Dear Spammer,

Thank you for stopping by. I enjoyed your visit.

You see, because you had to hand key whatever the coding script was (and I betcha it blew up on you a couple of time like it does for . . . even me) in order to publish your reply, I know it took far more time for you to leave your load of URLs than it did for me to delete it.

I always wonder, too, why spammers like your employer think that their "advertisements" — riddled with spelling errors and bad grammar as they always are — inspire so much confidence in the company you're working for, that people will click on the URLs you so thoughtfully provide, in order to part with their hard-earned rupees dollars for whatever they're shilling .

But, I digress.

Although it's obvious that English is not the first language of whoever wrote the scripts you cut and pasted, I do commend their efforts. It was close.

Did I say scripts? As in more than one?

Why yes, I did!

You see, dear Spammer, you were supposed to select the most appropriate script , then cut and paste that one and that one only.

Not cut and paste ALL of them.

So thank you, dear Spammer, for my perverse laugh of the day.

Quotable Quotes

"It is usually futile to try to talk facts and analysis to people who are enjoying a sense of moral superiority in their ignorance." -- Thomas Sowell

This is a day off?

Between a full-time job (40+ hours a week) at an animal hospital, a part-time job (24 to 36 hours each week) at an animal ER, plus firefighter classes plus time at the station, a constantly emptied refrigerator and dirty clothes are about the only sign I have that Da Kid still lives here.

Between school and as many hours she can pull at her job, Herself, his fiancé, isn't seen much by her family, either.

Da Kid anticipates next month he'll be able to cut back on the number of hours he's working, after Herself graduates. (I think she might be her class's valedictorian or something.) Then she'll be able to pick up more hours where she works now, until she's hired as a Registered Nurse at one of the area hospitals where she's applied. (Several have expressed interest, but since she has graduated yet . . .)

Then since she'll be making "big money," the roles will reverse and he can concentrate on doing what needs to be done in order to become a full-fledged, paycheck-earning firefighter. Here.

Da Kid wants to work for this fire department, the one that serves this area because compared to other departments in the region, it pays "big money." But, it's rough as hell to get into primarily because of Florida's strict standards. Add to that, it selects those with previous experience before others.

So, right now Da Kid is getting training and experience with and through a volunteer fire department, and they alert those volunteers to job openings they're qualified for in Georgia, as they become aware of them.

Da Kid's on one Georgia county's eligibility list already, and he's in the process of trying to get on the list for another one.

As I understand it (and I'm not sure I readlly do) it's not civil service but a two-year contract during which he'll work as a firefighter, be paid as a firefighter and receive the same benefits as one, while at the same time they send him to school. At the end of the contract, he has a shot at civil service, there.

But, that's not where he wants to ultimately work, but it will definitely give him a better shot at getting his foot in the door, here.

A few months ago Da Kid realized he couldn't work and go to school seven days a week endlessly. Even if he had to add hours to other days, he had to have one day a week when he could sleep in, go to the bank, change the oil in his truck, maybe get together with Herself and go out to eat and maybe to the movies. Do stuff that they couldn't squeeze in during the other six days of the week between work and school. And Tuesday became that day.

Da Kid didn't sleep in this morning. He was up and out the door by eight, for his nine ayem physical in Camden County.

Physical? You're thinking blood pressure, the sacrificial drawing of blood, height and weight, right?

You're thinking a normal job. This is firefighting.

I don't know what the specifics of this "physical" were, but I imagine it was similar to the other one Da Kid took.

Although vitals are checked throughout, think Gladiator. Not the movie but the television program where contestants are subjected to any and every timed physical challenge that can be thought of, and you can't quit. If you do, you're out.

Not that I knew anything about what "the physical" entailed when Da Kid took his first one. I thought he'd be right back.

When he dragged in the door four hours later (before crashing on the couch) he entertained me with picturesque descriptions of some puking their guts out, others having to have IVs before they could continue . . . And once all of the "rough stuff" was completed, it finished with a timed, two-mile run.

Da Kid called around noon today to let me know he was fine. He'd completed all phases of this "physical" and had the "top numbers" in each . . . event?

