The Strange Life of Ted "Theodore" Logan.

I was talking to my buddy Frank at work about the up coming Bill and Ted 3 which is in development. My end of the conversation naturally progressed in the direction of The "Ted" theory on Keanu Reeves's movies: All characters portrayed by Keanu Reeves is a different stage of Ted "Theodore" Logan. Frank naturally showed skepticism, and I did not have time to go into details, so here it is: The Strange Life of Ted "Theodore" Logan.

Shortly after the end of their Excellent Adventure, Wyld Stallyns were in a financial slump, and dear Bill and Ted parted ways. At a particularly low point in Ted's life, he knocked up Martha Plimpton.
You may remember Martha from her adventures with the Goonies. Her sleeping with the potential rock star Ted was a way at lashing out at her parents. Suddenly finding himself hit with the responsibility of being a parent, Ted follows in his father's footsteps and decides to go into law enforcement. Martha Plimpton is against this, and the couple parts ways. The bright side of this point is that Ted finds he has a surprising acumen for law enforcement, testing extremely high on all tests. This catches the attention of the FBI, who recruit young Ted directly from the academy and puts him to work immediately, using his youthful appearance and grasp of surfing vernacular to assist in catching a gang of bank robbers. 

The emotional toll of an undercover operation proved too much for young Ted, but he felt that he could use this as fuel for his songwriting. Ted resigned from the FBI. Debts quickly caught up with our young hero. Falling behind on child support and the future looking bleak, Ted was brought in by his good friend Bill. They shared an apartment together and quickly picked up where they had left off, reforming Wyld Stalyns. They were a huge financial and musical success.
 
It wasn't long before the music world became too much for Ted. In his heart, he knew that he could do more for the world if he went back into law enforcement. Plus, with the advent of music piracy, the income from the band just wasn't enough to ensure that he could pay his child support and support his new family. Ted left the band, however he could not return to the FBI, so Ted signed on with the LAPD. The move did not sit well with the princess he married, however, as this decision came shortly after the beating of Rodney King. She left him. The loss of a second chance at a family drove Ted to excel at his job, thriving on the anger and resentment deep within. His excellence as an unshakable officer of the law drew the attention of a mad man. This individual planted a bomb on a city bus that would explode if it dropped under 50 mph. Driven to prove himself, Ted almost single handedly saved the citizens on the bus, winning the heart of Annie (the civilian who took over driving duties after the bus driver sustained a gunshot wound.) But relationships that start under intense circumstances, they never last. Annie left Ted shortly after the romance had begun.

 It wasn't long after that he met a young Charlize Theron. She inspired him to look beyond practicing law with a gun, and instead practice it in the courtroom. Ted studied hard and eventually graduated as a lawyer. To make a long story short - The encounter that Bill and Ted had with The Devil years ago on their second adventure came back and bit him in the ass. Hard. In the form of Al Pacino.

Devestated, Ted  resigned from law practice. He looked on the legal system now as the one thing that had driven everything he loved away. He went to a technical institute and earned his computer degree. He found that he had a second calling. Soon, however, this would prove to be more challenging than he thought. Through a series of odd situations, a threat from a seemingly super-powered agent, and an invitation from Lawrence Fishburne (it should be noted that Ted is easily swayed by dudes in trench coats with cool sunglasses), Ted adoped the name Neo. He borrowed heavily from the dress sense of his former mentor Rufus, and essentially saved the human race from being batteries.
 

Since even simple computer work proved to be too much, Ted decided to go into a specialized private practice. As he has had experience with fire arms, investigation, mystical powers, and has dealt with the Devil himself (twice), the natural progression was to investigate and terminate all demonic activity on the planet. 

Having succeeded at this, and there being no more demons left to destroy that weren't personal, Ted once again turned his hardened eyes at law enforcement. Unfortunately, this once again resulted in a huge downward spiral that lead to the death of his new-found friend, the discovered corruption of his entire unit, and he was only saved from the mouth of Perdition it's self by TV's irascible Dr. House disguised as an Internal Affairs investigator.

