Faith Salutes

Turf Wars

I have a stomach ache. I am guessing it might be from either the high volume of candy I ate last night in class or the fact that I just ate a tiny undercooked brownie/cookie that Mowgli semi baked on Sunday. Either way, my stomach is throwing a public tantrum episode just for me. It can only take so much abuse.

"Hi, my name is Faith and I am abusive."

Mowgli is sitting across from me working and simultaneously attempting to be funny. He has accomplished this just once this morning. His act is flopping. In the last couple of days I have noticed he is a "loud worker". One of those people who talks to the computer and yells at emails, programs, and articles. So, I told him to shut the heck up. Because that is what makes marriages last. "Hey, you, SHUT UP. I can't take it anymore."

I didn't say anything. I yell at CSPAN, so we are even.

Suprisingly the only thing I catch myself reacting to aloud on a regular basis is something that makes me laugh. And I usually spit out emphatically, "That's funny!"

But Mowgli is a verbal monster. He has a verbal relationship with his computer.

And, I guess, it evens out with the dog, we both talk to her. She is the sounding board of love. Our poor kids will never have silence. No wonder Spanky wants outside..."Shut up! Let me outside!"

That is why I disappear for days at a time. It is for the purpose of silence. Silence is golden, every couple of weeks. I like being alone for a couple of days. Being alone is nice. Solitude is precious.

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This is starting to sound too much like a very lame attempt at writing in a personal journal

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Because I have so few commenting participants these select few will get to decide what I write about next:

a) My first fifth grade political blunder.
b) The airplane massage
c) 6 Hours in NYC

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Mowgli and I have decided to do something different with our African savings and it feels really good. We won't be in Africa in Spring afterall, but have no fear....the adventure is just beginning.

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Faithsalutes wise choices like not telling your husband to shut up and journal entries.

walk me up is a no no

I don't like to be woken up for no apparent reason other than the time, there had better be a reason.

"Wake up...it's 8:30..." Does not send me into panic mode, it just makes me violently angry..."Oh, no its 8:30, well I better get up! Half of my day is wasted!" It's more like, "Shut up. I am going back to sleep and there better be absolute silence."

For someone like me, who operates more astutely in the evening hours, my productive hours last late into the night. I am not a farmer nor a rancher nor of any other lifestyle that needs daylight hours to be successful. This isn't 1745, it is 2007. I don't need to get up at 4:30 AM to milk a 4H animal or separate the chafe from the wheat til the sun sets with Pa Ingles.

Just let me sleep. Announcing/yelling a time that may or may not be relevant to starting my actual day, without my previous consent, is grounds for angry.

I am still angry. Don't wake me up for no good reason. Can you tell I am completely teed off?

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Mowgli said I said smell like Hansen soda burp with a twinge of chapstick. Must be the new body wash, its like totally working.

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Why is Posh Spice the new face of Marc Jacobs?

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Faithsalutes clocks without alarms.

apology...accept it

I am sorry for the many, many typos and spelling blunders in my last epic post. I need an editor. Guess what I get paid to do....guess what I have to do for the next three hours for a class project...it begins with an "e" and ends with a "t".

I suck.

You want to be annoyed out of your skull. I have an idea, try listening to the sound of your own voice over and over and over again. I interviewed a few people around town and I had to record it. I had to listen to it over and over again today to transcribe it. Now I know what my worst nightmare would entail...my man voice over and over again on a loud speaker playing loudly over something I am strapped to so I am unable to cover my ears.

I noticed if I play really fast music, I type twice as fast.

Tryz id owt 4 urselph.

Peace in the Middle East.

Faithsalutes typos and what they mean to me and my future.

Join the Cult

Oprah's favorite and now required of her fans to wear....

twice baked

All I have had to eat in the last 24 hours are twice baked potatoes (with a tiny bit of tuna and cup of fruit and three cookies). But mostly, twice baked potato goodness. I cannot every eat enough of them, even if I make myself sick. I never want it to leave my body. I want twice baked potato to remain in me forever. I want them to become a part of me, of who I am, of what I stand for, of what I want passed on to my children and my children's children.

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If I try to step out of the elevator one more time and someone is trying to barge in before I gracefully step out, I am going to stab someone in the neck. I am not at fault if you get bumped into when I step out of the elevator. Let the elevator clear out before you get in, for the love of peace. This is why western civilization works. Right when I was having these very same thoughts today, I had a near hit and miss with the big wig on my floor when barged in without letting me step out. Where does the inconsiderate line get drawn? I suggest salaries see some serious cuts if this continues.

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Mowgli is still sick and the dog is acting a complete unharnassed freak because she wasn't walked yeterday or today. You no walk her, you pay. You pay with your life, your sanity, your yard, and your wallet. You may even lose family members. So, I walked her in the dark in my hood. Nothing unusual on the walk, just the usual: trash, unmarked cars, furniture rotting in the front yard, overgrown grass, a fence that has taken 5 months to go up 1 foot, etc. It was nice to walk around. Spanky was happy to eat crap, I am done trying to stop her.

