Jennifer brought up a good point in the comments to my previous post, and I got so long-winded that I figured I might as well post it. Y’all don’t have much else to read over here lately anyway. Oh, and since I wrote this as a comment, it’s disjointed and rambly. You understand.

non-profits do take on a lot of the social programs, and have been feeling the squeeze over the last decade due to drastic cuts in government funding…not enough people give to non-profits of their own free will for your idea to really be feasible.

We would if the government would severely cut spending and then cut taxes more. America is the most charitable nation on the planet, and the more money we have in our pockets, the more we’ll give. I’m sure the non-profits would feel the crunch until people started getting more money in their paychecks, but I truly believe we’re benevolent, and once people stop expecting that the government should take care of the less fortunate, we’ll step up and do it like we did in the olden days. But I think the subconscious mindset these days is that the government is taking our tax dollars for this purpose and is therefore supposed to take care of the less fortunate people, so there is no need to give to non-profits. When the government gets out of the way and we don’t have to pay so much to fund the social government agencies, we’ll give more. And if I’m not mistaken, the cuts started coming after 9/11 and it was less of a cut in program spending than a shift to different programs (big agencies with big names saw more money, and smaller agencies with smaller — but not lesser — programs saw less). That was the complaint at the non-profits I audited, that money was being shifted to bigger agencies, and you couldn’t get any money without the United Way, because all of these corporations were basically pressuring their employees to give to UW, so the UW was administrating most of the smaller programs, which were having a harder and harder time getting UW money. But I could be totally talking out of my butt on that one.

I used to audit a lot of non-profits, and I was there when the squeeze started happening, but so little of the money set aside within the government for the programs actually trickles down to the non-profits running the programs. Giant sucking whole of administrative costs, and that’s on the government end. There is still more money used on administrative costs at the non-profits themselves, and those are the only admin costs that make any sense. Non-profits have rules that the government doesn’t have. If more than a certain percentage of contributions and funding for a non-profit’s program is spent on administrative costs, they will lose their government grants. But the government doesn’t have that restriction and never will. You get capitalists doing the majority funding of charities, and there will be even less waste, and more of the money can actually be spent on those who need it. Any capitalist running an agency (and I don’t mean sitting on the board of directors, I mean owner or CEO or Executive Director) is going to want to compete with the capitalists running the other agencies (that’s what capitalism is all about) and make sure that their program is the best. Which means better fundraising more often.

I really think the government needs to do away with entire agencies so we’re not paying so much to run the agencies that have so many levels of bureaucracy. We pay the people who audit the non-profit programs, the people who read all of the applications for grants, the people who write the grant requirements, their bosses, their bosses, and it goes on and on and on. Why are so many people required in order for America to give to the poor? At the end of the day, so much of the money that’s spent on running the programs goes to pay salaries of government workers instead of going to the needy. America will give more if we’re not mandated to do so and are allowed to choose where our money goes. For the most part, we’re good people. The government just needs to get out of our way.

So I’ve decided I’m not going to tell most of the people at work that I blog. There are several reasons, and I don’t want to elaborate now. Anyway, L (my office mate) was the only one who knew. Until today. Now Boss knows I blog. L and I were talking about American Idol, and I had to run out for a meeting in Boss’s office, and what were we talking about, oh, Idol, blah blah blah. And I stupidly said that I’m ready for it to get down to two nights a week because I’m tired. “Tired of the show?” “No, tired of writing about it.” And before the words were out of my mouth, I was shouting “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” in my own head. “You write about American Idol?” “Mmmhmm.” I just wanted to move right on, talk about my career goals, and hope he would think I wrote about it for a magazine or a newspaper or something like that. Or my American Idol Notes Comparison Club. “You write about it. [He’s incredulous.] Is it for a blog or something?” “Yeah.” “You have a blog? That’s awesome!” No. “Don’t read it.” Which means he will, and he’ll never look at me the same after he reads about my poo and my tingling hoo-hah. Fantastic! At least he thinks blogs are cool and thinks it’s awesome I blog. And he flat out told me he could just google me.

Don’t worry, though, peeps. I won’t hold back or get all politically correct here. See, I’ll prove it:

*Liberal Fascism is the best name for a book EVER!
*I love guns. Pow pow pow! (Reminds me, I’m ready to go shooting again.)
*When I’m driving to and from work, I listen to my iPod on low volume, sing at the top of my lungs, and pretend I’m singing on Idol. I own it, I’m a total dweeb.
*I don’t think we’ll be able to interpret signs from Revelation to figure out when the world’s going to end. I think more people should read Ezekiel and Daniel and that passage where Jesus says he’ll come like a thief in the night.
*I think baptism is essential to salvation, but babies and innocent children who die get a stamped ticket to heaven. When I hear about aborted babies, my only comfort is knowing that their souls will be with God and they won’t be corrupted by the world. I am still 100% against abortion, even in cases of rape.
*I don’t think I should have to pay school taxes (disguised as property taxes) until after I have children, and then only if I decide for some reason not to homeschool them. Better yet, stop taxing the property I bought with the money I earned that you already taxed me for earning, and just charge a fee for school. Better yet, privatize all schooling!
*I think we should cut out almost all government programs, especially the social kind of programs. It should be left up to charities, and my taxes should go down accordingly so that I can give money to such charities. They are much smaller bureaucracies than the giant money-sucking one called the U.S. government.
*I think the national defense budget should be significantly increased. Peace through superior firepower, baby.
*I’ve had more hoo-hah tingles recently.
*Doctors are not gods, even the good ones. Some of them aren’t even human.
*I like doing IT with my husband.
*I don’t ever want to move back to Texas, and if that gets my Texan card taken away, so be it. Visits are plenty for me.
*I can’t stand it when people write “sister-in-laws” instead of “sisters-in-law.” Yet I think it’s completely retarded when Sports casters say “RBI” when they mean the plural runs batted in, even though “RBI” is technically correct, just sounds right when it’s “RBIs.”
*People who can’t properly use I, me, there, they’re, their, and apostrophes correctly should go back to school for grammar re-education. Of course, they should have to pay a fee.
*I’m scared of being pregnant someday. Mainly because all of my pregnancies (should I be blessed with any) will be high-risk due to the epilepsy and the fact that I’ll have to get off my seizure meds while pregnant. Oh, also because my boobs are mercilessly tender when I’m ovulating, so I can only imagine how awful it will be to have pregnant boobs.

