Tonight I pronounce a new ritual for Halloween. From here on out trick-or-treating supervision is the sole responsibility of the paternal figure. For this and all other Halloween's to follow, the mother shall stay home and drink wine with her friends. So it is written, so it shall be done. Oh, and CeeBeeW or Tiarra - post your pics.

Dear Everyone:

I have fat blood. I'm done for. I'll probably have type 2 diabetes by the end of the week and a heart attack soon thereafter.

On a scale of 0 - 150, my triglycerides are 203. There is so much lard in my blood that I am probably very flammable and/or slippery. No wonder my feet are always cold: all that frosting blood can barely squeeze through my "spidery little veins".

Dear Gods, you hit 30 and it all goes to shit.

Tommorow I will start my new regime of sleeping, eating brown rice and running. And that's IT.

This Weekend

is going to be great! We have some of our favorite family members coming in from NC! And they want to be spooktified. There is NOTHING I like better than spooky stuff. Of course, Delta will be out of town next week. Where will I leap when the hair on the back of my neck stands up? I'll have to be brave. Here is a list of all the things we are going to do this weekend. Lunch here, because that's the visitor law. Then, we are going to this person's party. Then we are going to this place for dinner. My nephew was particularly pleased with that idea since he saw the place on Haunted Travel Channel. We are headed over to this place because of this legend and then off to here for a tour through a very old, very haunted... Does anyone know of any spooky restaurants out that way, preferably on the water where we can eat dinner??

Phlebotophobia

"Dear God, Didi, you're THIRTY now, it's time we check your cholesterol," said my VA doctor yesterday at my physical. "It's just a blood test!"
I'd been called out over cholesterol. I mumbled something, blamed it all on Delta, and went home to fast for twelve hours.
This morning I waited my turn in line at the lab counter.
"Oh, a veteran," said the receptionist loudly, thus ensuring that I'd have to take the needle like a Marine and not like the needle sissy that I am. "Take a seat, we'll call you when we're ready."
While I waited, I did a couple of sets of one-armed pushups to show everyone else how tough I really am.
"Didi," called the phlebotomist.
I sat in the chair and she locked me in with that padded bar you rest your arm on and rolled around the four extra long emty vials that I was doomed to fill as if taunting me.
"Make a fist. Have you had anything to eat or drink this morning?" the vampire asked sweetly.
"No. Just a cup of hot water that I pretended was coffee."
"Oh that's so cute," she said, giggling. "little pinch."
Little pinch my ass.
I'm not afraid of needles. I have a million tattoos. I have no problem with vaccinations - not even the tetanus shot I have to get from time to time, usually after over-zealous chopping in the kitchen. On that note, I'm not afraid of pain either. I delivered three babies sans drugs. It's the sucking feeling, the sharp, cold steel of the needle, the rush of corpuscles that gets me. Allowing somebody to drain your blood, for whatever useful purpose, goes against the law of self preservation.
One year, I came up with the most brilliant idea for Lent. Since you're supposed to give up something you really care about, I decided to donate blood. Genius! I could condense forty days of self-denial in one morning. I tried, honestly I did, to be brave. But that needle is big. And the red cross laughs at blood vials - they want entire bags full.
"This will take about 11 minutes," said the nurse. "You'll squeeze this little thing, then when I tell you to stop squeezing, you just lie here until the bag is full."
I could feel my heart rate speed up.
"Little prick," she said.
My bag started to fill.
"Okay, sweetie, you can stop squeezing," she said.
Only, I couldn't. It was like I had rigor mortis. Even my grimace from the initial "little prick" remained frozen to my lips.
"Sweetie, let go," she said a bit more forcefully. "Let," she pried, "go!"
My hand, though empty, stayed in it's claw shape and I filled that bag in about two minutes thirty seconds. After that, they made me lie down a little while longer and drink some of their magical elixer known as Orange Juice.
Before I left they put a little "hero" sticker on my blood doner card. I thought they were trying to make me feel good but it turns out my blood is so clean and virus-free that it can go directly from my arm into someone who needs it. That combined with my rare blood type has turned me into a stalker victim. The Red Cross calls me monthly for more blood. Doesn't that just figure? The comedy of irony.
When I come home from the lab I must keep my right arm at an obtuse angle so that no one will bump the needle site. It will remain this way for the next 24 hours. The bandage will have to wash off on it's own because I will not touch it. My father laughs at me, so does Delta. I ignore them, and make my way to the fridge for a glass of oranje juice.