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I met a new friend on Saturday, that I will talk about more in depth another time...cause she is worth it. But when we were out I saw someone I had forgotten about. I saw this young man I went out with a few times when I was 17. I tried googling and jazz to give you some updated information, but I had no success in the venture.
I met him when I was 17. I was the Teenage Republican State Chairman, I know what you are thinking...before I go any farther, it is even more credible than it sounds. None the less, his dad was a big wig at the time. He needed some extra curriculars on his resume. I was legitimately passionate about politics, he was passionate about looking good for Ivy Leagues. He was a complete waste among the troops, but he was very handsome and well connected via his father. We went on a few dates. He drove a Mercedes. I met Steve Forbes (Literally) at his house. I was not driving any vehicle at the time and he did not meet Steve Forbes at my house, but met my dad at the door who decided to take his shirt off when he came into meet him. Classic. I think he decided that I was not ever going to circle in his circles, so I was releaved of my duties after a few dates. But he was the worst kisser on earth, so I was okay with it. He is still handsome, but I bet he is still supremely boring. When I saw him on Saturday he was with one of those girls that just looks like money. Not fake tan, Orange County wives money, old money, Manhattan money. She looks like she walked out of a Banana Republic done by Annie Leibovitz ad, but her hair was more dull. She was thin with a nice sized chest. If I would have picked out someone for him, it would have been her. I was wearing oddly cut limited Levi's, a bright white and blue striped long sleeved shirt with red lining, my hair in a bun on top of my head, wrestling looking shoes I bought in Paris, my risky business sunglasses, my bangs straight in my face, my FEED bag, and a cool belt my friend at surf shop donated to me that has a pouch and two buckles. I looked like the girl he never would have dated or let meet his dad's friend Steve Forbes. Now that I think about it, I had more to say to Steve. I have this thing with older powerful men, I make them laugh. I made Steve Forbes laugh. Like I made Newt Gingrich laugh and Bob Dole laugh and the head of this and that laugh. That guy I was talking about couldn't make someone laugh if had Jerry Seinfeld with him. If only making them laugh got me an amazing job, like making people laugh. I just like making people, all people, laugh.

Well, I am not sure if what's his face ever got into Harvard or wherever, but I think making people laugh lasts longer and makes your life a considerable amount more rad.

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Faithsalutes reading a book in one night. Ready, go.

Weekend Update 897987.99

Mowgli has the stomach flu. I did not do anything productive from Thursday morning through this morning. Well the only thing I did that was semi productive was make some twice baked potatoes. They looked like nasty, but they tasted delicious. I could not believe how good they were. I could not stop eating...

I think the dog is also throwing up. This is awesome.

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I have to go sanitize my little house that could.

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Faithsalutes flu patrol.

More is More

Another friend is "expecting". I am uber unst happy, happy, joy, joy. She is glowing, he is beaming. Do I feel jealous?

No. I just want the babies to hurry up. I want to squeeze (not in a shaken baby sort of way) them and smell them.

Hurry it up babies.
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My friend did something incredible this last week. Well, she is pretty incredbile. I did not ask her permission and she could take me to court, but my friend Kathleen was the youngest to pass the bar in the state of California (and probably the Nation). She is brilliant and now practicing in Los Angeles. Read about it here.

She also has impeccable taste and loves celeb gossip! I wish I lived in LA again, just to be back around friends like Kathleen who are quite inspiring.

Congratulations!

And don't believe the crap in the comment section of the article, she has "normal" parents.

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I have 6 papers to write, not including my full time job. Signing off.

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I am starting to feel thankful today, a day early. I have a lot to be thankful for...all year round.

Faithsalutes more more more.

vote for humanity

How about this...a mother, pushing a stroller with an infant stuffed inside, holding the hand of her toddler...100 steps from a crosswalk...walking across 6 lanes of high flowing traffic.

S-M-A-R-T.

I see things like this everyday and wonder why I encourage the masses to vote. There should be some sort of selection process.

Eligilibity to Vote Test:

Would you run across a busy street during rush hour with an infant in a stroller while holding the hand of a toddler?
Yes _X_
No____

Jane Doe:
We are sorry to inform you that you have been
denied voting rights.

-The Man.

If you have any further questions please contact Faith Hill.

Sup Mayor

I rode the elevator up 11 floors with the Mayor of Phoenix this morning. I wanted to tell him I voted for the other guy, just to make things interesting, but his secret service dudes and some guy who complimented him on his "groundbreaking" the day before were conversation blocking.

Groundbreaking? "Mr. Mayor, uh, way to cut that ribbon! It just snapped in half." I wanted to laugh after my imagination ran with how lame that complimented sounded, but I just tried to eye the Mayor's hand scribbled notes instead. I was hoping for something juicy.

The Mayor is about 5'3". His body type sort of resembles that of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons. But, to be honest, he was very pleasant to all in the elevator and remembered names and affiliations. He did not look at me even once, I guess looking at a blonde in heels is scandalous in a government building. Go figure.

There goes any and all opportunities I had to work in this City.

I like to start out my early morning with a fresh dose of elected power.

I am ready to take on the day.

Wham bam.

Faithsalutes the smell of government wasting our money in the morning.

bah humbug

Is it Christmas already?

NOOOOOOO. For the love of everything HOLY, STOOOOOOOPPPPP. And you know we are not starting Christmas in September every year because we want to celebrate Christ's birth or Hanukah, but to ensure everyone gets something tied up in a bow on Christmas morning.