And now we are up to speed (get it?) on what's been going on with Ted. We'll have to wait until the next installment of Bill and Ted to find out what happens next.

Thank you.

Poking the Bear with a Stick

Sometimes it just doesnt pay to poke the bear with the stick. Other times, well, other times it's just fun.


Him: [Loud belch while exiting the bedroom]
Me: "WHAT! You just sounded like a LIVING ORGANISM."
Him: [Pokes head back into bedroom and quirks an eyebrow at me]

Yeah. I actually said that.



After a long ramble about all of the fun things we're going to teach the baby.


Me: "You do know how to change oil in a car, right?"
Him: "Yes." [Glare + Defensive Posture]
Me: "I know how to check the oil in my car."
Him: [Staring out the window in the vain hope that I'll shut up]
Me: "You just make a really sad face and look cute, and someone will do it for you."
Him: [Long sigh]

I'm pretty sure he's rethinking this whole him + me = procreation of the gremlin thing.



While waiting together at an office a woman walked in with a newborn. A brand new newborn. I got all gooey and melty and turned to Chris who was holding our at the time 3 month old.


Me: "AWWWW! Dont you want another one??"
Him: [I could hear his testicle shriveling on the spot] "I like this one just fine. We dont need another."
Me: [Big sad eyes]
Him: "Well if you really want another one, we could talk about it. But I really like the one we already have."

To clarify, I dont want another baby. I just like yanking his chain.

Worst. Tea Party. Ever.

I rarely wax political, but I'm feeling patriotic and want to vent a bit. I again came across this handy soapbox to stand on, but not for too long as this box will need to house a family of 5 in the coming months.

Debt deal. Right. So we're going to cut spending, raise the debt ceiling, create absolutely no new jobs, give the minority portion of the Republican Party an overly compromised plan that they still complain about, and solve pretty much nothing. The stock market plummets. Surely more people will lose jobs as companies have to make sure stock holders are appeased. Nothing in this debt deal allows for extended unemployment benefits, so people losing these jobs are doubly screwed. The International Union for the Conservation of Nature has put the middle class on the Endangered Species list. Pretty sure there's a refuge somewhere in Minnesota for them. The poor...well, business as usual on this end. It'd be nice if politicians actually checked on their constituents that can't afford the $1000 a plate fund raising dinners. 

I remember Obama running on the campaign of Hope and Change. Hope waved bye-bye a while back. The Change is sure covered. It consists of what I have left after every paycheck. The Office of the President has gone from being the most powerful man on the planet to Samson with a receding hairline. He's pretty much powerless to stop an overly vocal splinter cell of zealots that has their own party backing away slowly and heading to the fire escape. 


I'm not an economist or a politician, but it seems to me the quickest way to pull us out of financial hell would be to throw some regulations at the oil industry. You know...those guys recording record profits while you shell out $4.00 a gallon at the gas pump, paying a good chunk of your paycheck just to make sure you can get to work. You know...so you have gas money. So you don't have money to spend on other things. I'm pretty sure every industry we have is in some way tied down to needing oil. Save for maybe the Internet. But even then you need a device to get TO the internet, or to create things ON the internet, so there are parts and equipment that need shipped. Which requires gas and oil. So yeah, there goes that idea. 


"But Chris...there's a shortage of oil!" Yep. I'm sure there is. Still doesn't explain how oil companies are making huge profits. Only an exponential mark up on the product would do that. So why not regulate that mark up, bring it down to something reasonable - I mean, they still have to make profit and all - lowering the price at the pump, leaving Americans with more money available for spending elsewhere, boosting the economy all around, and making everyone happy? 


On a final note - Could you, our representatives in Washington - please stop taking money away from education and instead start putting money into it? I'd appreciate it if my offspring could get an education that ranks higher than Latvia. No offense to the good people of Latvia, but you are under the rule of Dr. Doom and I'm not a fan of the Doom-bots being smarter than our children.


