Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


Warning. Excessive Girly Content Ahead.

This post is not for the faint of heart.
Those who kvetch about girl blogs being all about feeling fat, crampy, and crabby should do well to skip today's entry.

You have been warned.

Everbody else, C'mon!

Apparently those little checks you send to Planned Parenthood whenever you have money actually do come in really handy, and they bend over backwards for ya when you come in. OK, not really- but the folks at my local PP are the sweetest, coolest, nicest bunch of people that ever lived. The Nurse Practitioner is awesome, and I don't even mind the fact that she pokes around in my girlie bits without even buying me a drink first.

In fact, my Planned Parenthood's Nurse Practitioner gets the "best ever" award because she:

1. put me in the room that didn't have the valtrex booties on the stirrups
2. told me a neat trick for helping to get rid of my persistent tinea versicolor. (a Florida fungal funk on my chest and back- looks like leopard spots) involving a microwave and some selsun blue (although not at the same time). Damned dermo didn't tell me that.
3. doesn't store her speculum in the freezer, in front of the air conditioner or in a vat of liquid nitrogen.
4. gave me the poor man's seasonale, so I can rid myself of cramps, and limit the number of migraines I've got. For this, I love her most of all.

Now I just have to kick back and wait for the "all clear" from them, and my girlie bits will be the happiest girlie bits on the block.

(OK, really, I'm just thrilled to not have the mongolian death cramps for the next three months. Beyond thrilled actually.)

Again, if you are an ovarian-american, or are related to one, consider making a donation to your local PP clinic this year, or whenever you can. They do so much more than the anti-abortion folks would lead you to believe. They provide STD and pregnancy testing, counseling, and annual exams for a lot cheaper than most places, in an environment that is warm, caring, and very empowering. If you don't have a local PP, try donating to the national federation, or look for a women's clinic in your neighborhood. (F'rinstance, Womankind in Key West is also quite swell, and in desperate need of funding.)

Bite me, Bridget Jones.

OK. I lost a good chunk of weight when I lived in Florida. I came home wearing a comfortable size 16. I was elated, and felt a lot skinnier than I had in a looooooooooong time. (Thanks to the "Outback Steakhouse Curbside Takeaway Run your Ass Off" Diet- a specialized plan that involved running from the kitchen, to the front, and then out to cars, and back again, usually about 700 times a night.) Once I moved back I knew the pounds were creeping back on. I was in denial about how many though, until I stepped onto the scale today. Um. YIKES.

So... I was reluctant to join the local fitness center, because I know I'm going to move in the next few months, and want to be closer to the city. (The fitness center is practically on top of where I live now, which is nice) Looks like I'm not putting that one off any more. (at least once I have the cash to do so) Although I *really* don't want to be working my waaaaaaaay out of shape ass out in public, I also don't want to join the local Curves, as that's just a way lot more froofy bullshit than I can tolerate. Also going to give my old boss's weight watchers stuff a try. She lost a buttload of weight, as did my aunt and cousin. So... we'll see.


In short-

Girlie bits- poked, prodded.
Butt- immense.
Gym Membership- inevitable
Froof- not on your life

The next posting will be somewhat more normal.

OH! And someone wants me to write a brief article for them! YAY! Free, of course, but hey. It's a good thing.


Cooking Junkie

Food Geekery: No, the title's not a a recipe for the local crackhead, but a book. A gigantic book of delicious goodness bound to make the average cooking geek practically ooze giddiness. That's right- the New Best Recipe Cookbook by the folks at Cook's Illustrated. I have loved their line drawings, their no-nonsense brand comparisons, and their unmatched dedication, for years. They're not pretentious like the folks at Saveur or Gourmet, they are people, like you and me. They don't have 7 hours to braise an imported yak's tongue, then hand craft their own spun-sugar cage to serve over it. They're people who want good food, done simply, using methods that are easily understood, and will turn out the best possible results.

