Do You Realize?

Letter to the Person Who Stole My Purse Yesterday

Dear Degenerate Asshole Madam:

Yesterday you hit the jackpot. You scored yourself a Louis Vuitton Batignolles bag! Congratulations! Oh, you don't know what that is? Its the fine-ass purse you stole off the back of some distracted, unsuspecting woman's chair yesterday. That woman would be me, and I'm fucking enraged slightly miffed.

Yes, I understand that you probably needed the cash in my wallet for your next meth fix diapers. I get that; really, I do. But couldn't your skanky ass you have just taken the cash and left the wallet? I've had it for six years; it's one of the few things I bought for myself at the market in Florence. The zipper doesn't even reliably work anymore, but it's filled with memories.

Yes, I know that you thought my credit cards would come in handy. But I had those cancelled before you made it to the corner store for your Mickey's Malt Liqor and cigarettes, bitch school supplies. And the DMV knows my driver's license number was stolen, so the driver's license won't do you a damn bit of good, even if by some miracle you looked even slightly like me or thought of stealing my identity. (But I know you weren't planning that, silly.) You can use my Kroger Shopping Rewards card if you'd like, though. I didn't cancel it.

Yes, I realize that you think my purse looks fantastic with your crack whore chic wardrobe. However, that purse will never hold memories for you. You'll never be able to say your husband picked it out all on his own one Christmas, then sent you on a scavenger hunt to find it, filled with Butterfingers, at the end. But you'll have memories, too, girl. Like, remember that one time I saw that woman minding her own business at Subway and she forgot her purse and so I stole that mofo? Those were the days!

Oh, yes, I'm certain that my son's Nintendo DS will make one of your young 'uns very happy. But what will the other five think of you playing favorites? Oh, I know; just tell them they can have something out of the next purse you steal. That will fix everything.

Thank you for making my life a nightmare for a few days, having to have my car towed and re-chipped because you now have my damn car keys, having to have my safety deposit box drilled out because you now have my damn bank key, and having to change the locks on my house because you now have my address and my fucking house key, too!

Fuck off and die,
Lori

P.S. I really and sincerely hope that karma is real and that you will be reincarnated as a pubic louse living on a meth addict.

The journey of a life. (For Eldest...)

Today I'm on a journey.  I'm on a physical, six hour journey to what right now seems to be the end of the earth. I'm on an emotional, seventeen-years-in-the-making journey to what right now seems to be an impossible acceptance. I'm driving Eldest, my firstborn, my magical girl, to college.

What will happen when we get there?

Will I choke? Will it be upon words that I haven't said, out of pride, or on words that I have said, in anger?

Will I cry? Will they be tears of relief, knowing that she possesses the heart of a warrior, or will they be tears of despair, knowing that she also possesses the heart of a little girl?

Will I die? Will my heart implode, folding upon itself from the weight of her leaving, or will it explode like so much dynamite with the joy of vicarious freedom?

I have known, or should have known, for seventeen years that this day would come. How selfish of me now to feel that I am being cheated out of one last year with her. Heaven (if there is such a Place) knows that I have all-to-easily and glibly voiced my desire for this day to hurry up. How silly of me now to wish it away.

But I am. And I do. Because this journey is not mine alone, nor the accompanying feelings. This is a journey that has been made since time immemorial. These are feelings that a multitude of mothers have endured since time began.

Time alone will tell what will happen today. I suspect that, yes, I will choke, and I will cry, and a part of me might die. But another part of me, a part of which I am exceedingly proud, will start to live today.

For those who were wondering...

...Shaun & Stan's memberships were denied, Tori & Dean went on a mini-vacation, SuperCr3w pwned, The Amazing Race is almost here... and Opcon-A Opthalmic eyedrops, when used too liberally in a single eye, can cause one of your pupils to dilate, sending you into a frenzied inventory of your current brain function and motor skills, paranoid that you are suffering a brain aneurysm.

But, luckily, you aren't.

And neither am I.

And that was a totally hypothetical situation.

Maybe...

Sore Sports

Today I was planning to write a post about my first bicycle ride in a year or more. I rode ten miles yesterday, three of them with 27 pounds of groceries. (I now feel as if I've had repeated rough sex with a bull elephant seal.)

However, I was reading the sports news this morning, and started wondering about how Mark Spitz reacted when Michael Phelps broke his single-Olympic record of seven gold medals; Phelps made Olympic history last night, winning his eighth, with the help of three teammates. When I read this article, I decided to change my post. It's still about soreness and sports, just in different terms.

Apparently, Mark Spitz is sore that the International Olympic Committee did not invite him to watch Michael break his record, nor hang Phelps's medals around his neck. Perhaps they did this because, in 2004, when Phelps first attempted to break his record, he was invited, and he made such a big deal about not getting any face time on television, they thought the better of a second invitation. Perhaps they did this because, even in his prime, he was an ass, disliked by his teammates for his detachedness and propensity for playing mind games. Perhaps they did it because Mark Spitz is always determined to make things all about Mark Spitz, and this day should have been (and was, thanks to Spitz's absence) about Michael Phelps.