T.I.A.


Silence Dogood.

Staycation Vol 2

In the last blog post I mentioned that Chris was on vacation last week. The purpose was two fold. Aside from giving me a break, there were a few things that needed to be worked on outside the house. The list was short but the headache factor was long. Gutters, edging the weeds around the house and shed, and something else that escapes my feeble brain. However, I know it was 3 things because the list was nailed to our door by the HOA lady. The things that needed repair were things we knew about, but being a single income family with one person working full time to pay the bills and the other one staying at home full time to care for a small infant, it's all we can do to keep up with the regular stuff.

Frankly, that lady ought to keep her damn mouth shut. When we took over this house, there were massive repairs needed. Massive. Cosmetic, structural, and the in between. The people living here before us were terrible tenants. Wait, let me back up. When Chris and I found out we were pregnant, we were living in this little one bedroom house about 20min away from our current residence. The house was very small and was made of concrete. It used to be the orange grove manager's house back when the property was part of an orange grove. We loved the house and the landlady was excellent. The only blight on our happiness there were the neighbors, who had moved out several months prior to the pee stick showing up with two lines. Unfortunately, when we found out we were having a baby we knew we had to move. There simply wasnt enough room for the baby in that house.

Chris and I were looking at places to rent but couldnt find anything affordable. Things were looking a little grim, until my sister's father approached us. He had this home (a double wide trailer) and while he owned the trailer he couldnt afford the lot rent and the mortgage on his home so he asked us if we would like it. He told us up front that the house needed a lot of work, because his wife's kids (not my mother) had been living there and hadnt made any repairs. Being that they were his wife's kids, he was trying to be polite about it but the Gods honest truth is that they were fucking pigs, and destroyed this house. The kids (although they are well into their 20's with children of their own I cannot help but think of them as kids) werent being thrown out, they decided to move out on their own and knew Chris and I were taking over the house because I was pregnant yet when we came here to begin our repairs the place was a fucking pigsty. I could not believe it. I didnt leave our rental property that way for our landlady, yet here I am, psuedo-family and pregnant, and they left food out, trash on the floors, smegma on all of the doors and floors, empty cigarette packs all over, toys that were damaged/disgusting left to rot in the front yard.

Hold onto your hats, because it gets better. Or worse, depending on your point of view. The first order of business was to take everything in the front yard to the dump. This wasnt an overnight process, as in they moved out one night and the next day we took it all. There was about a month's time where they could have come and picked it up. Yet when we took it to the dump they were all kinds of pissed. My thought process is if you gave a damn about the items in question you wouldnt have left it in the front yard for anybody to steal during the interim of you moving out and us taking control of the property but I guess they were a little short on logic.

The rude awakenings continued. Some of them we were aware of, others were sort of sprang on us. The ones we were aware of: one functioning bathroom, thermostat and back door needing to be replaced, flooring laid, drywall hung, and repainting. The things we werent aware of: A mouse problem (from the food they left behind), a serious bug infestation, a mold problem (from where the gutter had fallen and the strategically placed window left open), no water because there was a leak in the one working bathroom and instead of capping it off or fixing it (God forbid) they CUT THE LINE and left it to ruin the SUBFLOOR which meant no working bathroom either and, one last item of note. This was the final thing lobbed our way that blew my mind.

Sister's Father: "Honey, you're going to need to paint the subfloor before you lay any carpet or tile."
Me: "Paint the subfloor?" Huh, why would I do that?
Sister's Father: "Yeah, just go to Home Depot or Walmart and pick up a can of Killz. Paint the subfloors with it."
Me: "I've never heard of that. Why do I need to do that?"
Sister's Father: "Well, they had this goat..."

What the BALLS? WHO WHAT I JUST DONT UNDERSTAND! The kids had gotten one of their children a pet goat and since this is a high class trailer park, you cant keep a goat outside. So what do the fucking geniuses do? KEPT. IT. INSIDE.