Accomplishing that task is a bit daunting at times, as they will make countless batches of the same dish, varying the ingredients and methods until they finally come to the quintessential verion of the dish. Their magazine, and in turn, the cookbook (a beefy tome that makes the Clinton bio look like cliffs notes) takes you through the process, and lets you get a glimpse at their methodolgy.

I highly recommend picking up a copy at your favorite book-purchasing place. It is a perfect gift for anyone who loves to cook, or the beginner (G. Monkey's getting a copy for Christmas), or the food geek on your list.

And no, I'm not a shill for the Cook's folks. I also recommend Alton Brown's cookbooks, and Rachael Ray's 30 Minute Meals books. They also indulge my inner food geek (Alton) and my impatience with "pretentious" food (Rachael). If you want more info on either of them, check out www.foodtv.com

Otherwise, I've got nothin'.

Ok. Maybe just one or two more things.

Sports Geekery: I actually did not watch the game on Sunday. Partly because it was against the 'skins- c'mon, and partly because of the very late night I had. If they would have broadcast it on local TV, I'd have caught it, but was in no mood to develop emphysema just to watch (the studly) Ben Roethlisberger win a game against a crappy team. In other news, the Raiders actually won a game, against the Broncos no less. In a related note, Beelzebub is practicing for a 7th circle version of Disney on Ice (absolutely indistinguishable from the original), and monkeys actually did fly out my ass. Bengals/Browns game? The hell?

Fiber Geekery: is it really wrong that I want to knit a tape-measure cozy and hammer-hanger cozy from Duct Tape for the Knitting Curmudgeon's Christmas Crap-Along? Heh.

Charitable Geekery: Hey, if you send Planned Parenthood money, you get your appointments a hell of a lot faster. Ok, not really. However, I was pleasantly surprised to call for an appointment, and get one for tomorrow. And, if you're thinking of gifts for the difficult to buy for on your list, may I humbly offer a few suggestions?

Planned Parenthood The group so nice, I linked them twice. When you don't have insurance, your local PP is your reproductive system's best friend. Even when you do have insurance, it's kind of nice to go to a place run by women, dedicated to making sure that ovarian-americans have access to birth control, annual testing, hiv, std and pregnancy tests, and a whole host of other things that George W. wants to get rid of.

Donors Choose I've plugged them before, but it doesn't make them any less worthy. They're actually ensuring that "No Child is Left Behind" in a way George W's cabinet only wishes they could have come up with. They're actually funding programs. Your donation can be applied to the grant proposal of your choosing, and it's a pretty swell organization.

I also suggest donating to your local hospital. Inquire if they have a fund for people unable to pay for health care. Donate to your local senior center or meals on wheels. Take a bag or two of critter food to the local animal shelter, cut up some fluffy towels for cage liners (or get creative and sew/knit some!), or if you're able- volunteer to foster-care for special needs critters. (We foster-cared for several batches of kittens who needed medication- it's super hard to give them up, but it does feel good.) The shelter provides the meds and supplies, you provide the love and get them well enough to be adopted.

Anyway... be warm. Be fuzzy.


Mmm. Turkey.

Happy turkey-coma weekend. Hope you all had a great holiday. Mine was enjoyable, with the exception of the "we left my house and it was sixty degrees, but 2/3 of the way to DuBois it started to snow. Hard." thing. (which directly led to the "can you just bring the turkey in here to my blanket cocoon, because if I move, I will surely freeze to death" thing and the "whose stupid idea was it to come up here for Thanksgiving anway? Oh. Mine. Crap." thing)

Things went swimmingly till we tried to leave, and approximately 1 hour into the drive back to civilization, the serpentine belt in the car shreds. Luckily Odie (official brother of Special Sauce) is a vehicular genius (especially when dealing with his own car), and has approximately 12.4 billion VW-head friends, who told him exactly what he needed to fix it. As luck would also have it, Pappa Sauce was sticking around in the cold country to hunt, so he was able to procure the necessary items, and get them to us, and we were on our way again in about 2.5 hours.