Well. That’s enough to get y’all started. Fire at will. Just remember I’m sensitive, being a girl and all.

So I was sitting in a meeting yesterday afternoon, and there were two whole departments there. Including my Mega Boss (CFO) and my Big Boss. And Big Boss got up and was talking about something, and he said something about “duties.” My first thought was, “Hee hee hee. He said doodies.” And then I was amused with myself, because how silly are you when that’s the first thing that goes through your mind when someone says something in an accounting meeting. And I had to stifle a laugh. And then Big Boss said “duties” again, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth impassive. My eyes, though — they were cracking UP.

*Hey. ‘Sup?
*The weekend went by in a blur. We had my in-laws and Frank’s aunt over for dinner Saturday night and had a good time. And I was bad and figured that just half a scoop of vanilla ice cream would be fine. It wasn’t. The upside is that I’ve learned I definitely cannot have ice cream, at least for now. I wasn’t sure if I could or not, because different types of dairy affect different people differently. That’s three uses of different in one sentence! Anyway, the result of my eating ice cream was… explosive. But no seizures or migraines or muscle pain or skin pain. So that’s good.
*Some days I wonder if I’m getting worse, though, because my easy bruising has gotten worse.
*Sunday after church we were invited over for lunch at someone’s house. I tell you, when people who don’t know me that well invite me over for a food event, I look like a deer in headlights. My immediate reaction is that I won’t be able to eat there and everyone will think I’m being rude or they’ll feel awkward that there’s nothing I can eat. So as I stood there in the church building, mouth agape, mind racing, the woman who invited us over said that when she’d done her grocery shopping, she hadn’t bought this and that because they either contained wheat or dairy, and she told us what we were having, and that she made sure even the chips were okay for me. How do you say no to that? It was nice. There were several families over there for lunch, and I noticed that when the preacher’s wife was about to refill the bowl of chips with a different brand of chips, the teen or early 20s son of the host and hostess stopped her from refilling the bowl and insisted on making sure they didn’t have wheat in them, “because she can eat these chips but I don’t know about these. So let me check.” Pretty cool. They also made me go through the line first so no one would contaminate the food. Turns out, the hostess has cooked various places for years, and she is used to dealing with special diets. No education required.
*Work is still fun, and I really like my office mates. L and I have a lot of fun. Also, we have an intern who is one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met. I’ll have to save that for another post. She’s here on a student visa, and you can tell that she’s gone to college in only conservative areas because of the questions she asks me. “Someone told me that if the Democrats are elected, we’ll have to pay more taxes. Is that true?” Hahahahaha. “Absolutely.” Also, “What should we expect if the Democrats win the presidency?” “Socialism.” “Someone told me that if we don’t pay higher taxes now, our children will pay them later. But is that really true?” “No. We can keep taxes low, but the government absolutely has to stop spending the way they do, or everyone will pay for that.” She is a total sponge, too. Soaks up everything. Anyway, I’ll blog about her sometime. It’s so fascinating to have someone so interested in politics and political issues in such a detached fashion. Like she’s interested in everything and wants to know everything, but she has no agendas. She just wants to know the answers to all these questions and get a variety of opinions. Oh, and she screwed up her face and said something like, “Ech,” when I mentioned California. Hahahahahaha.
*I got my hair cut and highlighted last night, finally! I hadn’t had it done since October, I think. It’s waaaay short. I would like another inch back, but I’m sure I just gave bad instructions. The color is awesome. I have these reddish streaks in my hair! Always wanted those. Maybe I’ll take a picture, maybe not.
*I’m sad that Terminator only has one two-hour finale left this season. That was a really short season. I want more more more.
*If you’re wondering, I’m going to vote for John McCain. Unless he picks Mike Huckabee as his running mate, in which case I’m out. I’ve wanted to write about it for a while. But anyway, Rachl Lukis has been saying everything I would want to say about it.
*My in-laws brought this awesome globe game over here because I like it so much. It’s so much fun. And very addictive.
*We thought the snow was all finished, but after a few weeks of no snow, we got something like three inches on Thursday or Friday. Now it looks like it’s gone for good again. But what do I know?

Later peeps.

Yeah, so the master bathroom / garage wall is going to have to be replaced.

I would write more, but I have to get in the shower. I’ll leave you with this, though: Last night I dreamed I went to the doctor, and I was embarrassed because I had to show him two new growths. The growths were on my collar bone, one on each side, and each was an extra boob. Yeah. I dream about these things so you don’t have to. The worst part is that they looked like half-deflated water balloons.

You’re welcome.

I’ve been turning on the TV in the bedroom when I get up in the mornings. It wakes me up a lot faster than just telling myself the daily news. And I’ve been turning on Fox, because usually when I get up, Fox & Friends is already over. This morning F&F was still on, though.

First I just wanna say that it’s totally AWESOME that our military punked that satellite yesterday. How cool is America? For the first time in my adult life, I’m proud of my country. Oh wait. I’m sorry, I plagiarizedborrowed that.