When Chris and I realized the amount of work we'd bitten off for ourselves, I think we both had panic attacks. Let's face it, I cant figure out how to hook up the DVD player to the TV. Chris is better but not by much. Give me a sick person and give him a computer and we're both in our zone. Home repairs? Forget it.

We were leaning on friends and family, calling in favors, giving the BSE's and even tried to pay a few people to get work done on the house. For me, having my first baby on the way and the house in such a wreck, I was a mess. Chris tried his best but he was working full time and trying to do repairs on the weekend. There's nothing like being pregnant and having your home situation a giant question mark. Yeah, we had a house, but how could we move into it without water? I tried to spend my meager settlement wisely but the truth was we were carrying two houses for four months and were in way over our heads with the repairs. There wasnt enough zeros in our bank account to fix that mess.

As I look around the house I still see things undone but we've come so far from where we were. We had help from our friends and family. My mother's husband stepped up in a big way. He took his entire vacation to come down to our house and spent an entire week repairing everything he could. I am pleased to report that the major stuff was finished and with no time to spare. His vacation was in March and the baby came in April. Everything else that needs to be fixed just comes down to money. There just isnt enough spare change in the budget to buy the transition pieces need for the floors, we're out of paint, and out of patience. The baby is here, so the more important things are going to be baby proofing the house for when she gets mobile. We'll worry about pretty later.

So when the notice was tacked onto our door by the HOA lady it was a huge insult. I mean, we spent months cleaning up the mess of the previous tenants and she wants to bitch about little things like weeds and a gutter. That lady is dumb. Still, Chris did the work and repaired what was on the list plus a few things extra. She can die in a fire.

Staycation Vol 1

***Warning***
This post is about our daughter. If you dont like baby humor, turn back now. If you have children that have outgrown puking and pooping on you, be warned this post may cause violent flashbacks to your children's early years.

Chris was on vacation this week. One morning last week he woke up and realized I was one dirty diaper away from tottering over to the Skyway Bridge with a rum bottle in hand and taking a swan dive.** He decided to use his vacation time. You know what that means. Mommy was on vacation! Yes! I would love to report that I spent this time in a pill induced daze, washing all of them down with liquor but alas, our budget didnt reach that far.** I did, however, happily take advantage of him being home and he stepped up like a champ.

Which brings me to this blog post. This week, Chris and I decided to switch the baby's formula to one with a soy base, instead of milk. We were concerned that she might have a mild milk allergy so he made the trip to Walmart all by his onesie at O-dark-30, bringing home the new formula to give it a go. The change was almost immediate. She began napping easily during the day for longer stretches, where before she hardly napped at all. Her spit up changed in that it was not as prolific and it stopped looking like Rorschach blots. I'm glad, because it was really creeping me out how often I saw Elvis formed in the goob spots on her clothes.

The only downside to this was some constipation. We'd gone through this before with the change in her formula from the first time, so we figured it was just her little tummy getting used to the change. She finally had a bowel movement the second day after changing her formula (most babies go twice a day, she was only going once a day regularly). We talked it over. Actually, no we didnt. Discuss it, that is. All through my pregnancy I had this idea in my head that Chris was going to have to make some adjustments. I'm fairly laid back and so is he, but I was certain that when the baby came the more autocratic parts of my nature would shine. Well, it has. But Chris's are far, far worse and it's me who's had to do the adjusting. He absolutely hates for his precious little snowflake to be in discomfort of any kind. Not because she's fussy, or crying, but because she is his precious little snowflake who should not have to endure anything, ever.

Where was I? Ah, so we were at the part of our non discussion.