Nutjob update:

I'm doing pretty well. Trying to get enough sleep, because I know that my stupid insomnia exacerbates things. I get to sleep fine, but rarely sleep the entire way through the night. Evil (official eldest feline of Special Sauce...) doesn't help, She will not tolerate being shut out of the room (will rattle the door and pulls up the carpet), and demands to be petted between 3:30/4:30 AM. (And if I've awakened at 12, 1:30 and 3:00, this generally pisses me off something fierce.) I've tried valerian before, and something else whose name escapes me at the moment. I usually have very limited success with them. (because again, falling asleep, no sweat- STAYING asleep- problem.) If anyone has any suggestions, I'd love to hear 'em.

(and yes, I have considered taking the cat's feet and turning them into charming chopsticks, however, even when I didn't have beasticus, I still had the insomnia.)

Not a whole lot else to report. I triumphed over my windshield wiper blades today, replaced them, and my air filter, put in the nifty de-icer windshield fluid (the inventor of which should really receive a nobel prize), washed, waxed AND vacuumed the car... (and yes, I do have a date tonight- no, he probably won't see the inside of my car, but hey, It'll make the drive to Bawlmur a bit more interesting...)

Hope all of you are having a swell weekend. Can't wait to watch the game tomorrow- and will probably choke if the Steelers honk it agains the 'skins. Also, note to Fox. I live in Pennsylvania. I don't want to watch the Bengals play the Browns. The last time they played, that game sucked harder than a hyperactive kid tryin' to get the last granules out of the bottom of a pixie stick. When given the choice, why in the name of all that is holy, would you show a dog of a game like that, when you could show the 9-1 Steelers? Stupid, stupid move.


Enjoy 'em!



Best. Lunch. Ever.

Today I got to go to lunch with one of my friends from High School. Turned out, he surprised me by inviting along one of our mutual friends too, and we ended up reminiscing and laughing for three (!) hours. Fear not, the restaurant was slow, and we tipped well. What a great time we had. One of us is married, one came out, and one still isn't sure what's happening (I'll let you guess who is who). It was very funny though to know that we all had a crush on the same guy, and probably still wouldn't kick him out of bed. Heh.

None of us are what we thought we'd be, or what we were told we'd be when we were in school. Go figure. We ended up a lot better off than some did, I'd say. We didn't do what one of our classmates did- leap to his death on his honeymoon, never explained why. We also didn't burn out on drugs and stupidity, didn't get trapped into getting married too soon, and finding out too late... Some days I have regrets, but know that I haven't done so badly for myself.

Another shout out to the Memphis Word Nerd- Believe it or not, I actually don't own any G. Love and Special Sauce. Hee! I should, but they're not the actual reason I have this nickname. It all stems from my tendency to refer to G. Monkey as just plain G (and vice versa). While working on the office from hell over the summer, we discovered her latent talent for making really really good monkey noises. (and has really long monkey arms, compared to mine). Somehow it just sort of stuck that She was G. Monkey, and I, her sidekick, was Special Sauce. Go figure. *L*

And, in the spirit of recycling, I'll present you with the listing of things I'm thankful for, and a story about one of the items...

1. The entire Schiff Brothers Oevure- Weasels Rip my Flesh, They Don't Mow The Yard Anymore... god, it's so hard to choose just one.

2. The kind hearted folks at McNeill Pharmaceuticals, and the good people at Turkey Hill, without whom I couldn't have my favorite breakfast- Coffee and Motrin.

3. HP Bulmer Inc- the makers of Strongbow, whom I'd love a whole lot more if they'd distribute locally, and give me even more incentive to have my favorite breakfast a lot more often.

4. "Little People", Tioti Whitehurst, the Key West Police Department, the Coca farmers of South America, Wyeth-Ayerst labs, 19 year old mormons, and the internet- for each one contributing in their own way to make my "love life" that much more interesting. If nothing else, I have great stories to tell.