Anyway. So Phil Keating was on the television, and he was at a donut place. I thought, mmmmm. Donuts. And then I thought, mmmmm. Those look like Donut Stop donuts. And then they said Phil was in the panhandle of Texas! And I *knew* they were Donut Stop donuts. Now those I do miss, gluten-wise and Amarillo-wise. Of course, then Phil said, “I’m at the Donut Shop in Amarillo, Texas…” It *is* called Donut Stop, right, ma? Have I been gone that long? Man, those strawberry cake donuts. Salivations galore. I’m gonna have to learn to make my own version.

Anyway, then Phil asked a man sitting in the diner who he’s voting for. “Obama!” Why is that? “I read his two books, and I said to myself that I’ve got to get involved!” Really? Guy writes a book and makes a speech, and he’s your guy? Were his books about hope and change?

I can’t stop thinking about those donuts.

/Gob

So the water heater at our house in Florida exploded today. And water was running out of the garage, down the driveway… good thing our neighbors saw it and turned off the water for us. Thank goodness for that. The realtor went by and checked it out. There’s water in the attic (because the top blew off the water heater and shot water straight up into the attic). I’m guessing a lot of the wood rafters are soggy, and I hope they don’t start to rot. And I’m sure the drywall “ceiling” of the garage is soaked in places (plus it’s obviously done for in the spot where the water heater exploded). It won’t surprise me if there is water damage in the wall of the garage.

Which means that we can’t sell the house until after that’s fixed. The realtor called a plumber out and also is having a house-inspector friend of hers come see how bad things are. No idea if this will be a claim on our house insurance.

So I’m feeling a little beat down for the day. Worked until 7:30, finally stopped working when I realized I was starting to have seizures. After getting less than six hours of sleep last night, I’m ready for bed.

The second half of Idol will have to wait until tomorrow.

Night, peeps.

American Idol top twelve boys.

I saw George last night. “Anything going on I should know about?” he asked before leaving the room so I could get undressed and get up on the table.

Hahahahahaha. My first thought was, “Um, yes, we’re committing adultery. With my husband’s permission, though, so as long as your wife is okay with it, it’s cool.” I didn’t tell him my first thought; instead I told him he could work on my right wrist, because it’s now good enough that I won’t kill him for touching it, told him about the knot in my left wrist, and told him about how my right knee buckles when I stand up and how I’ve got a funny knot on the side of it.

I had forgotten to tell them when I made my appointment last time that I only wanted an hour, so I got an hour and a half. And I totally needed it. My right wrist feels better, and when I woke up this morning, I could move my left wrist. For the last week or so, I haven’t been able to move it upon waking, and this morning it is a little sore but has full twisting capabilities. Oh, and I can pop it! Haven’t been able to do that in a while, and that’s my very poppy wrist. The little knot on the side of it is smaller, too. I was actually pretty sure he hadn’t fixed my knee, because he worked on it a little fast when I was on my stomach, but he moved on quickly. I did feel some tendons fling and pop while he was working it, so that must have done it. He worked it a little again when I was on my back, but he really concentrated on the left knee (I think he was trying to fix the wrong one). Whatever, when I got up, my knee didn’t buckle, and it hasn’t done it since. The knot on that knee is smaller today, too, so I’m hoping that issue is resolving. It’s still a little sore, but we’ll see.

Oh, one thing. When I walked into the office, I couldn’t stop thinking about the whole blogstorm over my seeing a male therapist. So of course, when George came around the corner to tell me my room was ready, I said hi and then looked down at the floor and blushed. That’s a little embarrassing, blushing so deeply that I can feel my face getting hot.

So my mom called Monday. I had not yet heard about the refinery in Big Spring exploding. My Uncle Robert works at the refinery, he and my Crazy Aunt Wanda live less than ten miles from there, and my grandparents live probably two or three miles away. I’m not sure where my cousin BaLinda lives in relation to the refinery.

BIKERMOMMY: Sarah, I wanted to tell you something. I don’t want you to see it on the news.
SARAHK: Ok…
BM: There was a big explosion at the oil refinery in Big Spring… Your Uncle Robert is okay, though.

Oh, also? Her voice was shaking a little when she told me, so until she told me my uncle is okay, I thought it was way worse news than it was. See, she could have done that backwards. “I don’t want you to see this on the news and freak out. Your Uncle Robert is okay, but I just wanted you to know that the oil refinery in Big Spring exploded.” I mean, he works all the time, even some holidays. And until I asked if my cousin was at work, I also thought she still worked there.

Ay. I’m so happy that no one was killed at the refinery. It could have been so much worse.

You know, my GrampaK retired from that refinery when it was still Cosdon (many many years and name changes ago). And I was born there. In Big Spring, not the refinery. Actually, the hospital at which I was born no longer exists.

Ok, I will stop rambling now.

Tomorrow night I have another massage with “George.” And for about ten days I’ve had all sorts of issues going on, so I totally need it. Aside from the gluten issues, which haven’t subsided since Carino’s picked the croutons out of my salad instead of making me a gluten-free one, I’ve had some weird non-gluten ones. BTW, my gluten symptoms usually go away after five days, so I have no idea why they’ve been persisting now for eleven days. I’m wondering if I somehow glutened myself after the Carino’s thing (I don’t see how, because I’m sooo careful at home — I do not have an ounce of gluten in the pantry, and the closest we come is having some snacks that are prepared in facilities where wheat products are also prepared — and I haven’t eaten out since the first glutening). Either that, or I went back on dairy too soon, and I’m starting to have issues with that. If you’re wondering, I’m not having dairy anymore either (unless you count Doritos). I’m back to getting headaches every day, muscle and skin pain in the evenings, seizures every day, easy bruising, little rash bumps just beneath the surface of my skin — back, shoulders, arms, etc. More, more, more. Not to mention that my February/August throat lump is back. Last year it didn’t last long at all, maybe a couple of weeks, so I’m hoping that this year is the same.