It is not even Thanksgiving! I don't want to think about Christmas and listen to Christmas music already. I can only take Christmas music for about 6.3 days. 6.3 days of enjoyment, pleasure, and love, then I want to kill myself. I know, I know everyone loves Christmas music.

I think the other seasons get the shaft. We don't start celebrating Easter in February now do we? No. Nor does the Fourth of July picnic gear start showing up on Target shelves in March.

I am shopping two weeks before Christmas and I am going to once again, be the wench who gives out non materialistic gifts to grown adults who buy themselves whatever they want anyway. We are drawing names in my family and that individual whom I randomly select will be spoiled...the rest of the list gets the satisfaction in knowing that the crummy US dollar was not wasted on items that will be smashed in a closet sooner than later this next year.

What do I want for Christmas? Nothing! Because its not close enough to think about it yet.

Done thinking about it...

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A fence is being put up across the street at the scary, not so well built pure stucco home (our neighborhood is all brick, even if some idiots have slathered stucco over it). Seriously, I have seen mud huts that are more safe and sound. None the less, they are making cosmetic adjustments and that is all I care about at this point. Fence, grass, new roof, etc. The guy who bought it has a pink house, so we'll see how lucky we get with the color. I am hoping for chartreuse with cranberry accents.

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In case you were wondering, I had a Fruit by the Foot for breakfast. It was delicious. And according to the box, it is low-fat and high in Vitamin C. Because parents can't put an orange in a lunch bag anymore or something like that.

Unbelievable. Red Vines are also low fat. Maybe I will have a box for dinner.

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Mowgli qualifies his skills with his Boy Scout badges he got when he was 11. "I can sew a button" he tells me, referring to my expensive Ben Sherman sweater, because, "I earned my sewing badge."

Uh, okay.

Mowgli is an Eagle Scout, which is highly commendable, but that does not mean he doesn't ruin my clothes in the dryer or able to reconstruct my clothing.

Eagle Scout, check. Project Runway winner, yet to be decided.

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I was assigned to bring "drinks" to the Thanksgiving gathering. Let's analyze. 1. I can't cook, or I can cook and they don't think I can. 2. I am too busy too cook even if I wanted to and this situation is being respected. 3. No one believes I can cook even if I tried. 4. No one wants to rely on me for any of the important Thanksgiving feasting necessities like let's say, stuffing or mashed potatoes. 5. People still think I am 15. 6. People have scoped out the size of my kitchen and limited counter space. 7. I have made it known that I don't own a cookie sheet, but do have a KitchenAid mixer we got for our wedding. 8. I am excellent at selecting non alcoholic ciders for my brothers and little cousin to suck down. 9. I will always be the person who brings the drinks and I need to accept that as a secret gift of unanxious future contributions to large gatherings. No judging required when it comes to drinks, no pressure at all, seriously. 10. This is just one more notch in my "I am going to be a 23 year old male" lifestyle I like to maintain in order to avoid matronly or feminine critique. How can you judge something I have not yet attempted?

Escapism is an art.

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Faithsalutes Thanksgiving coming right on time.

weekend update version 39.98980

I saw a woman wearing a wig. A bad grey wig on top of her shaved grey head. She was in the drugstore purchasing gifts? I am not really sure, but I figure when I am that decrepit I am going to wear long blonde wigs and pink wigs and Jackie-O wigs, whatever I can get my gnarled little mits on.

I saw one crazy street walker try to "high five" "wassup" another crazy streetwalker at the bus stop. It cracks me up when one crazy disses the other. Classic snub tactic. When I am old and crazy, I am going to diss other old crazy ladies at the shuttle to the mall bench.

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"Oh, Faith, like Faith Hill."
"Uh, no, Faith as in have Faith actually..."

I usually blow it off, but I have had it. No, NOT LIKE Faith Hill. She is fine, I don't have anything against Faith Hill personally. But think about it, everytime you said your name someone clarified by associating you with a country music star. ANNOYING.

Why can't I just be Faith, this Faith. I am done with it, I am not letting it slide anymore. I am going to say, "Oh, what's your name?" "Tim?, like Tim McGraw?" "Gene, like Gene Simmons?" "Ted? Like Ted Bundy?" "Al, like Al Gore?" "Anna? Like Anna Nicole Smith?"

My favorite is when "Christians" say oh, well she/he (insert a famous person) is a Christian (emphatically) Really? Why is it so important that famous people are Christians? Secondly, how do you know? They thanked God at the VMA's? or followed up with God Bless at a Charity event? And third, who cares. And if they are they aren't doing a very good job. NICE TRY.

Moreover, Just because I was at a "church function" when some lady associated me with Faith Hill and thought she had one upped me after I said I prefered, "Faith as in have Faith" with "Faith Hill is a Christian." I wanted to jump into a lecture on how ludacrous that is...even if she is a Christian or worships Kittens...I want to be Faith, not "Faith like Faith Hill" for the rest of my life.