His next stop was Ocala, where he and a buddy had made arrangements to review the Florida Firefighter I certification both had failed a month ago, before retaking it next month. (Da Kid got the third highest grade in the batch tested, and still failed it . . . by just one point.)

When they got back, Da Kid said, they'd be heading to the station ‘cause they'd said they'd take care of some "stuff" there . . . and somewhere in between getting back and going to the station, if Herself had gotten off from her shift before he had to be there, they were gonna grab a bite to eat.

This is a day off?

Then again, we, too, were once young.

Weren't we?

Hubby popped the question last night,

"Do you feel like drive-by pizza or Chinese for dinner tonight?"

Some people need to get a freakin' life

I emailed Mark a couple of days ago when after seeing a trackback elsewhere, he asked who the blogger was that had generated it because he hadn't been able to sort through the tangle.

(Hey! Have I just coined a new term in the blogosphere? You know . . . a gaggle of geese, a murder of crows, a tangle of trackbacks?)

Anyway, I recognized the name and emailed Mark.

Quite a while back the particular blogger he was asking about had spotted something I'd written here, linked to it, had been quite complimentary and added ACC to his sidebar.

I don't require reciprocal links but do try to return the favor, unless I really can't stand the content, and his was chock full of good-reading stuff.

About two weeks ago or so I was blowing up updating my sidebar when I noticed not only had this blogger dropped his link to ACC, but he had little if any actual content anymore. Instead, as I explained to Mark, he had gone really hard into Linkfests with other bloggers in a mutual effort, I assumed, to drastically increase their standings in the TTLB Ecosystem.

Turns out my surmise (That sounds so much better than guess, doncha think?) was correct, and I'm not the only one who'd noticed some bloggers had become link sluts for the sole purpose of boosting their rankings.

TLB is now working on technical something-or-others to eliminate the scamming, and much discussion (complete with whines) has ensued. Not that I understand what the heck any of them are talking about when it comes to the technical crap.

The whines and whimpers were particularly sad, though. Pathetic even.

I'm not going to lie and say that I'm unhappy with my Ecosystem standing, although it changes back and forth and all 'round from one critter to another on a regular basis. Whatever it is, I've earned it. And if you're part of the system, like me, you've probably earned your's, too.

If you're not part of the system, you've earned whatever standing you have however you choose to measure it. By other bloggers who come by to read what you wrote to see what you might have to say on any ol' thing. Key a reply now and again.

Unlike those who've spent so much time desperately trying to increase their score on a meaningless game by scamming the system, we have lives.

"They killed Fluffy!"

After all of the heart-rending stories about abandoned pets and people being forced to decide between evacuating without their pets or staying put with them because pets are not permitted, FEMA is sounding out a plan that would require states to develop evacuation plans that includes pets. Those states that don't will not be eligible for FEMA funds.

Folks, you know how I feel about my pets but this touchy-feely stuff is utter nonsense. Let's complicate even more an already complicated process by mandating that in addition to people, local and state government must also make provisions for Fido, Fluffy and Butterball. I'm not talking about service animals, but a dog, a cat and . . . a hamster? Who knows. I don't.

Maybe someone has a real attachment to their goldfish. Can they insist that accommodations be available for their aquariums?

Or will local and state governments be required to define what constitutes a pet in order to prevent someone from walking in with something like this?

(In the spirit of full disclosure we had one and they look far meaner than they really are. Uros are very timid.)

Or is this a knee-jerk reaction from an already bruised FEMA after so much media hype?

Of course it is.

In its look at the situation on October 2 (printer-friendly version) the Mobile Register noted:

"There's a certain number of people who aren't going to evacuate for any reason," [Betty Morrow who is completing a study of evacuation behavior during last year's Hurricane Ivan] said.

Some of those people may be saying that they're staying because of their pets, but she sees that as a kind of excuse.

The abandoned ones? Pets are abandoned every single day but when a disaster the size of Katrina occurs it happens on a larger scale, but with the media's lense magnifying the situation it becomes another "crisis."

Last year four hurricanes hit Florida in the span of six weeks. Humane Societies throughout the state provided emergency shelter for thousands of pets, and then faced their own crisis — a real one — when people never returned for them. Government-operated "Animal Care and Control" shelters were similarly affected. Heck, Doc housed as many as he could in his two animal hospitals and even he had some no one ever came back to claim.