Ok, so my other physical issues. First, y’all know about my wonky right wrist that Frank injured years ago — that one’s not doing too bad, but since my chair tried to buck me at work a few weeks ago it’s been a little tender. It’s improving, though. But now my other wrist, the left one, is acting all crazy. I wake up in the morning, and my left wrist has a knot in it, right next to that bone that sticks out on the outside. Very tender when I massage it myself. I shall have George work on it. Then there’s my right leg, almost on that muscle that wraps around the knee and moves down to wrap around the shin. I’ve been unable to fold my leg up under me when I sit, fold my leg up at all. I have to keep it at least somewhat extended at all times. Sometimes it feels like I’m not getting much circulation in that areas. Other times it just feels like a sore muscle. Ack. So I am ready for my massage.

Also need to find a neuro, an endo, a gastro, and I suppose an internist here. I’m sad that my new insurance doesn’t have any DOs in the network. I really wanted to go to a DO for general health stuff. They think more like me than MDs do. Don’t just throw more meds at it, try to fix the root of the problem. Ah well. It is not meant to be. Anyway, I need to see one of those. That lump in my thigh has never gone away, so I at least want to know what it is. The good thing is that it hurts when I press on it, and my two docs who did check it out said that a tumor would not hurt under pressure.

I don’t want y’all to tell me any differently, either. No sense getting myself all worked up over it before I go see the doctor.

We were lazy this weekend, and that was awesome. We watched Across the Universe, loved most of it, but it could have done with a little less drug usage — maybe it should have been set in the ’50s instead. ;-) Oh, and the left boob scene? Completely ripped off from Titanic. He was even sketching her! That reminds me. I need some Beatles on my iPod.

We also visited Frank’s grandmother. Church. Explored a little of Boise on accident, but it was cool because we saw a lot of things we hadn’t yet seen. It’s getting warmer here, and we’re getting excited, because once the snow melts (a couple of months from now) we can go hiking and explore the mountains we’ve been gazing upon for months. We’re both particularly interested in this one mountain off to the northwest that stands all by its lonesome. Looks like a glacier (probably is, what do we know?). We’ve named it after each other. I named it Monkeyface Mountain after Frank, and Frank named it Monkeyface Mountain after me. We’re already planning trips to the outdoor stores so we can get our hiking gear in order. I need to get boots and get them broken in before we hike, and since all of my hiking clothes are way too small by now, I’ll need new hiking clothes.

And that’s about it. Friday I got to do my favorite part of my job, and I get to do more of it today! The great thing is, so far there isn’t any part of my job that I don’t like, and I love most of it. Yay!

Later dudes.

p.s. I’ve been reading blogs, but if I want to have time to read all the ones I want to read, I don’t have a ton of time to comment. It’s like someone took nine hours right out of my day!

FRANK: Sweetie, I love you.
SARAHK: I love you, too.
FRANK: You know why I love you?
SARAHK: Because it’s Valentine’s Day.
FRANK [laughing]: Yeah.
SARAHK: I knew that would be your answer, because you’re a dork.
FRANK: YOU are. You’re picking up the dork radio frequency.
SARAHK: Yeah, it’s so strong coming off of you I can’t help but pick it up.

Happy Valentine’s Day to my sweetie.

What will my family think? On my post about getting the most awesome massage ever, someone named “Sean” had something to say about the kind of woman I am. For getting a massage. A professional massage by a licensed massage therapist. A massage that I can use Flexible Spending Account pre-tax money to fund.

You are, with your husbands permission or not, an adultress.

Is that husbands? Plural? And let me guess. You are voting for / did vote for Mike Huckabee in the primary? He’s, like, so awesome on things like foreign policy and big government. I just LOVE big government. It goes great with my hair.

But not much more

Not much more? I’d say adultery is quite a lot.

is expected from someone who styles herself as a “queen”

Actually, someone else dubbed me Queen of Infidels, I just ran with it. Infidels! Like infidelity! Awesome! Oh wow! Like totally freak me out, I mean, right on!

and enjoys the teasing and “naughtiness”

You mean like if I don’t tease my hair exactly the way Cosmo tells me to? It IS naughty! I am such a rebel.

and pretty much writes like a college cheerleader.

What? Like it’s hard?

But hey, it is YOUR BLOG, eh?

Yes, Canadian, it is. Good job figuring that one out! Go YOU!

Let me guess, your favorite movie is Legally Blonde,

My adultery-approving husband does agree: I do love that movie! I own it and everything! It’s super fun!

and you usually accept it’s and your premise as logically plausible.

Do you mean “its”? You confuse me with your progressive grammar. Oh, and what is my premise? The girl at the hair salon didn’t tell me, so I’m totally clueless!

I got here via CG, if you’re wondering.

I wasn’t, but thanks for sharing!

Thankfully, there is no law in this country against having an empty-headed, worthless, and pointless web site.

Yes, that’s great for you! So what’s your blog address?

So, rave on, and don’t worry about me, I’m allright.

I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried there for a second. But no biggie! (Said… the cheerleader.)

UPDATE: Sean has apologized and said he won’t be back. I accept your apology, Sean.

Seizures all day. Dull migraine all day. Exhausted from both and from the working until 10. Came home, did laundry, made guacamole for dinner. Fed Frank leftovers. Not even finishing Idol.

In other news, I have nothing to say. I might take a break for a few days.