5. My friends, who have kept me in stitches and out of trouble, and who have made me laugh my ass off innumerable times in the past year. Good on ya.

This year's Thanksgiving will be infinitely better than the last, unless somehow, my cokehead ex boyfriend manages to show up at my parents house and bitches about how much he doesn't even want to be there, like he did last year. (well, substitute "my apartment" for "my parents house" and you have last year.) And maybe as a special treat, my roommate's stalker ex boyfriend could show up, and act all creepy too. As it is, I think we'll just have to deal with garden variety relatives, which is much more tolerable.


Happy Thanksgiblet, everyone


Part II

It's great to be here. I thank you. Ah, I've been on the road doing comedy for ten years now, so bear with me while I plaster on a fake smile and plough through this shit one more time.

Heh, Bill Hicks always comes through with a great quote, even from beyond the grave. Lest you think that I'm thorougly crazed after yesterday's post- I'm not. Well, not the bad kind anyway. (Because yes, there are good kinds of crazy- like the kind that make you do creative things, and cause you to sit up all night writing, or making stuff. Then there's the bad kind of crazy, which causes you to sit up all night writing manifestoes and making bombs, and listening to the voices tell you to burn stuff.) Yesterday was a bad day, and I was seriously freaking out. Today, not so much. I don't feel like I'm going to burst through my skin, and that's a good thing.

Special shout out to the Memphis Word Nerd who has one hellaciously swell blog, and never fails to perk me up by leaving comments here. *waving* HI!

Musical interlude- Picked up a few CDs this weekend. I am not too hip to the modern artists, but found a few fun things.

Dressed in Black- a Tribute to Johnny Cash Good stuff, lots of different artists. It came out in 2002, but I'm usually a bit late. Bruce Robison and Kelly Willis performing "Pack Up Your Sorrows", Mandy Barnett and Chuck Mead performing "Jackson", and Raul Malo's verson of "I Guess Things Happen That Way" are my favorite tracks- good stuff. If you like Johnny Cash (and honestly, how can you not?) it's worth the listen.

musicforthemorningafter- Pete Yorn. OK, see the above post on not being hip. It was cool to put the album on, and go "Oh! I know this song!" when "Life on a Chain" came on. I bought it because I had heard Yorn's version of "Suspicious Minds" and fell in love (The Ex used to play the original every time we went somewhere with a jukebox- ya think I'd have been tipped off?). That is definitely the way that song should sound. Unfortunately, it's not on this album, but the rest of it is pretty swell.

Other Business: The folks from Tomato Nation and Television Without Pity present This Is Not Over. Some of the stuff I agree with, some of it not so much. (i.e. I didn't care for the rather inflamatory bit about the hunters that got shot- much preferred Miss Ali's take) Check it out.

Sports Geekery: Woooowhee. We were waiting for Roethlisberger to honk it, and this week, he did. To his credit, Plax was out for 3/4 of the game, and that was sorta like takin' away the other part of his brain. (And I don't mean that in a bad way- the two of them just work so well together.) The defense just wasn't there, and the boy got sacked SEVEN times. (go ahead, say it like Principal Rooney. SEVEN times.) I was really getting pretty steamed when he kept running the ball, but I know he was just doing it to get any yardage they could, instead of getting sacked-again. Still, a good game, but difficult to watch after the past few weeks. Who knew the Bengals would wake up that day and forget they were the Bengals?

Sports Geekery II: OK. MNF Flapdoodle? My take. Was it a stupid promo? Hell yes. Was it calculated to piss everyone off? Of course it was. Did ABC know exactly what they were doing? Damn straight they did. They orchestrated it down to the last apology, and had Ron Artest not gone... well... Ron Artest on everybody this past weekend, it would still be a headline. Did I find the spot personally offensive? Not particularly. Would I have if I had kids? Well- frankly, they probably wouldn't be watching MNF in the first place (especially an Eagles game, heh) because- Hello- Bedtime. But if they were, the were probably old enough to get the joke, and know that most people do NOT dash about dropping towels and hopping onto each other, and if they weren't, it'd be an opportunity to remind them of this.