But thanks to the media hype it's now some sort of crisis that FEMA says local and state governments must address. Or else.

One of the scenarios the article I referenced envisions, is designating certain emergency shelters strictly for pet owners, in close proximity to separate boarding facilities for their animals.

Which comes first: emergency shelter for people or their pets? Will shelters for people with pets be dependent upon suitable accommodations nearby for their animals, or is it the other way around?

I find it hard to imagine that people who have to go to public shelters because they are unable to get themselves out of harms way, will have carriers or crates in which to contain their animals. How many will also arrive with feed, water, bowls and medications; litter boxes, kitty litter . . .

(Oops! Wait! Just in case, we need to add the provision of carriers and crates and feed to our plan!)

Are the pet shelter managers . . .

(Oops! Wait! We need to add volunteers to our plan!)

. . . going to screen the animals to ensure that they're healthy? Are local and state governments going to require (and verify) that every pet has had minimum much less proper inoculations.

What happens if the pet is sick or hasn't hadn't had its vaccinations. Or maybe it has but the owner didn't think to take the paperwork with them to prove it?

Oh, and then there's that little storage thing to think about to make sure someone's little, helpless Fluffy isn't next to someone else's Killer.

Or are they all going to be crammed in together with folks later sobbing on Geraldo's shoulder as the camera rolls, "Fluffy was happy and healthy when I brought him in and now he's dead!"

Once the storm has passed, each and every one of these pet owners will, of course, take care of their own pets. You betcha!

Some will. Some will try. Others won't expecting someone else will do it for them, and some, as always, will simply disappear leaving "Fluffy," "Fido" and "Butterball" behind.