So Tuesday night I went for my first massage since the end of November. Well over two months. And since it had been so long, I decided to go for the ninety-minute massage. I’m telling you, if we could afford ninety minutes every two weeks, I’d totally go for that.

Now, when I made my appointment, a man had answered the phone, and I assumed that he was the receptionist. He’s not. And the man who answered the phone did not ask whether I wanted a man or a woman to do my massage, but I didn’t realize this until the next morning, the morning of the massage. I didn’t worry about it, because I assumed this meant they only had one or the other, or they would ask my preference when I arrived.

On my way to the massage, I told Frank that I had no idea if it would be a man or a woman, and I was a little nervous that they might put me with a man. Frank didn’t like that idea, and I assured him that if I got to pick, I’d pick a girl. Well, I got there and checked in, and the receptionist told me that [we’ll call him George] would be with me in a moment. I noted that there was a man standing behind her, but I did not assume he was George. “I’m sorry, who?” “George.” “A man?” “Yes. Is that okay?” By now, the man standing behind the receptionist was fully tuned in to our conversation. “Um… I’d prefer a female.” Female. I said female. What a dork. “Okay, we have one on her way in, and she’ll be here in about ten minutes.” “Okay, thanks.” But really, I did *not* feel like waiting another ten minutes, as I was surely going to get home after 8 p.m. as it was, then have to cook dinner, and I’d be lucky to spend five minutes with Frank before bedtime. So after about thirty loooooong seconds of deliberation, I said, “Actually, I’d rather just go now.” So the receptionist told me George would be right with me.

Detour: Here’s why I prefer a woman. One, I don’t like the idea of any man besides Frank having his hands all over me. I know that as long as he’s a professional, it won’t matter, because they all stay away from the sensitive areas (except the glutes — they do work on the glutes, and my glutes always need it). But I’m still a little funny about it. Then there’s the fact that I tend to get chatty in my massages. I like to talk to my MT about everything. All my health stuff, personal life, religion, politics — none of that has ever been off limits in my massages. But dude. I am so not opening up about any of that to another man when I’m neckid. Which means I get the massage part of the therapy but not the head shrinking part of the therapy. That’s okay, though, because less talking usually means more relaxation. Also, the only other time I had a massage by a man, I was living in Amarillo, and this guy had come recommended to me (by someone who really didn’t like me all that much, now that I think about it). He had just banged on my body with his fists for an hour. So not a good experience.

Okay. So now the man behind the receptionist was gone, and in a few minutes he came out to tell me he was ready for me. And I realized that George had just listened to me telling the receptionist that I did not want a man to work on me. Which made me blush deep red for what seemed like several minutes.

We got into the massage room, and he asked if there were any particular areas to work more than others. I was very businesslike when I told him that my back, shoulders, neck, hips, and feet always need a lot of work and to please be careful in the area between my calf and my heel, because just rubbing the skin around there makes me scream in pain sometimes. He left the room, and I got undressed and went to get on the table. Which was actually harder than I expected, because George is like eight feet tall, and apparently for him to be ergonomically sound while he’s working, the table has to be about five feet off the ground. I may exaggerate a little (he’s more like 6′3″ or 6′4″), but I actually did have to hop onto the table.

Anyway. George came back, and the first thing he did let me know that this would be a heck of a massage. He told me that he didn’t have any hot towels at the moment, but he had some warming. Sweet! And after that there was no talking. I think there will be no talking in the future. Nothing about personal lives, none of that. He’s a man, and only one man gets to know everything about me. Not even you guys!

The hot towel thing was awesome. He heats them up on a rather large space heater and then puts them on me, over the blanket, in addition to the heating pad under the sheet on the table. The massage music was good, the lighting was relaxing. The only thing that was a little disconcerting was when he was working on my shoulders and I realized that his hands are gigantic, and he could kill me with one little squeeze of the neck. And it wouldn’t matter that my gun was in my purse across the room, because I’d just be dead before I could jump off the table and dive for my purse. Yes, mmmhmm, these thoughts do go through my head. Also, I opened my eyes briefly while I was face down and he was working on my shoulders, and I saw man shoes instead of painted toenails and flip-flops.

Anyway. He killed my hips. And by killed, I mean he totally de-knotted them. Can’t even tell you how much that hurt, and I couldn’t even yelp or moan! With Mary and Vicky, I would yelp or moan, and sometimes I probably sounded like I was having… fun. And I was very careful to make no sound at all with George, no matter how much it hurt. Of course, part of that was that I didn’t want him to think it was okay to let up — bring the hurt so I can fell better later. I had a ton of knots in my back, and they no longer existed when he was done with them. It’s like when Mary used to work on me, and she’d work on me for an hour and a half even though it was an hour massage. Any little knot she found, she’d just work it out slowly, holding, letting go, holding, etc. until that sucker untwisted itself. George did that. And my feet. Oh y’all. Deep foot work. He worked all of my sensitive reflexology points (and yes, I totally believe in that voodoo) and really dug hard right below the balls of my feet, where my feet really really need attention. The only thing I was a little disappointed in was that he didn’t really get my arms that well, other than my shoulders and my hands — my forearms were kind of just fluffed. But he really worked my head so well that I got over the arm thing really quickly.

On my way out, the receptionist apologized for the mixup. “Oh, no problem. I just tend to get chatty when I have a massage, and I’m a lot more comfortable chatting naked with a girl.” There will be no chatting. I went ahead and scheduled with George for my next one and then got Frank’s permission on the way home. I was pretty much walking on air after that massage. You’d think I’d had a colonic.