I love Lost. Jin is the Asian version of Delta. I also love Mr. T and I pity the fool who doesn't.

How many best days ever is a girl allowed to have? I'm far too tired to write more than this little expression of how grateful and happy I am to have such wonderful friends and a whole new family. I always wanted a big brother, now I've got 3. Of course, it was my mom and superdad's day, but this is my blog and so I can say that when one of my new big brothers called me sis tonight, and another one called us all family and then the other one said anyone who is a friend of mine is a friend of the whole family to CeeBeeW, well, how could I be any happier?

T-30 Hours till Mom and Superdad's Wedding

To have everything go according to plan implies that one A. Has a plan B. Comes equipped with an attention span. Sadly, I have neither. But that's ok! Twelve hours of full throttle last minute planning is wonderful excercise. And you should see the setup (if I do say so myself). So we're two plates short. We've got an extra dessert fork! And as for the forgotten coffee cups/water goblets/cake plates, well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Wish us luck!

Have you ever watched the show To Catch a Predator? Delta watches it every week. The thing that baffles me, and I admit that's not a challenge, is how many pedophiles there really are out there. Doctors, lawyers, engineers, "respectable" people soliciting sex from young girls they meet online. To Catch a Predator might be the best show on TV. Never in the history of humanity has anyone done so much to air the dirty drawers of the loathful pigs who prey on little ones. Speaking of pigs, I think a cool ending for each episode would be if they corralled all the pedophiles in a little mudpit, smeared their vile genitals with kitchen scraps then unleashed a herd of underfed male boars upon them. That would both teach them a lesson and remove the risk of them forgetting what they learned. It's always good to multitask.

I read somewhere this week that "they" did a global study and found out that 70% of the world's women have been victims of domestic violence. My dad asked me tonight if I thought those sorts of people were always around or if the world was going to shit. I think they've always been here. For a long time the victims of bullies and perverts suffered in silence. My dear friend's mother has breast cancer. She didn't tell anyone because she was too embarrassed and I think that illustrates the mentality of so many women born before the seventies. What in the world could make a woman ashamed of herself for being raped, beaten or stricken by illness? God I hope I teach my girls right. If they learn nothing else from me, may they always find their voice and may they never forget what their thumbs are made for. (eyeball pluckers.)

Anniversary

I started this blog a year ago yesterday. I had just turned 29. The numbers 3-0 are just starting to sink in now. I am in a new demographic. I am in a new decade. People younger than me can no longer trust me. But that's just fine, I don't care. The thirties is where all the cool kids are.

I had such a great birthday. I was still over at CeeBee W.'s when my new year began with WiccanChick and AngryLittleBitch. Then I came home and Delta let me sleep till exactly 10:03. I haven't done that since before Ya-Ya was born! Then I got an iPod and a coupon for a facial (and now that I know the types of things you Sat Nite Jammers talk about...NOPE)and all kinds of little goodies and Tiarra made me a basket FULL of all my favorite things. We went up to the mad Greek's in-law's vineyard and we were too late to work but not too late to enjoy some homemade Grappa (anisette and almond). Then we came home and I had all KINDS of messages on the machine and even some singing and some emails and I got on AngryLittleBitch's blog AND CeeBeeW's. Then we went out to dinner with Mom and Superdad and I got all kinds of presents and they sang to me and at then I got a backrub and put German lessons on my iPod...~sigh~ this was a GREAT way to usher in the next era.

And I have to say...I met my goals for 29. Now I need NEW goals for 30. I think one of them will be to be nicer to people. And be healthier. AND finish my draft.

This officially concludes my birthday celebration and the accompanying ramble. Peace.