I decided after my last time visiting Wonder Dave that it was time to switch things up again. So I went to te salon of a old friend, Smitten Salon here in Oakland.
In addition to cleaning up the cut, which was kind of lopsided after the last styling, she also gave me a new color.
I would have never done this a year ago, but here it is!
It’s red. Very, very blood. It’s blood red.
This is the point at which I started throwing things at the TV last night:
OH NO HE DIDN’T!!!!!! Please tell me that this man did not just put air quotes around health. Yes, allegedly these healthcare providers are interested in the health of a woman. But not really. Just air quote health!
And apparently giving a crap about a woman’s health and well being is a “radical” opinion.
Because, you know, all those selfish, irresponsible women carry pregnancies for months and months and months and then one day they just decides that they should have had an abortion, and then, conveniently, their doctors comes up with a cockamamie excuse, such as placental abruption. Yeah, that’s EXACTLY how it goes down. It’s all just lies and smoke screens so that selfish women can live another day to, you know, raise the children they may already have or to have more children! Who do they think they are?
End sarcasm.
FUCK YOU, MCCAIN!!!!! UP YOURS!!!!!!!
What’s better than 40 minutes crushing calories on the elliptical and treadmill at the gym?
Watching the Phillies send the Dodgers to bed with a 1-2-3 bottom of the 9th in Los Angeles while burning those 367 calories.
Take that Breakfast!
Hit the showers Kent!
HA Ramirez!
Beat LA! Beat LA! Beat LA!
Just sayin’.
This pretty much covers it, right?
I just can’t say enough about how funny Jay Smooth is, and how smart, and right on the mark.
“I’m John McCain, and I just don’t care anymore.”
I was tickled when I saw this on Google this morning. Today is the 50th birthday of Paddington Bear, or more accurately the 50th anniversary of the first publication of a Paddington Bear book. “A Bear Called Paddington” and the lot were written by Michael Bond with illustration by Peggy Fortnum. Today, 35 million copies of the Paddington Bear books have been sold.
I loved Paddington Bear as a child, but my love was immense enough to be shared with several other bears of Britain. I never really thought about it until today, that they were all originally written and published in England, but so be it.
This is what I remember Winnie-the-Pooh looking like when I was a kid. I had a little set of the books illustrated by E. H. Shepard and written by A. A. Milne. My mom is still obsessed with him.
And then there’s this fella, Rupert. I don’t know that he ever caught on much here in The States, but he’s been around in England since 1920. It was started as a serial comic in the Daily Express. Since 1936, there has also been an annual published. There were a few of these around the house when I was growing up, and I still have one from 1983. My grandmother brought them back for us from England when she would go home.
So, my childhood was just overflowing with books about bears from England, and I don’t think I can pick a favorite.
It has been way, way, way too long.
The only thing better than seeing your favorite band is seeing your favorite band that happens to be comprised of some of your favorite people. That’s what I have when I get to see Go Jimmy Go play.
What sucks is that they are far away in Honolulu, and they haven’t been touring in California for almost two years.
I miss Go Jimmy Go. I miss my friends. They’re due to have a new album next year, and I hope that means they’re going to be back to the mainland soon.
Here’s a photo of the bride and myself at the wedding.
It was a nice wedding, outdoors in South Lake Tahoe. It was perfect weather, sunny and warm. I had on sunblock, which is good, because my back was in direct sunlight throughout the ceremony. Queen B (not that B, her name starts with a B) and I have been friends since we were both three years old. My parents moved into the the house next door to her parents. My folks lived in that house for 26 years. Her parents are still in the same house. We say that we are more like family then friends, because we just don’t have that much in common, other than the whole history of our childhood.
When you’re in a wedding, lots of people take lots of pictures of you. This is from the first batch I’ve seen. I’m positive that there are more. If there’s any more good ones, I’ll post them. What do you think of that dress?
Fun with Stats! I get a bunch of info from WordPress about who is reading my blog, what other sites are linked to my blog, where people clicked through from to arrive at my blog, etc. But the most interesting stats are usually what people entered into a search engine, like Google, that landed them at my blog.
For example, a while back I wrote about scientists finding a new species of rat in the rain forest. Ever since then, lots of people have entered ‘rats’ into their search engine, and somewhere in the results, there’s been a link to my blog, and a lot of people have clicked on that link.
Today, this showed up:
So . . . you’re looking for the top secret location of The Phenomenauts’ Command Center, are ya?
Well guess who’s not gonna tell?
Happy hunting, though. Really.