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Mowgli bought me 4 boxes of Fruit by the Foot. I did well all week, trying to weed out crap soes I can look a bit more slender for the Holiday season. I would like to look a bit more sleek. I got rid of all the candy in the house, ate salads, and was weeding out soda. FRUIT BY THE FOOT? He said it was on sale at the grocery store. I have no self control. What part of no self control doesn't consume an entire box of Fruit by the Foot in one evening. Unbelievable. I am craving them right now.

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Judo chop.

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We did nothing significant the entire weekend, but deal with 60 year old plumbing with our plumber Ken. Ken the Plumber says things like, " Piece a cake." "Only a retard would do somethin' like this." "You know whattaaI mean?" Ken is from Illinois. Ken smokes and drinks Pepsi. Ken loves to go to the movies and complains about how much money his wife spends. Ken is one of our favorites.

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The dad from Little People Big World had a DUI recently. Its time to laugh along with me.

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Okay, I am tired and forget, once again, all the things I wanted to post...this happens to me more frequently than I would like to admit.

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xoxox
FAITHSALUTES, NOT FAITHHILLSALUTES.

Growl

It is 10:14 AM. I slept til 8:30 AM. I took a very long bath, I walked my dog, I checked my email, I chatted online with a friend. I am trying to strategically pick a time when my day will more officially start, when should panic set in? It is grey outside and I am getting a late start. I think I should be in the office by 11AM. Between 11 AM-4PM I will act like I am on the floor of the NY Stock Exchange and get more done in 5 hours then anyone thought possible. Then I will come home and let my dog out of her crate and read for class tonight and feed myself and feed the dog. Then I will go to class for 3 hours and try to pay attention.

This is my Thursday. I am looking forward to them changing into something different. What different looks like, I am not sure.

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"Hey girl, wassup."

I went to a counselor. She called me girl, several times throughout the session. She even called me girl via email. Maybe she was trying to be cool. I am getting closer to 30 and I paid her $125 for an hour. I think referring to me as a girl needed to stop. I don't think I will go back and see her again. For $125 I want a "girl's day at the spa" or a "girl's ticket to Vegas for the weekend" or maybe a "girl to serve me drinks" or a "girl to fetch me a cute dress to try on that costs $125." I don't mind "labels" like guys and dolls or guys and gals or boys and girls, but I think we can use them with a bit more discretion in a professional relationship.

I do not have an extra $125 laying around now do I, girl?

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Spanky is sleeping already. I feel guilty everytime I put her in her crate, but she sleeps the whole time. When she is not in her crate and I am home, she is sleeping anyway. I am looking forward to when she gets older and I can trust her to behave herself without the crate. Here's lookin' at you kid...

I think she can sense the dreariness of the sky today and that is why she is so sleepy too.

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There are never enough soft sweet fluffy rolls at Thanksgiving. I requested we up the number, we have only been allowed 2 for as long as I can remember. This is bogus. This is America, land of the plentiful, land of agricultural subsidies where our tax dollars pay our weight in gold for wheat, and we are middle class...give us MORE ROLLS! I suggested 3 or 4, my brother mentioned he wants 6. Either way, I want to make sure I have had my fill and not left wanting this year.

I am thankful for rolls. I cry for Gluttony!

Oh, and um, eh-hem I am thankful for my family and the fact that we will all be together this year. But if less of them showed up, I would get more rolls.

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I think I pushed back being in my office til noon. Now I will have to work twice as hard tomorrow. Its completely unbiblical, I know.

Faithsalutes dreary days in proportion to the amount of sleep they require.

is it just me?

or does Project Runway get better and better...Season 1 and 2, not impressed with the clothes. Season 3 was amazing, with the exception of one finalist...I will let you guess which one I think was awful (hint: not the winner, but male).

Take off the sunglasses indoors.

Faithsalutes Season 4. what's in store.

not feeling bad, boo hoo...

I am the first to admit I am horrible with my time lately. But I have to bitch about something...

I am hearing about these "kids" dropping out of the Master's program or just dropping down to two classes. I would completely feel sympathetic, if I didn't then find out that they are only working 10 hours a week in their research or TA positions. This is bull crap. I am working 30 hours a week with 3 graduate courses, plus my house, dog, only having a husband home every other weekend, etc. And I have time to watch Gossip girl...pull it together. I want to know what the hell people are doing with their time? Four hour showers, slow learners, meticulous house cleaning, cancer?

I am not sorry that I do not feel sympathetic any longer.

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We almost have enough saved up to purchase our tickets to Africa. I cannot tell you how excited this makes me and how proud I feel to have saved. TEAM US! I know we have debt like the rest of America, but we are working on that too. After fleeing Orange County nasty this weekend, I was happy to think about living quite nicely within our means and saving and not using our credit cards any longer. It felt good, real good. Sure, I am not wearing Marc Jacobs or having my car detailed every month, but I am eating PB and J and driving the Honda Civic Mowgli got in highschool and loving it. I also canceled my gym membership (well suspended it). I have the mountain and park nearby to take Spanky...

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I talked to my mom last night, who I did not think was reading my blog until she mentioned something about it a few weeks ago, and she seemed upset that she never provided adequate bra support. She probably did ask, but I don't remember. I probably lied and said I did not need one. I lied a lot, moreover I was extremely shy about those topics. I just started to talk about such things in the last couple of years. I never even said "period" for years. This is also not my mom's "fault", she did not pass this on to me. I inherited it from myself. She thinks I am weird. I am weird.