The people who freaked out because "The children!" need to give kids a little more credit, and need to step up to the parenting plate a little more. The government cannot and should not be responsible for sanitizing every milisecond of television to the lowest common denominator. And if you huffily changed the channel, and didn't tell your kids WHY it was a bad thing to watch, congratulations- you just cemented into their minds that bodies are taboo, and they're going to (as someone way more interesting than me put it) immediately hone in on that. And we alllll know what it's like when you've been told not to touch the shiny red button, right? The second your parents walk away, you're longingly gazing at it, and gazing leads to "not touching it" from .2 milimeters away" and having the button occupy your mind during your every waking minute, till finally you just touch the damn thing.

Maybe that was a shitty analogy- but do you understand what I mean?

Sports Geekery III: Ron Artest. The short version. I had this debate with my dad this morning. Artest had no business being in the stands. Period. The fan had no business droppin' a drink on Artest. That was just plain stupid- like poking at a rabid pit bull with a stick, and then wondering why it took your arm off. Bottom line- Security should have been doing its job a little better, the Fan should have kept his drink in his hand, and Artest should have kept his ass on the floor.
More in depth on that stuff later.

To sum up-

Me- not crazy
Memphis Word Nerd- very cool
This is Not Over- Nifty
Roethlisberger- Still Swell
Music- Good


Funny you should mention...

I just want to thank the incredible Marilyn, also known as the Knitting Curmudgeon. Go over and check out her entry from the 18th. She got me thinking about my own mental-health issues, and those of others I know. If there are any family members reading this entry, you may want to just go ahead and skip this one. No. Really.

So, in the spirit of the curmudgeon, let me put this one out there for ya. Ever since High School, I dealt with what I now know to be social anxiety disorder. My senior year, I thought it was normal. I chalked it up to my parents splitting up, and the fact that I still had no idea what I was going to do with my life, I didn't date, and being reminded that I was "really pretty if you'd just lose some weight" by my mother probably didn't help much. I was pretty sure that everyone out there was not only staring at me, but that they were passing their own judgement, and making sure that not only they knew I was a big freak, but that all of their friends knew it too.

I would do everything in my power to make sure that nobody knew I was freaking out inside- lest that give them even more reason to hate or make fun of me. (In reality, I know that I probably didn't even register on their radar, but I was convinced otherwise.) I don't remember a whole lot of details about my Senior year. I remember a lot of dread, even now my stomach knots up just thinking about it. To cope, I wrote a lot of my thoughts down in journals- gave them to a co-worker who was studying to be a social worker. I could not and would not speak about it. It was physically impossible. I credit my co-worker for keeping me from doing something really stupid back then, and would love to find him today and thank him for it.

Eventually, I got a little better- didn't feel the constant dread of what others were thinking of me and excelled in customer service, of all things. I still worried about what other people thought of me, but as long as I slapped on a happy face, and convinced myself that I didn't care, I was fine. I even worked as a store trainer for a few years- one of the best acting jobs of my life. It was weird, having these people hanging on my every move- and it probably helped too, because I couldn't just hide in the back room (as oh, believe me, I wanted to), I had to force myself to sell them on the fact that I was both normal and happy. It tended to work, too. In fact, I was pretty much OK for six years.

In late 2001, I was in a new job and was under a lot of pressure- I had been rapidly promoted to the position I was in, had zero experience. I started to experience a lot of the same feelings I had in High School- a lot of dread, a lot of frustration, my mind was cycling 1000 times a minute, and I was convinced everyone was watching my every move. I'd get so frustrated I'd mangle my arms (never cutting, but scratching, scraping and brusing them just to experience the physical pain as an outlet for the mental bullshit). I was lucky enough to recognize that what I was doing and experiencing was not normal, and sought help.