And then the media will have another failure of government about which to endlessly hype.

~~~~~~
You can blame Norma for my pulling this out of DRAFT where I stuck it last October.

LATER: Have you checked out this week's edition of Wizbang's Carnival of the Trackbacks?

It began so innocently

This Thanksgiving Boudicca, her husband and their three boys are spending several days with her mother (Hubba) and father (TGOO, The Great Omnipotent One).

Although they had plenty of food and water after Hurricane Ivan came through last year, when TGOO picked up ice from FEMA, needed or not he ended up with MREs in his vehicle's trunk.

Now, over a year later, Boudicca and the boys are trying the MREs. "Stay tuned." she blogged. "Hey, if the kids like them enough, we could end up taking some on our next camping trip."

You ever wonder what's actually in those boxes? Here's your chance to find out:

A New Culinary Experience
Two Thumbs Up for Cheese Tortellini
Since When did Pepto Bismal become Dessert?
Southern Gastroporn with a few MRE Shots...
Say It Isn't So- An MRE on Thanksgiving

I believe Bou mentioned they were staying through the weekend, so I don't think they're done sampling.

And Bou, a big thanks from me to you. Although I make sure I have plenty of canned goods on hand during hurricane season, trust me. I'm going to sock in twice as much next year.

It's about damned time

The European Union has officially stated its rejection. The Group of 77, a block of the 132 "developing" nations, is also against it.

Which means, it's about damned time.

John Bolton, our ambassasor to the United Nations, has told this "august" body that unless it actually does something about starting to clean up its act, the U.S. just might withhold its contribution.

Note please, I used the word contribution, not dues, because that's what it is. A contribution. In fact, the UN's own charter states that its funding is from contributions made by its member states nations.

How would the United Nations survive?! Actually, who cares.

Practically speaking, though, for the short-term instead of its standard two-year budget, Bolton says the UN should pass an interim one covering just three months.

I'm sure, aren't you, that they can make due for that short period on the contributions made by . . . I dunno, the Group of 77?

We, the U.S. taxpayer are kicking in 22 percent of the UN's general budget, not to mention other monies every time these beggers open their yap. And according to this, Bolton mentioned not only the U.S. withholding its contribution, but the posibility of them having to compete for it.

(Hmmmm, an organization comprised only of democratic nations maybe?)

I can hear the Lefty-Loons screaming already. But what about the poor widdle "developing" countries! The Turd World!!!

It is also shameful the way the U.N. has become a club for the privileged and the connected. Are we the only ones who chafe at the injustice of delegates from impoverished and oppressed nations enjoying all the luxuries that New York City has to offer while they do little — if anything — to help their countrymen back home?

A bit more from that here. Do read it.

You know, with the UN needing so much money (in the form of a loan from the U.S., of course) to refurbish its headquarters because Kofi Annan says it's falling down around their ears, maybe something good can actually come out of the USSC's Kelo v New London decision.

I hear Havana's lovely this time of year.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Bwaaaaaak!

Every day is a good one ...

I know it's been a while since I've mentioned how Tank's doing. I started to several times but rambled on so much I'd finally just hit SAVE. Then when I'd go back, I'd start rambling away even more.

I'm starting to ramble again, aren't I. Dang. Okay, here goes.

In early August when all of this started, he had only weeks and since ALL it would have been Hell, we would have made sure he didn't have to go through it. Our choice was, through treatment, to give him the best quality of life we could for however long it might last. It's now over three months later, and he's doing well.

That doesn't mean there haven't been ups and downs. About six weeks ago out of no where instead of having periodic constipation, Tank went completely in the other direction. He also started having spells, sometimes toppling over during or after peeing or dumping. Dr. LaDue said he was having mild seizure activity. She recommended tests to make sure Tank's organs were functioning correctly to rule that out as a possible cause. The results, of course, came back perfect.

Meanwhile, Tank's diarrhea was increasingly under control thanks to Imodium, but every time I tried taking him off of it per Dr. LaDue's instructions it came right back. So instead following her directions, I started doing my own thing and began backing him off it far more slowly. Not based on any formula but simply on Tank's . . . dumps.

And I thought I'd noticed something, too. I wasn't sure until I started picking through my scribble-scratch. Then I was. (Or as certain as anyone can be when even after all this time doesn't feel like they know what the hell they're doing with this. And probably never will.) Tank was only having a spell when his butt turned into Mount Vesuvius.

At the same time this was going on, growths had been found on Tank in a location no one had ever thought to check before: on his unsheathed penis. The next tests would be and become progressively more invasive to see if "something else" was also growing inside him that might be causing the seizures.

Sitting in the dark on the steps that night, the night before Tank's appointment the next day, scritching his ears I said my goodbye. Whatever the next day brought I was ready. Or, as ready as I could be. If the biopsy results showed the growths were malignant, no. No more tests.