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One time my brother and I broke our neighbor's Christmas lights. He was a jerk. So we unscrewed some of the fat bulbs and let them drop and break, making it look like it had happened without human intervention. I didn't ever feel bad about it. One time we threw a bunch of rocks into his above ground pool. His dog was ugly. Another time we left our machete that had red spray paint on it in the other neighbors yard. The elderly lady thought there was blood on it and called the cops. We denied, denied, denied. One time my brother found 20 bucks on 27th Ave. when we were walking to the convenience store, that was the greatest day, ever. The old lady who lived behind us yelled at us that we were white trash little kids. We actually weren't, we just threw oranges and hit them over the fence into her yard. Our neighbors mom was a topless dancer. Her name was Chrissy, her mom's name was Laura. She played Nintendo all day and drank Dr. Pepper and weighed like 40 pounds in 6th grade. I could write a book about Chrissy, but for now what is important to note is that her mother was a topless dancer and was missing teeth, because that is the type of thing you will never forget as a kid. Our other neighbor Drew hung out with us a lot too. My brother made up a song about him using the Beatles "Hey Jude" melody on his keyboard. "Hey Drew, I've seen you nude, don't try to fake it, we've seen you naaaaked." Sometimes he would say he smelled like poo. Drew turned red, we loved it. I thought my brother was a comedic genius. Our Ice Cream man would give us pieces of bubble gum if we didn't have any money. I usually bought cherry sours that were in a red little box with a Chinese man on the front and a box of lemonheads. Candy was very important to me, I basically spent most of time figuring out how to get a hold of candy. When I would finally get my grubby mits on a GIANT jawbreaker from the Sweet Factory, I would savor it for days and keep it in a nasty plastic bag that would be coated with jawbreaker dust and my spit. We used to throw our gerbils up in the air and catch them, well try to catch them. My mom would replace them all the time. We were giving them all heart attacks. I remember some of their names. One time my toenail fell off from a soccer injury. I saved my toenail in a beautiful silk box my aunt made me for Christmas for a long time. I think someone found it and was completely grossed out and threw it away. I was sad, I wanted to keep it, seriously. I made something in my water bed that night with scissors and tacky glue.   

And that was all in one year.

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Faithsalutes the sweetness of childhood. 

Répète aprés moi

Repeat after me..."I will not allow Faithsalutes to ever again procrastinate to the extent again, because she is becoming old and frail and we might care whether not she lives or dies."

Hi, I am Faithsalutes and I have a procrastination problem.

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I paid my 20 bones in late fees today at the library. I wish I would have that to spend on a new pair of shoes.
Shiny shoes, shoes that shine. Shine-Shiny. I tried to renew books online, but that didn't work for one reason or another. Lame. So lame.

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We have a new neighbor about to join our portion of the block. She looks like she parties hard, despite her children it appears she has. We'll see. An update to come on whether she parties hard or not. But one thing is for sure, she will be renting a bounce house for what appear to be her children for their birthdays. Because in our neighborhood you are not legit unless you rent a bounce house and the adults get plastered and leave their trash around for the rest of us to look at for the next week or maybe, if we are lucky, month.
Did I mention she is across the street from me?  My tactic is going to be to befriend her and sway her from her hard partying trash she will leave behind for us to look at.

Okay...I should stop...

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Has anyone seen American Gangster? Was it any good?

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Back in action.

Faithsalutes the action.

overwhelmedness

Veteran's Day. I respect more than any other. I cry during all war movies, does that count?

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i had so many things to purge here, but i waited too long. so now i got nothin'.

a fly would not leave Spanky alone today on the trail. it made her cross eyed. the fly kept coming back to land on her nose. i thought it was hilarious. hiked for about 20 minutes, my knees are too rubbery to last.

i was in Los Angeles this weekend. i stayed with my friend Helen in Orange County, to be precise. i missed her. i used all of her fun bathroom products and perfume. i was so convinced it made a difference that i went and bought some facial cleanser she had in her shower. i am going to purchase the collection of goodness she uses to look almost flawless all the time.

we went to the UCLA game. we lost, but i got to yell that they had ugly cheerleaders and had no alibi, etc, etc. when your team is losing, i say aim low.

i saw some great graffitti in LA and glittered Orange County mommies at the Spectrum that made me feel sick to my stomach. but my stomach was happy because i had mashed potatoes in the last 24 hours.

i have 5 papers and 3 interviews and a couple of books to read in the next two weeks. this of course does include my job and the work that needs to be done there. i am a bit overwhelmed.

sorry. sorry for not delivering. my anxiety is running too high and my to-do list is too long. maybe tomorrow or later tonight.

time to go buy a nicotine patch and a case of red bull.

faithsalutes the 13th hour, when i do my best.

When Scarface turns 90

Today I was outside on my front porch reading about an hour before my class this evening. I didn't get very far, a few sentences to be exact. Spanky was running around in the front yard and I spotted my elderly neighbor shuffling up the sidewalk. It was a horrific "When animals go wild!" reinactment waiting to happen. My dog, someone new who weighed 80 pounds, no gate. I immediately went into fight or flight mode. My immediate action to stop the puppy turned into an hour long conversation with my neighbor who is turning 90 in December. She covered the Depression, her brother being killed by a drunk driver, tripping over cracks in the sidewalk, hating to grocery shop, a news story about a boyfriend burning his baby's girlfriend alive, and the cats she feeds: Friendly, Squeeky, and Scarface.