This woman, Debbie Schlussel, has nothing but glowing praise to lavish upon Mark Spitz; she seems to think he must shit rose petals and purple unicorn dust. She demands from one commenter, who points out that she spoke with a former Olympic alternate who greatly disliked Mark Spitz, to know names, NAMES of people who actually knew Mark Spitz and felt this way, because SURELY no one who knew Mark Spitz could think that he doesn't shit rose petals and purple unicorn dust, yo.

Well, let's see. I'll venture that his former Olympic teammate, Steve Genter, felt that way. Genter, even after suffering a partially collapsed lung and surgery to repair it less than a week prior, and broken stitches in the first leg of the race in question, Genter was leading with 25 meters to go. Spitz only beat him, bleeding wound and all, to the gold medal by less than two meters. Afterward, Genter angrily revealed that Spitz had spent the time before the race trying to convince him not to compete; Debbie Schlussel would no doubt say it was concern, but Genter, knowing Mark Spitz, felt it was more of an attempt to psych him out, knowing Genter was Spitz's main competition.

Spitz also wants the world to know that he probably could have taken eight medals, too, if they'd only had the 50 meter freestyle, as they do now. AND he wants the world to know that Michael Phelps will probably break his record because they are so much alike.

Not on your life, Mark Spitzer. Michael Phelps is loved by his teammates and the world can see his humility and love for the sport, not just someone who is in it for himself and all the fame he can wring out of it. Bottom line: Yes, it would have been nice to have a supportive, humble, quiet Mark Spitz at Beijing when Phelps broke his record. However, knowing Spitz's propensity for self-aggrandizing when he should be there just to bear witness to Olympic history in the making, I'm supportive of the IOC's decision not to bend over backwards to make sure he was specifically singled out and invited. If he wanted to be there for the love of the sport and to support Phelps, he should have called Phelps or his people and asked for tickets, but not on anyone's dime but his own. And don't expect a camera to lovingly caress your face every time you open your mouth.

There are so many more issues I have with the Phelps naysayers that I can't even address them here and stay on-topic. I will, however, say that to minimize Phelps's success based on the argument that increased technology (better suits, pools, strokes, etc.) made it all possible is ridiculous. Perhaps these people missed the part about Phelps being a physiological anomaly perfectly suited to swimming. The man is a phenomenal athlete, and it's time to give him his due.

Photo Hunt Saturday--Colorful

This week's theme is: Colorful. And since I love colorful photographs, I have a few to share this week.

This colorful anthias is a fascinating little fish. The female to male ratio in a "cloud" of anthias can be as high as 36 to 1. All anthias start life as a female; when the harem's male dies, the highest ranking female changes sex and becomes the new male.

This colorful shot was taken one night in Austin, Texas, when fireworks started up as we were just walking down the street. I haven't eaten at Jo's yet, but it's been packed every morning we've ever driven past.

And, finally, I couldn't resist including this one, even though the composition is not great. I saw this super colorful Cow Parade cow when I was visiting RedMolly in Portland, Oregon, last summer. I love cows. I love Cow Parade cows. If I could have stuffed him in my trunk, I would have.

Edited to add: I always visit the sites of those who have visited me each week. If I do not leave a comment, it is because I can't for whatever reason; most often it is because the comments on your site have been set up to accept only Google bloggers or OpenID. I will reply to those people here at my blog. If I haven't replied here, I have done so at your blog! Thanks!

Discourteous...

...people drive me batshit crazy! I'm on a "discourtesy sucks" tear right now. My neighbors, they have no common courtesy. Drives me nuts.

On Monday, we're supposed to receive a package from UPS from Amazon. Said package never comes. On Tuesday, I spend forty minutes of my day waiting in the Guantanamo-Bay-prison-cell-sized UPS office while they look quizzically at the computer at the "Delivered" status and digging through the warehouse and trying to reach the driver. They finally reach the driver, who proceeds to say, "Well, I know I delivered something to 1274 Whispering Pines (neighbors who are rarely home), but I didn't have anything for 1270 (us, who were home all day Monday). Ummmm, you know what Brown can do for me? Don't be hiring fucking dyslexics for drivers; that job requires reading skills to deliver my shit! So I go next door, and... SURPRISE! The neighbors aren't home. Later that night I trudge over there again, and the neighbor hands over my package. My package that is properly addressed, and my package that has my name and telephone number emblazoned on the address label. Might this inconsiderate boob of a neighbor have taken 30 seconds to pitch my package on the correct doorstep or even give me a jingle to tell me to come get my own fucking package?

Also on Monday, I notice a strange red truck parked on the curb next to our house. It's a framing contractor, and we're not having any work done. Our neighbors (different unthinking neighbor), however, are, and there's another truck in front of their house. There was plenty of room for this framing contractor to park in front of the correct house, but he'd rather park next to a random stranger's house, one who doesn't want his creepy ass parking there!