Hubby came out later carrying "THE OFFICIAL ‘POOP PATROL' FLASHLIGHT" and I went inside. Tank wobbled off after him.

Inside, I later heard something I hadn't in quite some time: Tank barking.

The next day, the results of the biopsy were that the thingies on Tank's thinger are no-thing. They're completely benign old-age growths.

And once we got Tank's eruptions stopped, so did the spells.

Right now Tank's on antibiotics for a bladder infection that popped up and, oh. He's constipated again but as you can see, he's going like gang busters.

Like scampering around grabbing sticks trying to get me to play fetch; or wagging, barking his brains out at me when he gets to the back steps before I can; or (since at 12+ he just can't run the way he used to) slapping the soccer ball Starbuck tries to taunt him with, right out of his face.

Repeatedly.

Until he can grab it.

Tank's still in remission and has five more treatments to go. Since we're into the bi-weekly chemo now, that's 10 weeks. After that, who knows what's going to happen.

As I said from the start it's a crap shoot. Only in very rare cases is Canine Lymphoma NOT ultimately fatal. Every day that he's happy is a good day.

Previously:

Invisible dog food
Week Five
Week Four
Week Three
Week Two -- Part Three.
Week Two -- Part Two (We begin).
Week Two -- Part One.
Week One.

LATER: Linked with this week's Carnival of the Dogs

WOOF!

From military K-9 to getting zapped by a bad-assed skunk, there's something for everyone at The Carnival of the Dogs over at Mickey's Musings.

A slap on the paw

Sitting at the PC last year, the sound of FOXNews on the television in the living room mere background noise, I snapped to attention when I recognized the name.

A teen celebrating his birthday at the St. Johns County Fair had escaped serious injury when a tiger, owned by Catty Shack Ranch, had gotten loose and tackled him.

With assistance from county deputies who were tazering the tiger, Curtis LoGiudice, the Ranch's owner and the big cat's handler, managed to get the tiger off the boy quickly. The deputies tazered Lex, the tiger, again when it next began nibbling on LoGiudice's head.

Subsequent news over the next few days reported that this wasn't the first time Catty Shack Ranch had had management difficulties with their big cats.

So what was done (Bugmenot) this time?

After Mr. LoGiudice, who been charged with maintaining captive wildlife in an unsafe manner, pled no contest . . .

St. Johns County Judge Patti Christensen withheld adjudication and allowed him to keep his big cat license and pay $243 in court costs and a $250 fine to the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.

Wow.

She described the attack as an "unfortunate situation . . ."

Really?

. . . and said LoGiudice has been "very generous in our community" with his exhibits.

Like a couple of weeks ago when he had one of the caged tigers in the parking lot of a local feed store? Or maybe . . . the flea market where until a year ago people would pay to have a picture taken with a tiger or a lion?

The judge dismissed a second charge of maintaining captive wildlife in a manner which resulted in escape and injury to a person.

That's the way to show 'em!

Sheesh.

Twas The Night Before Thanksgiving

Twas the night before Thanksgiving and all through the kitchen;
I was cooking and baking and moaning' and bitchin'.

I've been here for hours, I can't stop to rest,
This place is a disaster, just look at this mess!

Tomorrow I've got thirty people to feed,
They expect all the trimmings - who cares what I need!

My feet are both blistered, I've got cramps in my legs,
The dog just knocked over a bowl full of eggs.

There's a knock at the door and the telephone's ringing;
Frosting drips on the counter as the microwave's dinging.

Two pies in the oven, dessert's almost done;
My cookbook is soiled with butter and crumbs.

I've had all I can stand, I can't take anymore;
Then walks in my husband, spilling rum on the floor.

He heaves and he wobbles, his balance unsteady;
Then grins as he chuckles "The eggnog is ready!"

He looks all around and with total regret,
Says "What's takin' so long? Aren't you through in here yet??"

As quick as a flash I reach for a knife;
He loses an earlobe; I wanted his life!

He flees from the room in terror and pain,
And screams "MY GOD WOMAN, YOU'RE GOING INSANE!!"

Now what was I doing, and what is that smell?
Oh, crap, it's the pies!! They're burned all to hell!!

I hate to admit when I make a mistake,
But I put them on BROIL instead of on BAKE.

What else can go wrong?? Is there still more ahead??
If this is good living, I'd rather be dead.

Lord, don't get me wrong, I love holidays;
They just leave me exhausted, all shaky and dazed.

But I promise you one thing, If I live 'til next year,
You won't find me pulling my hair out in here.

I'll hire a maid, a cook, and a waiter;
And if that doesn't work, I'LL HAVE IT ALL CATERED!

Via: Hey Joe!

I hate these things!

(not this one, though.)

You are Marcie!

Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by

Thanks to Jenna for my grin.

I am a Lert

Tank and I wath playing with the thocker ball but then he went off 'cauth he had to take a thit or thomthing. Tho, I had the thocker ball all to mythelf for a few minutth but then . . .

I thaw thomthing, tho thkrew the thocker ball!

Wath it one of the thquirrelth in the treeth that I tried to climb up after thith morning?

The pothum I thpotted on the thed roof . . . I'm not thure when?

Perhapth the thpider I barked at non-thop when I thaw it outthide a window?

I don't know what I jutht thaw but thith I do. I know I thaw thomething.

I am alwayth a Lert.