Scarface? "That is a great name" I inserted. Then after a quick brain scan I realized how much that made sense to me, that name for a kitty in this hood. In our neighborhood you can get a Scarface blanket on any given day on the corner out of a van. When I took a *class from someone high up in ICE he mentioned in a lecture that he had never made a drug bust without a Scarface poster in the background. And there are some drugs on her street. My brain kept jumping to and from possible Scarface references that may or not be appropriate to say in front of a 89 year old woman named Mary. At least I think her name is Mary. But all the Scarface references are not nice for a lady to say to another lady.

I hope I live until I am 90 in the hood and have a kitty named Scarface. Thats how you know you have really lived.

Oh, but I don't hope my car will be stolen 3 times.

Faithsalues 90 years of keeping it real.

*Military Science course entitled Military leadership...there was a lot about troop formation when attacking... I should have majored in Warfare.

the one time when I remembered deodorant

I forgot to put on deodorant today. That reminded me of two very significant events involving deodorant in my life.

The first involved climbing into my Uncle's car one sunny summer day. He was picking up me up for church "junior high group". Once my legs were stuck to the sweaty seat, I was immediately assaulted. He flat out told me that I had B.O., right all up in my face. Bam. YOU HAVE B.O. Wham. YOU HAVE B.O. S***. No sugar coating, no "Faithy, maybe you should go inside and put on some deodorant because I know what a sensitive time this is for you and I remember the first time I stank like a locker room." I was again, completely mortified. I had in fact put on deodorant that day, but my about to grow giant breasts hormones also assisted in an especially sweet stank. My uncle is young, he was 13 when I was born. We have always had a very close relationship, but somehow it did not seem like this was what being very close to your "cool" uncle was supposed to be like.

I still forget to wear deodorant on a regular basis, but I am not as pungent as I used to be. I make up for it in sarcasm and success. I laugh in the face of pubescent odoriferous nasty. And when I am an uncle one day, I am going to ignore the stank and let peer pressure handle the situation.

The second run in with deodorant was at now, one of my favorite places in the world, the Sky Harbor Airport. Growing up, going to the airport for me was like going to Disneyland. I didn't fly until I was 13. My first flight was to the British Isles as a Student Ambassador. But almost exactly one year before I was wandering around in Sky Harbor with my dad, we were there to pick someone up. After going through security, my dad could not figure out why I had white stuff all over the back of my legs. I said I sat in something, but really it was deodorant. Let me explain, when you grow up in Phoenix you have produced enough sweat to fill the Grand Canyon by the age of 9. I was sick of the sweat. I was done with it. The backside of my knees had dripped their last drop, because I had slathered the back of my legs in my brand new deodorant.

Every time I am at the airport I think about that time I got caught with deodorant on my knee pits and my first flight. That flight was freedom.

Faithsalutes mile high hygiene.

humiliation, again?

Oh, you can count on it.

When I was in highschool, I was a cheerleader for one year. I have no idea why the hell I decided to join the squad, but joined none the less. I am pretty sure I lied and said I had some experience. I lied like a Clinton (ha, ha)  my sophomore year of high school, because I felt like I had no other choice. I was a complete idiot. Back to dancing, I had no formal training whatsoever. I could just freestyle like MTV spring break without the naughty. I just wanted to dance like those girls on ESPN 2 in Florida at the Disney World stage. As one might guess, the whole experience was after school special hell. I rather not go into too much detail, but here is one incident that made my short lived cheer leading career even better (wink, wink.)

My mother, at the time, was doing hair and Aveda make up. There was a hair convention in town and they needed models. I willingly signed up. I agreed to a shorter haircut, it was a in a bleached bob at the time. I was on stage, the man with scissors was wearing a Madonna head set and a patten leather shorts ensemble. He came 1/4 of an inch from shaving my head on stage. I left looking like a cancer patient. Prior to that haircut, I was sort of  hanging out with the a 6'4" guy on the football team who drove a wicked cool jeep. Suffice it to say, he came by that night and I never talked to him again for the following 3 three years of my time in the pen. It was social high school suicide. I had a shaved head, no cancer, and had to be in front of crowds doing bad choreography. All the other girls had matching ribbons in there hair, I had none.

I learned two lessons that year: 1. don't lie and 2. don't let someone on a stage cut your hair.

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According to the Arizona State University calendar, I would like to make everyone aware of two very important days coming up this month, "Transgender Day of Remembrance Celebration" on the 19th and "Buy Nothing Day" on the 23rd of November. Make sure you mark your calendars!

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I am reading a book called the Lemon Tree, I would recommend. I would also like to recommend that you prepare for Buy Nothing Day and purchase it now.

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Faithsalutes the worst of the worst.

PS I plan on writing more happy, non traditional experiences...but I am on an adolescent role.

oh yeah, and that too

I forgot to add that my children will know the Star Spangled banner and other highly motivating nationalistic songs, instead of just commercial jingles and the latest Disney movie score. Songs like "Go tell it on a Mountain" and "Michael Row your Boat ashore" are not dying around here, either.