Last night, we return from errands in Plano to find our across-the-street neighbors having a party, with two party-goers parked in front of our house, one of them blocking one end of our driveway! AAAAAARRRGH!

Now, I understand that since our house sits on a corner, it has more parking real estate available than others. And I understand that since we have a circular driveway, we could theoretically use the other end of the driveway. But part of what we paid for this house no doubt was the "corner lot" distinction. And why should I be required to back out of our driveway with one car to let the other car out, just so that some idiotic boob can park wherever he wants? And, maybe it's just me, but if I need to have someone park in front of a neighbor's house, I'm going to go knock on their door & ask them or at least give them a heads-up and give them the opportunity to say, "Fine, but please don't block my motherfucking driveway! Thank you for asking!"

</rant>

Crime & Punishment (and forgiveness, too, please)

Just a few months after we moved from Georgia to Texas, Texas was in the national news as a young Dallas area policeman was fatally shot by one (or more) of a group of seven convicts escaped from prison.

The Texas Seven subdued and bound/gagged10-15 various prison personnel & other uninvolved inmates, stealing weapons, credit cards, and identification. They then proceeded to rob a Radio Shack and an Oshman's Sporting Goods store in Irving, Texas. Aubrey Hawkins was the officer who received the call, and he was shot (eleven times) and killed before the Texas Seven moved on; they also ran over Officer Hawkins as they drove away (whether it was intentional or not is not clear). They ended up in Colorado, where one of the gang committed suicide as officers closed in on them. All of the remaining six are now on Death Row.

Yesterday, I saw this article on the CNN.com website. Michael Rodriguez, one of the Texas Seven, has worked for a year to convince the system that he is competent to drop his appeals and volunteer to be executed. That execution is set to happen this week. In his first and last interview with the press, he was reflective and remorseful for his involvement with the Texas Seven, the death of Officer Hawkins (whom Rodriguez did NOT shoot, but was hiding in a display of sleeping bags when the shots were fired), and his original crime of arranging the death of his first wife.

A few quotes from the article:

• "I have a lot of people here telling me how unfair the system is. At some point in our lives, you have to have some sort of accountability. I can't see how people in my situation deny that."
• "And he said he wants the family of his former wife, Theresa, and the relatives the slain police officer "to know how truly sorry I am and I am willing to pay.""
• "I think it's a fair sentence. I need to pay back. I can't pay back monetarily. This is the way.""

Lori Hawkins, Aubrey's widow, says that Rodriguez's apologies are "a little too late."

I'm sorry, but this infuriates me. Here you have a convicted felon who is ready to take responsibility for his actions (which did not include actually injuring Hawkins), who shows remorse for both of his crimes, who is actually offering an apology that most victim's families never receive unless it is accompanied by a parole request, and all Lori Hawkins can do is summarily reject it? In my opinion, she was just offered the best possible option given what has happened. Granted, having her husband still alive is the best option, but, unfortunately, that is not possible at this point in time. But this man is not the one who pulled the trigger!

Did Michael Rodriguez commit some terrible crimes, including having his first wife killed? Yes, and he was already serving a life sentence for that crime. Does he deserve to be punished? Yes. Yes, he does. In the case of the Texas Seven, did he make some grave errors in judgment? Yes. But this man just happened to go along with a stupid illegal plan and was in the wrong place at the wrong time when another man shot and killed this police officer. And he has volunteered to have his life be taken first in order to make amends.

I know that I will never know how I would react in Lori Hawkins's situation. And perhaps there are circumstances I don't know about. I'd like to think, however, that I could offer my forgiveness to a man who didn't even kill my husband but is willing to volunteer to be executed for it.

Photo Hunt Saturday--Three-In-One!

Since I've had so much on my proverbial plate lately, I haven't played in the Photo Hunt in two weeks. But, since they were such great themes, I decided to add them into today's.

Two weeks ago, the theme was: What IS that?!?! This, my friend, is a frog. But not just any frog. This frog is as dead as dead gets. I thought my husband was pulling my leg about it being dead. He just walked outside the other day and this guy was simply sitting on the driveway. Dead. He looks like he just hopped over from Madame Tussaud's, doesn't he? Pretty freaking amazing.

Last week's theme was: Hanging. I love the way the water droplets are hanging from the flowers in this shot. It was taken in Portland, Oregon, in July 2007.

This week's theme is: Cloud(s). The shot was taken from my car on the way home one night, also in July 2007. We thought these clouds were quite remarkable.

Happy Hunting to all and to all a fantabulous weekend!

Edited to add: Why the hell can't all blogging services just get along? I've tried to comment on FOUR different Photo Hunters' blogs, and I can't. I don't know what an OpenID is, I don't have the time or patience to find out, I don't remember my Blogger addy, I don't have the time or patience to email all the junk to find out, I just want to leave a few nice words! AAAAAARRRRRRRGH!