Had no interwebz this morning, and we visited Frank’s grandmother until late this evening. I really want to catch y’all up on my massage (if y’all wanna know why Frank’s still on the fence about it, I’ll just tell you now — my new massage therapist is a man, but actually Frank is fine with it since he wants me to feel good), all this snow, my job, how much I’m just praying for a conservative Congress since nothing else has gone right this election season, and the pack of wild animals. Hopefully, I’ll have interwebz tomorrow morning and can write some. I’m jonesin’, a little. Meanwhile, I managed to watch LOST tonight and blogged it at SRM.

No disrespect to Vicky or Mary, but… Best. Massage. Ever.

Got home late last night, because my massage was almost two hours. I’ll have to write a whole post about it later, but for now I have to get to work and close some books. Y’all be good, and don’t mix up your debits with your credits.

Hey y’all.

Funny, I had so much to write about this morning when I got up, but now I can’t think of any of it.

Ooh, wait! Now that I’m stretching my arms to write this post, I remember! I’m getting a massage today, baby. Oh, and not just a massage. A 90-minute massage for the price of an hour-long massage. I can’t wait. It’s been since the end of November, and it has been tooooo long. I told my boss yesterday that I just have to be gone by a certain time, because it’s better for everyone if SarahK gets her massage. Did I just talk about myself in third person? SarahK is a dork. Oh, also I haven’t told people at work that I go by SarahK. I don’t know why.

Alright, so today is Super Amazing Ultra Magnified Tuesday. I find it amusing when the mature talking heads on Fox mention Super Tuesday, and always one of them says something like, “I refuse to call it Super Mega Tuesday or Super Duper Tuesday.” I mean, did someone put out a new memo earlier this election about what the day is to be called and they’ve been fighting over it ever since? Anyway, Fox has some rebels, and it tickles me just a little to see them arguing that they won’t say it.

Idaho Democrats vote today, but Idaho Republicans don’t vote until after pretty much everything is decided. It’d be funny, though, if it came down to Idaho in May. What will they do? Hint: they won’t vote Huckabee!

I need more clothes. I had enough new sweaters/blouses for a week and a day, and yesterday was “a day.”

You can always tell when the cats are out of food. Minerva sits on the arm of the couch next to me, Rogue gets in everyone’s face and just starts headbutting us each in turn, and Sydney actually becomes affectionate. Also, when I take a shower, they crowd into the bathroom and take turns staring at me through the glass. I’m going to get a shower curtain.

I hope Ron Paul kicks Huckabee’s butt in the southern states today. Wouldn’t that just be a giant slap in the face? Not that I want him to be slapped in his actual face. I might want a dog to maul his son (you know, the one who likes to hang dogs by the neck for fun), but other than that, I wish no violence upon them. I do, however, wish for Huckabee to finish behind Ron Paul among “evangelicals,” whatever that means. I googled it, and according to wikipedia, my beliefs are not quite in line with those of evangelicals, so I’m apparently not included, even though I’m a Christian who believes in evangelizing. That’s good, though — don’t include me with the people who blindly vote for a guy just because he used to be a preacher. You know, preachers are sinners, too, in case the evangelicals have forgotten that.

I’m still hoping for a Romney/Fred ticket at this point, but if it comes down to McCain v. a Democrat, I’ll either vote for McCain or write in Fred. It’ll kind of depend how many times McCain punches the Republican party in the nuts before election day.

Ok, I’m rambling now, and I have to find my proof of health insurance. No more COBRA! Woooooohoo!

Ok, um. The national anthem? Hello. Y’all know I can’t stand it when people trick up the anthem. But Jordin Sparks was just fantastic. I give it to her. She can sing the Star-Spangled Banner any way she likes, tricked up or not. In fact, that’s pretty much the most I’ve liked her since the first few weeks of the top twelve last year.

That Walter Peyton trophy that they gave to that one guy for being charitable and stuff? It looked like a giant hunk of milk chocolate. I half expected the guy who received it to lean down and bite its head off. Was that just me?

I can’t tell y’all how much I love the fact that Troy Aikman is doing the commentary at the Super Bowl. It warms my heart.

Since I’m a Cowboys fan and therefore hate the Football Giants with all of my being, I am rooting against the Football Giants and therefore for the Patriots. I like underdogs, but not non-Cowboys NFC East teams. That said, I don’t really care about this game that much. I’m in it for the commercials and the House episode that immediately follows, yo.

Commercials:
*The Bud Light fire-breather was funny.
*The car commercial that parodied The Godfather? Could have been better.\

Game:
You know what’s awesome about the DVR? We started the game a couple of hours late, and we can just fast forward through all the recapping of plays. Of course, the downside is that that’s when Troy’s talking.

Commercials:
*Troy in a commercial! Yay! That’s a good one, the Pepsi one with the bobbleheads and Chris Kattan. Cute.
*We love the Terminator series. We already like it more than the movies. I adore Summer Glau’s terminator character.
*The Bud Light commercial with the wine and cheese party is funny. “Goin’ on a cheese run.” Haha.
*The shoe commerical. I thought it was either for Nike or a video game.

Not related:
*I bought Frank some new jeans, because all of his jeans were just looking ridiculous. Baggy because I don’t feed him, tattered because he wears them a lot… Anyway, his new ones look hot.

Game:
Yo, what’s with the quarterbacks not being able to complete passes so far? Frank is disappointed that at the beginning of the game, they didn’t ask him if he was ready for some football. Because he wasn’t quite ready, so it would have been nice for them to ask.

Commercials:
*I really liked the Bridgestone commercial with the screaming critters. Hey, the lady screaming in the car, is she the girl from that “You LINT LICKER!” commercial? I think so.
*That Doritos commercial with the girl singing — I like that girl, who is she? I’d probably like to own some of her music.

Game:
Yay, the team playing against the Football Giants scored!