Him: "We should give her some prune juice to help her along."
Me: "If you're sure..."
Him: *Stare*

I went and fixed the bottle like the good baby mama I am and returned with it. He fed it to her and I sighed, certain of what was going to happen. We've had to do the prune juice routine before (everything at the pediatrician's recommendation) and it's been successful. In fact, there was one time when it was just a little too successful. This was months ago, when we first switched her formula over. It was a weekend day, and after feeding the gremlin prune juice I noticed that her diaper had turned an interesting shade of brown. As I had been changing the bulk of the diapers that day, I told Chris it was his turn. He stood up after taking the baby in his arms, and immediately we heard a squelching sound, then some interesting 'splats'. Her diaper had pretty much hit critical mass and with one final victorious fart, she sent shit shooting out the side. It landed mostly on Chris, and some on the floor. Where was I, you ask? Well, I was seated on my couch, laughing too hard to be of any use.

You can see why I might have had some hesitation in offering prune juice again, but Chris had already won that round. This evening, a few hours after giving her the juice, Chris was looking pretty worn out. I took the baby from him to give him a break. After feeding her some of the soy formula I had her on my shoulder, burping her. She's been praticising her ninja moves, because she somehow managed to find a hole in the burp cloth and spit up an interesting mix of formula and prune juice down my side. While I was burping her I noticed she was pooping so I held her upright against my other side and let her finish. Not long after that I noticed a giant brown stain forming on the white tank top I was wearing. Yup, poop was coming out everywhere.

I was not thrilled about being shat upon. Who would be? These things certainly werent in any of the parenting brochures that were handed out with such abundance that we could have wall papered the entire house with them. They pointed out all of the positives of having a baby, about why babies cry, and everything else, but no one ever said, "They shit on you. A lot." In my opinion, this is the sort of thing they should warn you about. I suppose if someone is going to shit on me in my life, the baby is the least offensive option. I'm not admitting to any weird fetishes here, I'm just saying that if it has to be anybody, the baby is the most likely to survive the event.

Chris, being awesome, took her to the nursery and started to clean her up. I went to take a shower, making it clear to Chris not to hand her off until she was done. He assumed that because nothing was coming out of her ass while he was cleaning her up, that meant that she was done and handed her off to me. What happens next? Yeah, she shit on me some more. The only bright spot in this was that we were in the hot shower already with soap and a clear drain readily available.

I wish that it were over. I really do. But no. This morning, more of the same. She woke up with a dirty diaper (unusual) then she pooped again within an hour and when Chris handed her over to me to go run an errand, she let out some wet farts. I went through 7 diapers in about 10 minutes. Every time I changed her, she pooped, or peed, or both, or left skid marks. Any parent will tell you that 7 diapers in a row is excessive. To the Good People of Diaperland, you fought bravely, your sacrifice was noble. This mama appreciates the fight you put up but alas, my daughter's bowel movements proved too much for you.

She's laying down now. I pray she is finished. I have A&D up to my elbows and the last of my Diaper Soldiers are quivering in fear. Please Lord, let this be the end, for now.

**These might be slight exaggerations.

A Reminder that there are Bears "Outside"

Sometimes things from your past can be a good thing. Like last night, when Chris and I were returning from a dinner out with some friends and this came on:



Then there are other things, that turn out to be not so good. Like today, when we went out for a walk in a local park. Chris and I had both spent a lot of time there (separately) years ago, and it's the closest park to our current residence. It's also heavily shaded which we counted a plus, and it used to be free. When we made the decision to go today, there was a nice breeze blowing, the baby was awake and happy, and there were no storm clouds moving in (even though this is Florida's season for daily showers).

We got off to a good start.

Me: "Do we want the stroller or should we bring the baby carrier?"
Him: "Let's bring the baby carrier. She likes to sit up anyway."

A few minutes pass, filled with furious movement in order to capture the moment before it passed. Wardrobe changes all around (read: I put something other than my pajamas), bottle making, diaper bag filling, etc. We get everything all packed into the car including the baby when Chris asks:

Him: "Did you bring the baby carrier?"
Me: "Whoops."

He trotted back in and was out in a flash carrying the item in question. I'd really like to say in my defense that I've never actually forgotten the baby. I may have forgotten all matter of items from her vast array of baby paraphenalia but not the baby herself. It doesnt count until you leave the driveway, dammit.