Oh yeah, and the Pledge of Allegiance. Required. If the school is not doing it, we are doing it in the morning before they leave for school in the morning. And they will like it. Mowgli is an Eagle Scout so I know he will approve.

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I have been always sort of in a dilemma about how much I should truly post on the internet. I have a backlog of hilarity that I have not posted because Mowgli will get embarrassed or what if a future employer flips out when they find out I rarely (fill in the blank) or believe (fill in the blank). Well, it is official I am over it. I will still monitor the intimate, of course, but here it comes. All the goods and more.

For example, today...I went to see a counselor. A bonafide counselor with an office, clipboard, and bad carpeting. More on that later. And I love HandiSnacks more than most real food. And I usually sleep in all my clothes at night because they are all warn in from the day and snuggly and by the time I wind myself down to go to sleep I am too tired to take them off. And my brothers and I were thieves when we were kids. And I am worried about having knee surgery because it will gigantic scars and the only thing I like about myself are my legs and who will I be then? An ugly girl in pants? I think I can endure the hobbling every couple of days for nice legs at events.

I guess the point of all this is is the most classic stories that accompany my defeat make me the person I am. It is near tragic and/or funny around here almost every single day. I think it is time to write it all down and let all good citizens share in the humilation and fun. (I was recently inspired by this club that meets once a month to read from their adolescent journal entries in front of a crowd. Apparently it is a riot. I will have to dig up some old installments of myself.)

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THIS ONE IS FOR THE LADIES:

One time I grew breasts. I grew them in like 5 weeks. I went from a boney skinny frail nada to a giant breasted freak. They grew up out of my neck. It sounds fantastic if you are named Candy and are 21, but when you are an ADD semi man voiced little girl, it is not so fantastic. It was humilating. I was so mortified to ask for bras. Someone put some bras in a hand me down box to give away. I snagged all of them into my back pack and started wearing them. One was padded and one was not, one was a small B and the other a C. Someone I won't mention here basically hinted that I was being "slutty" because I was wearing a padded bra and how embarrassed my father was about it. Little did this person f****** know that I was in fact too big for the padded bra and did not wear it for more than two weeks because I had outgrown it. I would soon outgrow the other as well. Picture this: 14-15 year old boys and the girl who got boobs bigger than any of the other girls and wasn't dating older men yet. There was one summer when I wore a zip up sweatshirt and baggy pants in Phoenix. Subsequently, my face blew up like a balloon. I was not running on the soccer field at the same speed. I was pre-breasts oh, so fast, but now...slower.

Point: I am sorry to all you little girls who get breasts overnight and get treated like meat and sluts. Wait until you are an adult and all the ladies pay to look like you. I bet you look like the next Gisele or Cindy Crawford. I don't, but at least the boobs dropped away from neck into a more suitable territory.

Well, I double dog dare you to find pictures of that time period in my life. And if you have one and show it to someone, I know where you sleep at night. I will destroy you.

But wait it gets better.

My first "cycle" (hi Jamie!): WHITE shorts, at Sea World, with ANOTHER family on vacation. Top that. ahahahahaha. (hi Kamie!)

Faithsalutes the truth to come. Good citizens will get to laugh too...at my expense.

(Don't let me forget the story about the best massage I have ever had.)

Matching 93 degrees

It is going to be 93 degrees in Phoenix today. So much for fall clothing. So much for frolicking in the leaves, so much for global warming I don't believe in....

I took my dog on a walk this morning, but this time I veered onto the "bad street". I crossed through the dirt and glass sprinkled field and headed into no man's land. Where shoes hang from telephone wires and mattresses lay on cars in front yards. Spanky did not spend as much time lingering on that street as she does on ours. Apparently she prefers the smell of fresh dryer sheets and freshly cut grass. Snob face.

What is the deal with shoes hanging from telephone or electric wires. We can't throw them away or donate them somewhere? There are that many shoes? No one anywhere might need a pair? That is one of those signs you are in a lower socio economic local on the grid, when shoes are hanging from wires 100 feet up. Two pairs in my block alone.

Cracked windshields and furniture in the lawn (not to be confused with lawn furniture) unite!

More to write, but slammed city today...maybe later.

Faithsalutes Brill, the naughty nasty stretch of hood that Spanky be dissin'.

Free Rice

Free Rice is amazing, it wastes time (my friend called it "intellectual procrastination") and it more importantly it is for an amazing cause. Check it out.

Weekend Update version w8908-089.66

For the weekend:

My father in law and Mowgli's grandparents arrived in Phoenix on Saturday ready to party, even though the party was Sunday. My father in law makes things happen...he almost single handedly made sure the House Warming event occurred and I did not cancel it. I take that back, my neighbor and my father in law made it happen.

Mowgli contributed by taking our dog, Spanky, to the park so that she would wear herself out and leave our guests alone. Spanky contributed to the party by rolling around in duck sh** in the park. I am not sure how familiar you good citizens are with duck sh**, but let me put it this way it smells and looks like after birth has been fermenting in a sunshine filled waste site. It is creamy, white, filmy, and reeks of death. Mowgli did his best to rinse her off at the park with the drinking fountain, but it was pretty much a lost cause. So classic. I almost threw up when I picked up the filmy Spanky collar to throw it in the wash. Our subaru smelled like duck sh** and then to top it off, Mowgli ran into a bird on the way home...