Commercials:
*Ooh! Range targets! Oooooh. Morgan Freeman in a dumb action flick. I’m in. Too bad it’s also got Angelina Jolie.
*Derek Jeter is pretty.
*GoDaddy.com once again proves they’re super-sleazy. I won’t be going to watch their commercial.
*Cool, a Dell laptop that comes in red. It saves lives, too!
*LOL! The giant carrier pigeons! Great FedEx commercial. Best one so far.
*cars.com commercial with Klondor also funny.
*Poor interview guy with the stain on his shirt. I knew right off this would be a Tide stain pen commercial. That’s a good one, too.

BTW, we’ve started fast-forwarding through the game. We’ll rewind when someone scores, but for now we’re just watching commercials. It’s all about getting to House.
(more…)

So New Boss started Friday. He’s very nice, I think he’ll be a great boss (I make the judgment from the total of three short conversations we’ve had). But I did have to educate him just a little, in a very nice way. A much nicer way than I might have wanted. I was reasonable and just pointed out that his presuppositions about my dog are… presuppositions.

The whole department went to lunch, and I was sitting right in the middle of the table. All the guys to the left of me, all the girls to the right. I could hardly hear the girl conversation, and the guys were talking TV and politics, so I was talking to the guys. And the political talk was a nice segue to my story about Rowdi and the Democrat dog. While I was telling the story, they asked what kind of dog I have.

SARAHK: Oh, she’s a shepherd/pit bull mix.
ALL THE GUYS: Wowwwwwwwwww.
SARAHK: Yes. Very high energy dog. Very sweet.
NEW BOSS: Wow. [smiling] Just don’t bring her into the office.

Ok, I was so struck by this comment, not because he was judging Rowdi’s behavior without meeting her, but because he felt the need to tell me not to bring my dog into the office. Is it common practice to bring dogs into the office?

SARAHK: [funny look on my face] Um, I would never bring a dog into the office. [laughter]
NB: Wow, that’s a dangerous mix to have! But I’m sure she makes a great guard dog.
SARAHK: We don’t let her be a guard dog. She’s stable. And it could be a dangerous mix if we were irresponsible, but it’s the same with any large, high-energy dog. But we give her exercise, we discipline her, and we don’t let her get away with trying to be in charge. We’re responsible owners, so she’s a good dog.
NB: Oh, that’s good.

I was so proud of myself. I didn’t even get angry, I kept my voice reasonable, and I didn’t call him a dog racist. Yay for me!

Then the entire table made fun of me because we take Rowdi to daycare if we’re both gone all day. I tried to explain that we’re not one of those people, but they weren’t buying it. Oh well. I’m used to being laughed at.

I don’t remember if I told y’all about our birthday presents from Bikermommy and Pappy. They arrived with our Christmas presents. :) We each got new trekking poles for when we go hiking. We almost can’t wait for spring so we can actually go hiking and use our new poles. I say almost because we are loving this winter, no matter how snowed in we are.

Also added to our hiking collection is a new water bottle filter. Actually, a filter-as-you-drink water bottle is what we have. You fill up the bottle with water, and the water is filtered as you’re drinking the water. Their website says that each filter will treat up to eighty gallons of water, filtering out metals and, most importantly in my opinion, chlorine. Ingesting chlorine (also showering in chlorinated water) is so bad for your body that I can’t believe it isn’t filtered out before being sent back into the water supply. We drink only bottled water at home, and I’m seriously considering getting a filter for our shower. When we build or buy a house, we may even have a decent filtration system put in (but I haven’t told Frank, because they’re a little pricey). Anyway, the water bottle is also supposed to filter out bad taste, and it does to an extent, but the taste doesn’t come near to Aquafina. This is why I won’t use the bottle every day and will save it for hiking excursions; otherwise it would last about three months, which is pretty good. Pure Water 2Go also sells replacement filters for their bottles, but I would actually replace the bottle itself after that many uses.

Next on my list: hiking boots.

I don’t have much to say about the part of the speech I saw on TV. Same old Obama — hope and change, no real substance, hope and change, I hate capitalism, people who vote for me are like those establishment-resistant fighters in the American Revolution and the abolitionists, I want to rebuild this country Bloc by Bloc, blah blah blah.

Ok, so they showed the speech on TV this morning, and there was this one lady on the TV wearing a pink scarf. We’ll call her Pink Scarf Lady. I’d say late thirties, early forties. She was on the second row or so, and Obama kept walking back in forth in front of where she was. And she was practically losing it. Every time he walked by, she immediately looked up to see herself on the jumbo tron. And then she would giggle gleefully, wave at the jumbo tron, and practically pee herself. And she did this every time she knew the camera was on her. Eventually, she stopped paying attention to Obama at all (I can’t blame her there) and just started following the camera. What’s it doing now? Is it on me? Is it on me? How old am I again?

I was amused and just watched her make an idiot of herself the whole time. More entertaining than the speech, anyway.

So Pink Scarf Lady, when you google yourself, as I’m sure you will, I just want you to know that you were the highlight.

You know, it has snowed the last three Saturday nights. By the time we got up this morning, we already had so much snow on the ground that we can’t even tell where the roads are (but for the cars parked at curbs). Snow is still falling heavily, and the wind is blowing rather hard. We can’t go anywhere.

It’s supposed to get up above freezing in the afternoon, so I’m hoping that means we can get to church this evening, get my seizure meds this afternoon (I’m completely out and didn’t have either of my doses yesterday), and get the grocery shopping done. I really don’t like doing the shopping at the store nearby, because it’s fairly expensive on everything except meat. Plus I like getting my chicken at Wal-Mart, because they label it gluten-free, which makes it easier. There are so many places to look on packages of chicken to find if they’ve basted it in wheat, but Wal-Mart puts it in big bold letters under the nutritional info.