Somewhere between the time I turned the ignition in the car to leave and our arrival to the park the breeze decided to take itself elsewhere. Then, as we rolled into the parking space we were confronted with this:


If we'd had an ounce of sense we would have taken it for the omen that it was. Alas, as only new parents can be, we were too excited by the prospect of taking our baby to a favorite spot from our youth.

It had been many years since Chris and I had actually been there. It's a tiny park near a local airport and if you dont know it's there you would probably miss it. As luck would have it, we found it on the first pass and were a bit disappointed to see the sign above. The park used to have a voluntary donation box and when I had the money I would always drop a few bucks in. Because I didnt have any cash on me, I spent the entire walk half paranoid that we would get arrested and the car would be towed because we werent able to pay. As a single income family we embrace little things like 'Free' when going out of the house.

The park itself is still in pretty good condition but there used to be shell gravel on the ground through all of the pathways. There was still shell gravel but it was mostly towards the front and I found out rather early that I had worn the wrong shoes. They were getting stuck in the mud. Oh the humanity. As we got a little farther down one of the paths a smell assaulted my nose. I can only describe it as sour, like rotting apples. If you've ever been around an untended apple orchard you know what I speak of. Then, we had a cloud of mosquitos escorting us. When I say it was a cloud, I do not exaggerate. They were buzzing around us, ready to carry us off to their lair and steal all of our blood. If I didnt have mad skills with the burping cloth I brought, it's likely we would have been a sad tale on the 6 o'clock news.

But we soldiered on, with one goal in mind, getting to the archway. There used to be this beautiful little archway that was covered with the prettiest flowers. It was probably one of the few redeeming qualities this Godforsaken state offers. My mouth hung open in disappointment. The flowers had been cleared away and the top of the arch taken off, and painted white. Disappointment does not fully encompass what I felt.

This is just a friendly reminder that there are Bears Outside, that you can never go home again, that change sucks, and all of those other adages that apply.

Updates, Rants, and Widgets

I'm eating Charleston Chews for dinner, so this post could be really good or really bad. We'll know by the end. The painful, bitter end.

Thursday night I told Chris I had some good news. He asked me if Nila (the cat we pseudo rescued) ran away. Well, no, but we found someone that was traveling to North Carolina on Friday and was willing to take her with him. I met with the nice man the next day. I am pleased to announce he was not a serial killer or creeper. He was a very handsome Army soldier who was 'not a cat person' but was very concerned for Nila's comfort and well being. Proving that no good deed goes unpunished, Nila promptly got the runs on Friday night. The poor guy had to give the cat a bath and then couldnt put her back in the carrier. So the second leg of the trip Nila was curled up on the soldier's lap. As if that wasnt bad enough, she refused to eat unless she was hand fed. So here is this buff, tough Army man, with a kitty curled in between his legs, hand feeding her for the second half of the trek to North Carolina. The next time you see military personnel, give them your thanks. They put up with some crazy shit on foreign and domestic soil.

Oh, it just got serious. I opened up the Swedish fish. Actually I need to fortify myself for this next bit.

The War of the Stinky Roses has been won. I was holding my own but then Chris struck a bargain with the Gremlin and the two of them ganged up on me. First, the Gremlin farted on me, twice, bare assed. Then, one evening Chris and I were laying in bed, when he ripped a horrid fart. The fan in our bedroom made sure to blow it directly on me and I had the bad timing to be inhaling when this event happened. I am not sure what crawled up his ass and died, I just know something did. It brought tears of pain to my eyes. Gah!