I got to drive the duck sh** car with feathers flying out of the grill for an emergency "buy a curtain rod because the other one fell down and 100 people are coming over in an hour" trip.

Everyone knows the greatest thing about throwing a party are the left overs. I think the mess is worth the left overs. I love party food and I love party left overs even more. Last night in the middle of the night I got up and ate some candy and drank a sip of coke. For lunch I am going to eat pie and chips with salsa. No wonder I am chubby, I have absolutely no self control. Some of those left overs are coming to work so I can spread the chub. I love spreading the chub.

Candy, among other food groups which aren't really food but preservatives, do not survive in my house. Their shelf life does not exist, they never make it to a shelf.

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Thank you for all the suggestions on the fingernail dirt dilemma. I think painting them is the best solution. Thanks Sara! Even when short, dirt collects. I like those metal nail file things, but I don't like pulling that out all the time either. So painting it is...

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You don't pluck, you tweeze.

Faithsalutes duck and cover.

fingernails

how the hell do people keep underneath their fingernails clean? i never see anyone with dirty fingernails in my office or in class or at dinner or parties. my fingernails are ALWAYS dirty. i clean them out every ten minutes. if i forget for a few hours truckloads of nasty dirt film is jammed under them. do i have some condition that i don't know about? undiagnosed issue with the distance between my nails and fingertips?

let's put it this way, if you have handed me a business card, invitation, anything in the card stock family, sticker, etc it has been swiped underneath my nails to get the dirt film out.

gross, right?

well i want to know the cure. how do you people all have clean nails? why do i always look like i just planted cotton fields or live in a homeless shelter (no offense).

let me in on the secret.

how am i ever to move up the social ladder with this disease?

faithsalutes a recessive gene.

Things I will require my children to know, have attempted, or master

In no particular order and not including true character building. This is all superficial , because these things do not make a productive, loving member of society or family...but...

How to swing and jump off without breaking anything (this is an art), swim, dive, use chopsticks, use the dewey decimal system, know how to use the bus system and other public services, play foursquare, jump rope and sing songs accordingly, drive a car at a very early in case of emergency (MANUAL), try all ethnic foods (they dont have to like them), write thank you cards that don't start with "Thank you", look people in the eye, play Hearts, make their own food, do their own laundry, write a letter, have a penpal, have a signature dance move, take care of a pet, change a tire, complete a summer reading program, have a firm hand shake, been on a surfboard/boat/train/plane, have some Bible versus memorized, things like that...

Let's put it this way, everytime I watch television I am afraid my children will be one of those people that has no clue. Do we blame the parents?

Empower

I hate the word empower. I think it is crap. I am sick of hearing it. I feel empowered to say it.

It has been stolen and abused. It as though people are unable to act, unless they have been "empowered."

Faithsalutes what is really going on...a sense of entitlement.

told you.

My aunt came over this morning to help with a few decorating dilemmas. She is incredibly talented in a thousand different fields, but today she was my decorator/ Chinese lunch date.

She walked into the house and truth sprung from her lips, " Man, you really do live in the ghetto."

Yes, yes I do.

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Spanky has been so clingy lately, and I will admit I am feeling very special about it. She is sleeping between my feet now. She did have her giant pitbull head resting on the keyboard earlier. I started to feel a twinge of tenderness towards her. She really has made our home more like home. Mowgli is damned near obsessed and I am just neutral most of the time. She is growing on me. Plus I love when she dreams, she makes great dog faces and dog noises.

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The shuttle driver employed by the Subaru folks used babytalk when discussing directions with me in the shuttle van this morning. It was so unbelievable. I almost started laughing, but the shock destroyed the chuckles.

He was using the semi-Elmer Fudd baby talk. I felt uncomfortable, but knew I could out wit him with adult speak if things got out of hand.

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I saw a fantastic mullet today. The back of this guy's head was full of ringlets. Shiny, glossy ringlets. He was in scrubs. I am pretty sure he was not a surgeon, but the guy who runs the x-ray machine. Excuse me, the technician.

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I think it is time for a new outfit. Wouldn't you good citizens agree? Something nice, something for the fall weather we don't have here in Phoenix, we just pretend we do.

Faithsalutes Thursdays...cause that means it is almost Friday and I get to read Dear Prudence on Slate.com on Thursdays.

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so here is the deal

we are having an "open house" / happy mowgli birthday thing on Sunday. what does this mean for me and my role? it means pressure. pressure to do things without money. pressure to make our home look somewhat put together. it means, simply, that baseboards need to be wiped clean. and i don't want to wipe baseboards, really, nor do i want to try to work on the house with a $30 budget. let the onslaught of conscious and unconscious judgement by guests commence.

i will succumb to pressure and clean, sure....but the unpainted laundry room and the grassless front yard and the missing light in the bedroom will have to wait.

i could really use the HGTV crew and their cash.

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i am too tired to type, it is 1:30 AM.

off to bed.

xoxox

faithsalutes

ps overstock.com = overrated.