When I actually got to sit down with a therapist, it did help somewhat. She told me that my perpetual freaking out, and worrying about stuff was actually anxiety, mixed with a heaping helping of social phobia. One of the symptoms is that I knew that my fears were irrational, but they were also very real. (Of course, I was also sitting there thinking to myself that "this woman is just telling me this, so she's got billable hours for me.") Talking helped for a while. Sometimes, just knowing that there is indeed a name for what's wrong with you, is a good thing.

I do know my symptoms are kicking up again, and I can figure out kind of why, so I'm trying to put things out here. Lately, working nearly alone, it's been pretty easy to fall into the hole, and not want to go anywhere, or see anyone. I have a lunch meeting with an old friend in two days, and have been moderately freaked out for a week. (Why? Couldn't tell you. But not only have I been rehearsing conversational topics, but I got a haircut, and am still mentally arranging wardrobe- will he care what I look like? nope. Will I continue to obsess? Probably) I don't see anyone at work all day, but worry anyway who will see me at the gas station when I get my coffee, and what they'll think. I know I'm doing it, and I know it's stupid- I also know that therapy, for the most part, isn't going to help without some medication too. That scares me. If I don't have a pill there, I can pretend that there's nothing wrong. I can stay in the house and pretend I'm not actually freaking out. I can be as suave as I want to be on the computer, and nobody has to know. Of course, now you know. (assuming you didn't skip out, after the first paragraph, and if you're related to me, please don't bring this up at thanksgiving, because I'm not prepared to deal with it in person right now.)

I am getting better at recognizing my symptoms. Doesn't make it a whole lot easier to quash them, but I know they're happening, and know that I only have 2 more months till my insurance kicks in. That helps. Writing about it helps too. Be forewarned, the next few entries may be a bit off from the usual Special Sauce-age. If you read this far, thanks.



Caution: Football Ranting Ahead

OK, I'm a dull, dull girl. I admit it.

Still like work. Still infatuated with Ben Roethlisberger. Still absolutely overjoyed that the Steelers are still winning. Does it count as a rant if you aren't bitching?

Good stuff: Last week's win over the Eagles was a beautiful, beautiful thing. To which I say- Take that, Andy Reid, you parka wearing foo'. Take THAT TerRELL Owens, you loudmouthed, jackass-dancing, team-changing-when-you-don't-get-your-way douchebag. Take that Donovan McNabb, and make sure your chunky-soup-shillin' mamma takes some too. Most importantly, take THAT you obnoxious Eagles fans, and blow it out your ears.

Good stuff II: This week's win over Cleveland was also beautiful. Oh sure, you think you're going to run all over us with your figgie in the first two minutes- then we spank you like redheaded stepchildren for the next 56 minutes. Take that- Browns fans. (P.S. The dog masks suck.)

Stupid Stuff: I have to admit, I have been relatively lucky this season when it comes to catching the Steelers games. Dish Network has shown all of the games but six on our regular programming. However, it's ridiculous that we can't get the Steelers games here on our local channel. We're considered a Bawlmurr market, which is ludicrous. (Don't get me wrong, many wonderful things come from Bawlmurr- the show Homicide, the Aquarium, Edgar Allen Poe. The Ravens? Not so much.) Folks are petitioning the NFL to get the games shown here, and the station in question WANTS to show the Steelers games, so who knows. Given the choice, I'd rather stay in and watch the game in my pajamas, than have to go out to a smoky bar to watch.

Other news. G. Monkey starts her new job tomorrow, and I wish her luck. She's a Deputy Director, and yes- everyone wants to know if she gets a tin star with that. heh. My job's ok, but I'm still not loving the fact that I am completely alone all day long. That kind of sucks. Ah well.

Not for the faint of heart- Fuck the South. Yeah. Pretty much. (And folks, I want to hear no bitching.)


Evil Bastard

Yes. I am.