The Reading Rainbow is going well. I havent finished Abe Lincoln, Vampire Hunter yet. I got to part three and I actually like it. The problem I have with a book like that is separating fact from fiction but Chris says that basically everything but the vampire parts really happened. So, I know more than I ever thought possible about Abe Lincoln. Unfortunately, Chris brought his Pirates! books home from work the other night and I picked one up when I wanted some lighter reading. I'm reading the Pirates! In an Adventure with Ahab and I'm not sure if I like it or not. I get that it's a book of ridiculous gibberish (and he mocks my romance novels) but the author will have little notations at the bottom of the page that appear to be facts. I expect them to be facts with the way they are worded and they are just good enough to be believeable. Well, that and I am gullible. But then some of the notations are a little too wild and I get mad, because I feel like the author is just trying to screw with me. Chris hasnt started the romance novel yet, but that's because I've been lazy and havent picked one. I guess I'm waiting til I get to the end of ALVH before I decide how painful I'm going to make it for him.

Yesterday we attended a baby shower. It was the best damn baby shower because it had beer. Listen, you might find this hard to believe, but any social situation where you have to be around people you barely know (or dont at all) besides the host/hostess is bound to be a snooze fest. Alcohol can save the day. Trust me on this. The gremlin was very well behaved. Even when she puked on two people she was at least polite about it, and made sure to give them big slobbery grins to make up for her faux pas. I can see we have some work to do on her manners. I can only say that she gets this from Chris.

Today, Chris and I were working hard on the house. And by 'Chris and I' I really mean Chris. 2pm rolled around and Chris made some noises about 'being tired' but I made my escape anyway. I'd like to say that I went to Margaritaville but actually it was just Steak n Shake. I consider it the same thing though because the chili there makes me euphoric. And hopefully I'll be able to fire a few return shots tonight. I was having a grand time until Chris messaged me that his knee blew out while he was helping our neighbors move a refrigerator. Good times, good times. On the way home I was ranting to my mother about the situation waiting for me at home and dropped the 'C' word. You know, I've got a new respect for my mom, because she wasnt even phased. There was a delicate pause, then she said, "Oooh. I guess she is mad." Fuckin A. I love my mom.


I also want to touch on something that happened last night. I was on Facebook, minding my own business (See: Playing as many of the free apps as the gremlin would let me) when a message came through on my inbox. It was one of those forwarded things about 'Breast Cancer Awareness'. According to the message, this year we're supposed to put our shoe size in our status as inches with a little frowny face. I guess I had hit my bullshit limit for the day and fired back a Reply to All with some fairly salty language about the lack of sincerity and if they're actually interested in raising awareness they should look into doing the 3 Day walk or a couple of other charities I listed. I got a nastygram for my offensive language (I guess that's the risk you run when being included in a chain letter nobody wants to fucking read anyway) and the original poster stated that she was only forwarding from a teen who'd asked her too.

Look, I wont even get into a debate about the appropriateness of a teen putting 'inches' into her status update but I will say I checked online and I'm pretty sure breast cancer awareness month is October. So why are we doing this shit now? Secondly, I dont care about your copy/pasted status update. If you dont have the passion for something to at least make a sincere, honest post about a cause, dont waste my fucking time. I dont give a damn what color your underwear are, what fruit, or what shoe size. I dont care about your Jesus Loves You and the Soldiers are saving babies in the Middle East but 90% wont repost horseshit. Chris found an awesome update about Pandas. It goes like this:

"PLEASE put this as your status if you know someone (or are related to someone) who has been eaten by pandas. Pandas are nearly unstoppable, and when hungry, also breathe fire. 71% of people won't copy this into their status because they have already been eaten by pandas, 28% are hiding in their showers with fire extinguishers awaiting the coming pandocalypse, and the remaining 1% are awesome and will re-post."

I loved it! But couldnt repost on general principle. Besides, the people who it's directed at probably wouldnt get it anyway. I hope that the person either unfriended me or has the common sense not to include me in a chain letter again. I'm probably wrong about that.

In closing, I will say quite sincerely that a good friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer at age 27. She likely would not have discovered anything was wrong had she not found the lump when breast feeding her son. She fought the good fight and is still with us. Her experience tells us that early self breast exams are a good idea. Save the ta-ta's!