We can’t even tell how much snow we’ve gotten, because it’s so windy.

Sure is pretty, though.

Already? That means we’ve been here two months. Wow! It also means a whole month of 2008 has gone. How did that happen?

Time flies when you love where you live, I guess.

*Hey, I got to do actual work the last couple of days. And you know what? I reeeeeally love digging around in the numbers. Semi-Big Boss starts tomorrow.

*My chair at work keeps trying to buck me off. It’s slick, and so are my slacks, so every time I sit down, I start sliding off. My Tuesday afternoon, I started sliding off, and I kept trying to get my grip, but my chair went sliding across the room, and I went splat. Of course I aggravated that wrist that Frank injured a few years ago. I guess I’ll have to start sleeping with my wrist brace on again until this latest injury clears up.

*Frank’s interview went well last week (they said so), so now we’re back to waiting and seeing.

*It snowed all day today. All day. It is supposed to snow all weekend, then not snow next week, and snow again next weekend. Have I mentioned I love it here?

*In bittersweet news, the pregnant woman who died here the other night left behind seven children (and, I assume, a husband) besides the baby. But it looks like the baby is going to make it. Thank God for that.

*Tomorrow we’re going to lunch, the whole department, again. For Semi-Big Boss’s first day. So I cornered Big Boss this afternoon and asked where we’re going so I could print out a menu and call the chef or manager ahead of time. We settled on a restaurant, and I already have the menu ready. I’ve eaten there recently, and I did not get sick.

*We still haven’t seen Cloverfield. I’m not anxious to see it, because I don’t like scary movies. But I’ll see it because Frank rilly rilly wants to. And because of J.J. Abrams.

*I’ve made salmon twice this week, and twice it’s been a big hit with the hubby. He rarely eats leftovers, and he actually had salmon leftovers. I’ll definitely cook it more often. It’s easy to get decently priced wild-caught salmon here.

*I made bread again. This time I set the loaf on top of the mantle to raise, and then on my TV tray, which gets a lot of heat from the fireplace. The bread turned out so much better this time, so yay for warmth!

*I need a massage.

*I am still having occasional seizures from Monday’s lunch. Ack. I had gastric symptoms for three days, but that seems to be back to normal. This is why I cook as much as possible.

*I hope Romney stops McCain on Super Mega Amazing Tuesday.

*Gotta go to bed. I still need a massage.

Nighty night!

So I’m thinking about battery operated candles. Here’s why. Y’all know how much I love my candles. I burned so many candles in the last year (just in case I couldn’t take my bins of candles to Idaho with me), and I still had two bins left over (they did get to come to Boise, in case you were wondering). Loved every minute of burning those candles, too. And you know, I’m not even sure it’s the smell. Don’t get me wrong, I *love* the smell of candles. Especially the ginger peach ones from Pier One and all of the peach-scented ones from Target. But some days the smell doesn’t even play into it for me. Sometimes it’s the flame, flickering just over the rim of the candle. That always makes me smile. Other times, it is just the soft glow inside a candle that has guttered a bit so the flame doesn’t reach the rim of the candle. I love to walk through a room and see soft lights everywhere. Come to think of it, if I didn’t work with so much paper (tree-recycling accountant that I am), I would turn off those dangerous fluorescent lights at the office and light my workspace only with candles. I’m sure my two office mates would love having to work by candlelight.

Anyway, we’re in our rent house now, and I still burn candles all the time. I don’t even think about it until I snuff them. When I put them out, though, I do cringe a little and start thinking about LED candles, because some of my candles let off a good amount of soot when snuffed. And all of that soot has to go somewhere. My hope is that it doesn’t show when we move out, because we’d like to get our deposit back. Of course, the battery operated candles would do away with that little problem. That, and my fingers wouldn’t stain red every time I picked up a candle to move it.

Frank was painting at his parents’ place today, and he wasn’t sure how long he would be gone (turns out all day), so I dropped Rowdi at doggie daycare on the way to work. Ok, so this is kind of funny. Someone who is in charge of campaigning for one of the Democrats in Idaho has left her dog at this same doggie daycare for two weeks (I presume until Super Tuesday). And who is Rowdi’s best friend? The Democrat dog! Yeah. All day long today they howled at fire engines. Now, we have been trying to get Rowdi to howl, and the daycare boss said that any time the sirens get going, the dogs all start howling in response. I wish I could be there to see this awesome event! When they weren’t howling at fire engines, Rowdi and Buster (her new boyfriend) were standing at the fence barking at the cows in the valley below. Haha. She’s so funny with the big animals. Any time she sees a horse, she starts growling and barking her angry bark. She’s never barked at cows before, but daycare boss said that it seemed like Rowdi and Buster were just trying to see who could bark the most at the cows. That’s what those cows get for being lazy. But by far my favorite story from today? The daycare boss was in another room from the dogs, and she said that suddenly they weren’t making any noise. Which means that they were either napping, or they were getting into trouble. Now, Buster is staying overnight while his owner is campaigning, so his crate is in the grooming room, another place where the dogs play that is connected to their main playroom. The boss went into the grooming room and found them both cuddled up together in Buster’s crate.

HOW ADORABLE IS THAT? I know a dog’s crate is supposed to kind of be his own place, not invaded by other people or animals. I also know that dogs can be protective of their spaces (Rowdi doesn’t seem to be with her crate). So I’m just loving the idea that these two critters were snuggled up together in his crate.

On the other side of things, I’m going to keep my ears open. If I hear Rowdi talking about reaching across the aisle to write hyphenated bills, she’s *so* grounded.