Just trust me on this one. I've been rather the evil shit lately, and it's kind of fun. OK, so it wasn't wholly evil. My Ex Benevolent Dictator either lost, or couldn't be bothered to even look at the "secretarial procedures" manual I made her. She actually lined up volunteers to hand-address postcards for a mailing, and would have made them do it, if Monkey hadn't talked to me. So, I had to explain to the EBD that the document did indeed exist, and if she couldn't find it in the book, she could print it fresh from the computer. This isn't evil. Nope, making sure that my sig line included my new job title of "Assistant Director" was.

The jury's still out on the new job, and for lack of a better name, my boss shall henceforth be referred to as "The Whirlwind". She blows in for five to ten minutes at a time, dispenses with her directives, questions or requests, and promptly blows away again.

I love it.

I enjoy being told what the desired end result is, and being allowed the power to choose whatever route to make it happen. In fact, I really enjoy my office, and the work atmosphere. Now, if I could just manage to bludgeon our accountant to death, or at least get him thrown off our account, I'd be a happier person. He's a schlep who pulls a massive amount of attitude every time he's asked to do his freakin' job. *I* can fill out the state tax exemption form, and I'm a moron, but it's a gigantic production for this guy. (Complete with sighing, a put-out tone of voice and I wouldn't be surprised if I was actually on speaker phone, so he could drag around his gigantic cross with my organization's name on it.) Hate!

After a week, The Whirlwind's dog doesn't even hate me so much anymore. Heh. Plus, I've been told that the cats are permitted in my office, and anytime I need a fur fix, I can let them in. Whee! Almost as good as having Silent Bob in there with me.

Now, onto the political bullshit.

My mother sent me some letter that was forwarded around one of her mailing lists, from a woman who has decided she's not helping anyone, because Bush got re-elected. Her theory is she's not donating anything, not even her old clothing, because people won't change until the help's not there anymore. She says they should go to the churches that told them to vote Bush, if they want a handout.

I think this woman's full of shit, and she should hope she never needs the help of any charity. I say this not just because I work for a nonprofit. If anything, non profit institutions are going to need more help from the public, not less. The government, under Dub, is going to cut even more of the budgets for social services to pay for this stupid fucking war we're in.

editor's note: Special Sauce supports the people fighting the war 100%. It's the assholes who put us there in the first place I have a problem with. So don't send me your stupid emails

I said it before, I'll say it again. If you're feeling enraged because of the election, make a donation to a charity. It may ease your conscience a bit, and it will certainly help someone who desperately needs your help.

If not, you can always visit Marry an American... Heh.


Where to even begin...

Ok. Starters. I can't talk about the election. Not yet, anyway. You want to do something about it? Good, go over to Tomato Nation and read Wednesday's vine. (The last part, to be exact.) Then go to Donors Choose and put your money where your anger is. When I'm able to think about the election without wanting to alternately cry and put my fist through the nearest wall, I'll talk about it.

In the meantime, the second scariest thing I discovered today...

While I was in our local Starbucks (I know, but I was there for a meeting) I really loved the music that was playing. It was Johnny Cash, Aretha Franklin, the Live Concert by the musicians from O' Brother..., and some other stuff. I owned all of the cds being played. Now, does this make me a total hoser because my musical tastes are apparently in sync with the starbucks clientele? Should this scare me as much as it did? (granted, I needed something petty and obsessive to occupy my mind)

Work is going well, except for the fact that I get my directives in very short staccato bursts, usually in between cell phone rings and trips to pick up offspring. (Boss's, not mine.) I'm scheduling a "No Phones" meeting on Monday to pin down some of the basic information I need to do my job. In brighter news, I did get a title today, and it's not queen of the maroons (that is, after all, my birthright). I'm officially the Assistant Director. Whee. :)

Oh, and for the record? I work in my boss's poolhouse. Make that my boss's 2 story, with kitchen and great view and nicer than some places I've lived... poolhouse. Heh. If I would not be working 24 hours a day, I would so beg to live in it. *L*

To sum up, I will appropriate a good quote...

Don't mourn, Organize!