~~~~~~~
Tharbuck, the Wonderdog

Bring in the clowns

Thirteen who don't think they got a big enough piece of the pie after Katrina, have filed a lawsuit against FEMA.

The lawsuit, which seeks class-action status, wants FEMA ordered to immediately provide trailers or other housing alternatives, especially to those still in shelters, and asks that victims with larger families receive more money. -- ABC News

One of the plaintiffs, Russell and Tammy Hayward who are staying with a friend in Texas, filed an application for FEMA assistance and received a check for $2,358 but spent it on "clothes, bed linens and bath stuff."

Oh, and on "emergency dental care," too, according to this coverage from the New York Times.

(Emergency dental care?)

But since they claim FEMA didn't specifically tell them that it had to be spent on housing, now that they've spent the money they want more for housing 'cause, "I didn't go out and spend money on anything except everything anyone else has in their own home."

When FEMA found out he spent the money on items other than housing, the agency denied him additional assistance. -- again, ABC News.

The New York Times also notes the absolutely ghastly manner in which FEMA has treated Mr. William Davis, "a construction worker, [one of] 12 siblings, several of whom lived off and on in their mother's home before the hurricane." Mr. Davis was denied housing assistance by FEMA because it "generally approves only one assistance payment per household." And his brother had already applied.

Wait a minute! Weren't they staying in their mother's house?

I wonder, too, how much they all got from Red Cross and / or other programs they've received help from.

But, it doesn't matter now, does it, 'cause here come the clowns.

Picture this?

Via: Curmudgeonly & Skeptical

That which occurred

last Saturday that had been postponed.

Twenty-six started. Only ten, Da Kid (holding the Dalmation pup) one of them, completed.

Two day's before their graduation, their instructor's father died. He (on the left) insisted that the ceremony be held without him. They disagreed.

If the Chiefs insisted on having the graduation, they'd be having one without any graduates in attendance. They refused to graduate without him there.

It was postponed.

The Ten weren't supposed to have much less wear their dress shirts until after graduation.

Instead, she (the instructor on the right) shanghaied the "blank" shirts and sewed the patches to the sleeves at home, so they would have them to wear to the funeral.

Oh, and their badges, too.

Officially, Da Kid is 333. When I asked him why he wasn't 666 he explained that he's only the son of the Devil.

I'm sure he was talking about his father. Not me.

Go Grannie, go Grannie, go Grannie go

Christopher Lessner, 22, made a big mistake.

Was his big mistake stealing a vehicle, then taking off from the cops when they tried to pull him over for speeding? No. Those were mistakes, but not the big one. Another mistake Lessner made was choosing the wrong person's home to break into while he was trying to evade the police.

When Merlin, one of 66-year-old Susan Gaylord Buxton's "puppies," woke her up saying, "Gotta go!" she went to the door to let him out packing her .38 because, "There are coyotes around here." She noticed muddy footprints on her porch.

Buxton's 28-year-old granddaughter, Mandy Davis, who was staying with had also been awakened, but by the sound of breaking glass. She noticed certain items in the house were out of place.

Together, they discovered Lessner hiding in a coat closet.

Davis called 911 while Buxton, covering Lessner with her .38, told him to get down into a submissive position.

Lessner's big mistake was that he didn't do what he had been told. Instead . . .

He fumbled with the front door with one hand and reached for the gun with the other, Buxton said.

She then fired her revolver, which was loaded with hollow-point bullets, she said.

Buxton said she could have killed the man because her concealed-carry instructors taught her to aim for the torso. But she said she aimed for his leg. He was hit in the upper leg, police said. -- Star-Telegram

Additional coverage here [Bugmenot] from the Star-Telegram, ABC, the local NBC affiliate . . .

Oh, heck. Just listen to the Star-Telegram's 6-minute 911 tape BUT you may not want to do it at work. Grannie, in the background, was . . . um, a bit . . . um, perturbed.

LATER: Paul at Wizbang notes don't mess with Texas.

Thank you

Quotable Quotes

"As the French intifada spreads into its second week and across the country, the French government has a dilemma. To whom does it surrender?" -- Jack Kelly

How YOU can help

I noticed this at Michelle Malkin's blog today. She didn't write much but she didn't have to. I've had Ward (a.k.a. The Hurricane Magnet) at Operation Enduring Service blogrolled for a long time and now it's time for us to pitch in.

We are preparing to receive at least two ships (if everything goes as planned) to begin the conversion to Fast Attack Emergency Cargo Ships tHow YOU can helpo respond to disaster incidences in Coastal States (East Coast, Gulf Coast, and in some instances West Coast). It is estimated that we can remove about 27% of the federal burden for Ice, Water, and food within the first 10 hours following a CAT-4 landfall. There is also the ability to provide climate controlled medical and staging facilities for up to 40 percent of the same disaster area.

