done so spectacular at group sports. Indoor soccer this winter was a disaster of epic proportions and left me dreading Saturday mornings. There were melt downs, tantrums and refusal to play, even though he played really well. The noise, general chaos and bright lights were a catalyst that could not be stopped.
Now that Jack has been diagnosed with Aspbergers, it all makes sense now.
But,it didn't make things easier.
He wants to be involved with other kids and participate in sports to "get out there". So, when he said he wanted to ride a horse, well, I jumped on it. Why hadn't I thought of that! I was about 60% sure he would hate it. The kid doesn't really like our family dog. Why would he take to a 1,000 pound beast with big teeth. But, it was worth a shot.
His first lesson was today.

Upon meeting Deshka, Ms.Laurie let Jack brush her and clean out her hooves. I think this builds trust with the horse and the little rider.
Then Ms.Laurie showed him how to walk Deshka and Jack got to walk her around by himself. He was not supposed to turn and look at her while walking and he looked straight ahead the entire time. Rules are rules.
The main event. Up he went on a special soft saddle. This allows the kids to feel more of the horse and the way it moves. Jack had so much fun and really seemed to take the giant beast and all that riding entails. This includes.

Cleaning up the stable for Deshka. A small thank you for being such a gentle and kind horse.
Thank you Deshka and Ms. Laurie. What a great morning!

Wake up Wisconsin!

Calling all union members of Wisconsin. Wake up! What the hell do you think you are doing? Do you really think this is the time to strike?
I am sorry to hurt your feelings, but I don't give a shit if you lose your "collective bargaining".

Your state, the great State of Wisconsin is hurting and you are contributing to it's pain. Did you not hear that Wisconsin has a 3.6 Billion dollar shortfall? Do you not care, that the union can help? You can stand together as Union Members and say "We care about our State, We care about our neighbors and our communities".
Are you so selfish that you do not care about your State, how about your Country. All eyes are on the Wisconsin Union members. And let me tell you, what we see is shameless and self centered.

My husband works hard for his employer and has done so for 15 years. He does not have collective bargaining. He gives the maximum to his 401K and he pays thousands of dollars every year so that his family can have health coverage. It is not the best. But we do not complain. We are thankful for what we have. We don't whine or snivel and demand more. We take the benefits as they come and make do. We pay our way and do not depend on the backs of our neighbors to make our fiscal lives better.

Wake up Wisconsin Union members. There are 13.9 MILLION Americans that do not have jobs. They will glady take your place, sans collective bargaining. They will willingly pay half into their pensions and 12.6 into their healthcare. They want to feed their families, pay their rent and put gas in their cars.

May I suggest you get your sniveling asses back to work on Tuesday and count your blessings you still have jobs. Because that, is the American way.

Cancer Sucks!

Not sure if I can remove the blog Dishaliscious from my reads.

The writer, Stephanie Green, a spicy Jewish girl with a bad case of cancer who wasn't afraid to tell how she felt or show off her scars. I found this blog through the highway, byway and a side street of the internet. Six degrees of separation as we use to know it, is no more.

When I started reading, I had no idea she had breast cancer. Then I read more, looked further back. I was a voyeur into a woman's past and was interested in her future. An upper class broad living in Miami, a published writer and author. A woman who knew her way around Sak's and Barney's, but could still fling the F'word around like a sailor writing his memoirs.

She became sick with cancer treatments. Her boobies as she called them had already been taken by a double mastectomy at the age of 32. She had new boobies installed and they looked fab. This I had found out by reading more.

When she became to weak to continue her daily blog she recommended that readers hook up with her on Facebook. So I did. Only this was more personnel. After time went on, more treatments, puking, family friends helping, the death of her beloved Wally Dog. Pictures of her crying while holding him, before he was put down.
I felt more like an intruder. Should I really be reading this, am I still welcome? A complete stranger from Alaska, looking through the window at a person in pain. Suffering, but still writing some really funny stuff.

Wally taking a poop in the middle of The Drake Hotel lobby had me laughing so hard I had tears. Buying Chanel rainboots in New York, who new they even made them? Or talking to her doctors while high on Xanax and Marinol. She left nothing out and often times nothing to the imagination.

On occasion she would comment on my Facebook. Usually towards one of my posts relating to something absurd I had seen or how someone could possibly wear that shade of yellow with that bright a lilac and what the hell happened to Isaac Mizrahi? Target,really?

So, I kept reading. I was a follower of someone I would probably never meet. But still I read. And, I cried when her dog died and laughed when she wrote about the Tranny at the Quick Mart and Jersey Shore taking over her building last summer for filming.
She became a part of my life. A daily cyber interaction, that was mostly one sided. But still viable.

I didn't know her. I had never met her. I will miss her.

Stephanie Green's cancer came back at age 35. Again. This time she died. 01/09/2011

Ooops!

Don't you just hate it when that happens?



Thanks to Tony Lara for taking such great pics.

How can she walk among us?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhcDh0-_5m4

While the president prayed for peace, Sarah Palin decided to spread more hatred and blamed the media for her problems.
How twisted can a person be? One whopping minute of "this great nation" "mourn for the victims families", "loss of an innocent" "deranged gunman".
BUT wait, there are six minutes of.....
Ronald Regan quotes. Bashing talk radio. Speaking of "manufacturing a blood libel".
All I am hearing is ME,ME,ME! In a whining, condescending, lip smacking way, only a teleprompter reading Sarah Palin can do.
Somebody give this pathetic woman a Scooby snack and tell her to shut the hell up!
The facts are very clear and all the glossy "this great nation" fluff she adds to every sentence uttered from her oddly shellacked lips doesn't change that.

When you put a woman's name under a bulls eye and say "don't retreat,reload". It is an insinuation of violence, an aggressive act for all to see. An action that says, I don't care who you are, I don't care what you think.
Sarah Palin didn't pull the trigger, but she planted a seed of hate throughout our country that is palpable.