I think, if you’ve read my blog much, you probably realize that I’m an independent type of person. And by independent, I mean feminist. That’s how I was raised. Above and beyond the lessons my mother taught me, and the examples of my grandmothers, though, at a certain age I looked around at the world, and thought to myself, “Yeah, that makes the most sense.” Some of the other things parents and grandparents tried to teach didn’t make it through the filter.
Another influence on my young mind was Judy Blume. I *loved* her books Superfudge and Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. So, when I saw a write up for the site YA for Obama on Salon:Broadsheet, I had to check it out.
Here’s a letter from Ms. Blume, posted on the site:
Why I Support Obama
The first time I was old enough to vote in a presidential election John Kennedy was running against Richard Nixon. I was 22, married, expecting my first child and living in suburban New Jersey. My husband, a lawyer, belonged to the Young Republicans club. He expected me to help his cause by making phone calls urging people to vote for Nixon.
I never made those calls. And on election day I was thrilled to pull the lever, casting my vote for Kennedy. I’ve never responded well to being told what to do. I prefer to make up my own mind.
Like so many others, I was inspired by John Kennedy and excited about the possibilities for our country. Coming out of the sleepy, complacent fifties, he made me believe that change was possible. I believed in him the way my parents believed in Roosevelt. I remember the night Roosevelt died in April, 1945. I was seven years old and just recovering from chicken pox. When my parents heard the news on the radio, they fell into each other’s arms, crying. I cried, too, although I didn’t have a clue.
My generation wept the same way when we lost John Kennedy. Then Martin Luther King. Then Bobby Kennedy. We mourned what might have been. In the dark days that followed, those of us who were young and idealistic were forced to grow up fast. I watched the Vietnam war unfold on TV as I played on the floor with my two small children. I became a skeptic about politics and politicians. Yet there was never an election when I didn’t vote. For me, voting was both obligation and privilege.
I’ve never spoken publicly about my politics. But I’m speaking out now because at last we have a candidate who makes me believe again. A candidate who I see as America’s best hope, a candidate who inspires not just my grandson’s generation, but my own, and my children’s.
Whoever is elected in November is going to face a daunting challenge. No one person can clean up the mess it took 7 and ½ years to create. That’s why I want the calm, thoughtful candidate I believe will surround himself with the best and the brightest. I believe the decisions Obama makes will be made based on what’s best for this country.
I want a president who can make us proud as Americans. How great would it be after 7 and ½ years to have an articulate leader, an eloquent speaker, one who is not only willing to talk, but to listen? I believe Obama will be that kind of president. Plus, he has a sense of humor. He has two young daughters and a working wife. He’s smart. And let’s not forget the magic. Nothing wrong with having the ability to connect with people around the world –young, old, and in-between.
In some ways an election is like life – a lot of muck comes your way. It’s hard sometimes to slog through it. It’s exhausting. It can be scary. You can feel like you’re drowning in it. You’ve got to work hard to pull yourself up and out of it, then to rise above it. We need a leader who can help us do that. That’s why I’m supporting Barack Obama.
All I ask is that you make an informed decision. It’s about the issues. It’s about health care, the economy, education, the environment, a woman’s right to choose, equal pay for equal work — it’s about who will be appointed to the Supreme Court, and it’s about never rushing into war again – not without all the facts, not without trying everything we can to prevent war first. This election is too important for all of us to decide in any other way.
Tell your parents, tell your grandparents, it’s not just about them this time. It’s about you and your future. It’s about my grandson’s future. That’s why I’m speaking out.
Thanks,
Judy
“Are you there, Judy? It’s me, PeggyLuWho. I just wanted to say ‘thanks’.”
Yesterday I got my absentee ballot in the mail. I filled it out. I mailed it back today.
Go out and vote people.
If you’re in California, and you’re not registered, you have until the 20th.
I curse. I curse a lot. I love to swear.
Fuck is one of my favorite words. Nay, no ambiguity about it . . . . I LOVE FUCK! It’s an awesome word.
I’m also quite fond of shit and ass, bloody fucking hell, damn, bitch, and the whole fucking buttload.
I think that the reason why I love to curse so much, is because I resent the majority of the arguments that people have made to convince me are more offensive than any words could be.
And my least favorite is that it is “unladylike”. Like I give a flying fart about being “ladylike”. As far as I can tell, being ladylike just means being boring!
And I think the fact that people get so worked up over words is just ridiculous! They’re just words. What makes them “bad”? Says who? Jesus? He didn’t speak English! “Fuck” doesn’t mean anything in ancient Hebrew!!!
I mean, shit, they’re just words.
Just swearin’!
Peggy Lu Who's Just Sayin' 