Confederate Yankee explains:

Due to time constraints the legislation required to make this happen is dangerously close to falling by the wayside-in fact it has to pass before Congress ends this Session (less than 14 days). BTC has obtained the support of a number of Congressmen and Senators. Each of the senators has the ability to submit this legislation for Operation Enduring Service and should be contacted via phone, fax or electronically and encouraged to submit this legislation immediately.

What can you do to help? Contact your Congresscritters.

Note: Hit "Ignore the ad" and go from there.

Saturday

That which was postponed occurred Saturday. I'm proud to announce I didn't have a nervous breakdown getting ready, but it was close.

I don't like arriving late to anything and with Da Kid's, as always, absolutely fantastic directions I had a general idea of where he claimed the place was.

Herself, Da Kid's fiancé, would be riding with me. Since she doesn't like arriving late to anything either, when we agreed on 3 o'clock (to make sure we wouldn't be late if Da Kid's directions were off and we had to look for the place) I knew rather than be late getting here, she'd probably be here ten minutes early and pretend she wasn't early by just sitting out in her car.

Hair bent and gooed and war paint makeup applied, at 2 o'clock I started getting dressed. I went to the bedroom closet for the outfit and it wasn't there.

I'd put it in there! I knew I'd put it in there! It had to be there!

Ten minutes later I'd torn apart the closet in the spare bedroom and hallway, too, and still no outfit. Just as I began to reach for a suit I really don't like, the outfit's sleeve popped out, I swear laughing at me screaming, "Neener! I finished dressing a few minutes later. That's when Tank said, "I GOTTA GO! NOW!"

I'd had him out just before I started getting dressed, but when he says "NOW!" he means it. And I can't just send him out the door, either. He's been having on and off problems for weeks with . . . well, if he's too loose I have to pop an Imodium into him. Always a private dumper, he's never liked anyone watching him poop so he wanders all over hoping I'll leave him the hell alone. Except I can't.

And following him, paying far more attention to where he's going to dump — if he did — so I could see what it looked like, I stepped right in the middle of an earlier . . . deposit. Big time.

It wasn't just on one of my shoes, but in it, too.

And there I am walking around the yard still following Tank — who didn't do anything after all — holding one of my pants legs folded up to my knee until we got back to the house.

Once there, I got that shoe off and just threw it in the trash.

Still holding on to the pants leg, I hopped on the other leg to the bathroom and stuck that foot under the faucet in the tub, and then proceeded very carefully to peel off the outfit's slacks. Before tossing the panty hose. I pitched the shoe on the other foot in the trash, too. HARD.

And the clock's still running.

Back to the closet for another pair of black shoes. Two from which to choose. Strappy heels or pumps. Since I haven't worn anything but flats for years (and years) my decision was the lesser of two evils. Still, I hoped I wouldn't lose my balance and topple over in the pumps.

I pulled a pair of knee-highs out of the dresser, and putting them on promptly put my thumb through the toe off each.

Since I haven't had any reason to buy hose on a regular basis for quite some time, I didn't have much else to choose from except . . . oh pa-leeze. Don't let me wreck these while I'm putting them on. Or if I do, not so bad that anyone will notice.

I looked out of the kitchen window and Herself was just pulling up right on time, of course. The clock read 2:50.

For a change, Da Kid's directions were accurate. Herself and I arrived at the church with time to spare, meaning we sat in the car yakking so that it wouldn't look like we'd gotten there way too early.

And that's when I noticed my feet.

"Oh dear gawd."

Not only haven't I had to buy panty hose on a regular basis for quite some time, I also haven't had to buy any dress shoes, either.

The black pumps on my feet were starting to turn gray, as the black on them had begun cracking and peeling away in huge flakes.

The shoes had the good grace, at least, to hold together until I got home several hours later, when walking up the back steps, the sole on the left shoe completely separated from the shoe's top.

POOF! It's gone!

After watching Intelligence Committee Chairman Pat Roberts react to the stunt pulled by Moe, Larry and Curley Reid, Schumer and Durbin the other day, I asked if anyone found a transcript of what Roberts had said, to please drop a link to it in replies.

Billo replied this morning with a link to an offical press release Roberts had issued. It read to me either exactly what Roberts had said on television, or pretty darned close to it.

I sat down to update my original entry with it (and thank Bill, of course) except the link didn't work any longer. 404. No matching document.

Okay, maybe it had been moved to a more permanent site with the rest of the senator's press releases. (Like I know?) So, I went looking for a listing of all of the senator's press releases and found that page with no problem.

And there was the press release!

November 1, 2005 - Chairman Roberts Issues Statement on Phase II of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence's Review of Pre-war Intelligence on Iraq

I clicked on the link.

It's 404.

POOF! That press release is gone!

There's an audio link still there that apparently still works, for now maybe. Who knows. Since I'm on dial-up and have an old PC, the 35 minute download time indicated wasn't worth my while since:

1. I do believe I heard Senator Roberts live, and
2. I wouldn't know what to do with the file anyway.

Perhaps the link to the press release will work again tomorrow?

Picture this?

Via Curmudgeonly & Skeptical

Temper, temper!

It's been a bad week. No, I don't mean for Dubya like some seem to think, but for the Lefty Loons.

Harriet Miers (whom the Loons seemed to absolutely love) withdraws her name from U.S. Supreme Court consideration. Dubya, they believe, has been damaged by it. "Don't you go nominating any of those originalists now," they warn, "or we'll have a hissy fit. And you can't afford that 'cause even your own conservatives hate you, now. So, ha!" The following Monday Dubya announces his nomination of Samuel Alito, a jurist who is everything Miers was not.

The Lefty Loons think Fitzmas is going to give them all they've ever dreamed of: dozens of indictments. Rove, Cheney and Bush either resigning or on the way out the door. Behind bars. Instead, some guy named Scooter that no one ever heard of gets gets five "Martha Stewart" indictments. Nothing on the Plamegate fabrications that the MSM has been helping them for over two years pass off as truth.

Ronnie Earle's two indictments, neither one looking particularly solid from the start, against Tom Delay are looking more feeble with each day that passes, and now the judge the Lefty Loons were sure would preside over the case isn't, after it's revealed he's been contributing to one of the Lefty-Loon organizations taking aim Delay in the first place.

So how do you handle all these disappointments? Easy. Make yourself look even more like Loon, of course! Throw a temper tantrum!

And if you're Senate Democratic Leader Harry Reid, you can throw a big one. You shut down the Senate's business completely by enacting a seldom-used rule for closed sessions. Oh, it's been used before but not often and any Senator can request it. But, there's a traditional courtesy involved. You let the other side know and the closed session is scheduled. Instead, surprise!

Reid demanded the Senate go into closed session. With a second by Sen. Dick Durbin, D-Ill., the public was ordered out of the chamber, the lights were dimmed, senators filed to their seats on the floor and the doors were closed.

The cameras were ready and rolling when Reid, flanked by Chuck Shumer (D-NY) and Dick Durbin (D-Ill), came out.

As Reid spoke, Majority Leader Bill Frist met in the back of the chamber with a half-dozen senior GOP senators, including Intelligence Committee Chairman Pat Roberts, who bore the brunt of Reid's criticism. Reid said Roberts reneged on a promise to fully investigate whether the administration exaggerated and manipulated intelligence leading up to the war.

Later, voice shaking, Roberts let Reid have it.

I haven't been able to find a transcript (If anyone stumbles across it, please drop the link in a reply.) of what Roberts said, so all I have is memory which may not be completely accurate. Even if it isn't, I think it's close enough.

That investigation Reid's talking about? Roberts (R), Intelligence Committee Chairman, said it's been done since May but the committee still hasn't been able to finalize and release it. The delay?

The Democrats. Those who've been quoted in it saying Saddam had WMD can't seem to find the time to verify they made those statements and if they did, what the basis for their statement was, or even deny that they made the statements attributed to them.

They keep begging off, Roberts said, because they have so many other pressing things to attend to.