*Editor's note: Post updated at the end

I thought these people were as evil as it could get (if they're guilty, of course). They're still on my list of People Who Should Rot in Hell. However, if the allegations are true, I'm adding someone else to my Faces of Evil club.



Chester Arthur Stiles is out there somewhere right now. He's now being called a suspect in a disgusting case of child sexual abuse. Stiles looks very similar to a man who raped a little girl named Madison on videotape. Investigators who've seen the tape have said it's some of the most heinous abuse they've ever seen. Tonight, investigators say the little girl on the tape has been found "safe" with her family. She is now seven years old. They suspect the rape tape was made four years ago when the little girl was three. THREE.

Stiles is also wanted on outstanding warrants of sexual assault and lewdness on a child under the age of 14. Those charges involve another child. Stiles has been described as the survivalist type who always carries a weapon. He was also a distant friend of Madison's family. Investigators say the mother of the little girl is cooperating, and it appears she didn't know her child had been so terribly abused.

I cannot comprehend how someone can do this to a child. I cannot comprehend how a person could see a three year old child as a sex object. The still frame of the video shown on CNN in order to find the little girl showed her dressed in some sort of animal-printed tank top. Even though the networks have stopped showing the picture of the little girl at the request of law enforcement, I cannot get her image out of my head. It breaks my heart.

This is the kind of scenario that makes me want to believe in Hell so badly. Hell cannot possibly be bad enough to punish someone like this. I don't know what the proper punishment would be exactly, but I do not believe people like this can ever be rehabilitated. There is clearly something very wrong in the wiring of their brains. They should not have the freedom to prey on our children EVER, but I do not think killing them is the answer either. Maybe there's something we can learn from them that will teach us how to protect our babies from these evil monsters. I don't know.

Let's just hope they catch Chester Arthur Stiles before hurts another child (assuming, of course, he's guilty of the charges). Evil. Pure evil.

**Photo courtesy CNN.com

A side note: CNN.com has posted the criminal complaint against Stiles in the other abuse case. The alleged victim's (another little girl) name appears in the document several times. I have emailed them and asked them to block out the child's name, since it is customary for media outlets to withhold the names of alleged victims of sex crimes. I have gotten back an automatic email response, but so far, they have not removed the name. If you feel strongly about this as I do, maybe you can send them a comment as well.

October 2, 2007 Update: CNN.com has redacted the little girl's name from the criminal complaint against Stiles.

Also, the man who turned the rape tape in to authorities has finally turned HIMSELF in. Darren Tuck claims he found the tape in the desert five months before he handed it over to investigators. He allegedly showed that tape to several people while he was wrangling with himself over what to do with it. His attorney says he's had some negative experiences with the cops before, so it was really hard for Tuck to decide what to do with the tape he "found." He must have had to consult some friends to find out if that innocent little girl was actually being raped on the tape. Yeah, right.

Labels: Chester Arthur Stiles, Child Abuse, Crime, Darren Tuck

Dear Inconsiderate Mommy,

I'm sure your high-dollar manicurist is booked solid through the end of the year. I'm sure all your friends were jealous that you were the one who actually scored an appointment. I'm sure your cuticle beds were in desperate need of some TLC. I'm sure that you were dying for some adult conversation. I'm sure you needed to feel the touch of something that doesn't require batteries, even if it was just your fingertips.

I understand that your child is sometimes hard to deal with. I understand that you sometimes need a break. I understand that somedays you need to feel like a woman and not just someone's mommy. I understand that you need to take care of yourself before you can take care of others. I understand that your life is so hard.

I understand that you will have to pay your tuition even if your kid is not there. I understand this is taking money out of your manicure budget, and you want to get the free time you're paying for. I understand it takes a lot of money and effort to maintain your kept-woman image. That's hard work, sister. I applaud you for your efforts.

However, there are quite a few of us out here that are suffering for your selfishness. For example, I have some freelance work to do today. The money that will come into our bank account as a result of that work helps keep me looking like the hot piece of stay-at-home mom ass that I am. Trust me. I need that money. Highlights aren't cheap, bitches, and my roots are showing.

However, since your manicure appointment was more important than staying at home with your sick kid, I woke up this morning to a little man with a fever and dry heaves. He puked on himself and me quite a few times before he should have been at school. He was happy as a lark by 10am, eating me out of house and home. I could have tried to send him to school as scheduled at 9am so I could get my work done. There wasn't anything in his stomach anyway. It wouldn't have been that big of a mess, right? I mean, what's a little bile among friends? Plus, it was just a slight fever, nothing anyone would have noticed until he started puking. So, what's the big deal? Kids are resilient, right?

The big deal is that you think your life is more important than all of ours. You didn't want to be inconvenienced with a whiny, needy little boy, so you sent him off to breathe on all of our children. Sure, it's not the plague, but it's definitely cramping my style today, and I'm sure it is cramping other people's style as well.

I am going to do my part to break the cycle, by keeping my little guy at home with his mommy where he should be when he's sick. He's my child. I birthed him, and when he's not well, I will make him better, or at least make him feel loved while he's puking. That is my job. I'm sorry that you couldn't be inconvenienced with your job, but I'd appreciate it if you would take all of us other parents into account when you dump your son off at school when he shouldn't be there.

Maybe you're too caught up in your own little world to care, but trust me, the rest of us do. This violation of the Mama Code will just go down as a warning, but if you continue to disregard the sacred oath, we will find a way to punish you. You know, people have caught some pretty nasty shit from manicure tools. I've even heard of fingers falling off. I'm just sayin'.

Yours in motherhood,
Student of Life

Labels: Mama Rant, My Little Sunshine, Parenting styles

I went for another consultation for laser eye surgery. When I left the first place a few weeks ago, I didn't feel good about it. I felt like I needed a shower. Yesterday's appointment went better. I left there ready to sign the check, but as always, my inner Worry Wart is jumping up and down.

I went to the company endorsed by Tiger Woods, not because Tiger had his surgery there, but because my regular eye doctor recommended it. My experience yesterday was diametrically opposite from my experience at the first eye surgery center. The tech who did the initial tests seemed very knowlegible about the procedures. Later on, I would hear her give the exact same speech word-for-word to several other customers, but I still liked her.

After the tech finished her job, I saw an actual optometrist, a young woman with some letters after her name. I don't know why this makes me feel so much better, but it does. This doctor was probably younger than me, but she seemed very good at her job. She did many more tests than the tech did, probably six or seven more. She was very thorough, which made me feel more comfortable in her recommendation. In the end, she recommended the same procedure as the salesperson at the other place, but I felt better hearing that from her than I did Joe Schmoe.

The only thing that bothered me about Dr. Bright Eyes was I left there with a very expensive prescription for Restasis, the latest and greatest thing in the eye world. Yeah, my eyes have been a little dry lately, but they always are in the fall. I bought her explanation, however. She said that we need to reduce or eliminate any irritation in my eyes prior to the surgery itself, and that made sense to me. Did the makers of Restasis send her on an all-expense-paid vacation to the moon in exchange for her handing out this prescription to all her patients? I don't know, but I'm still doing as she suggested.

I was totally comfortable with scheduling my surgery for October 4th before I left the building. The sooner, the better, I was thinking. I've been half-blind my whole life, and frankly, I'm sick of it. Now, though, after spending the last two hours going over all these forms they want me to sign, I'm feeling very antsy.

There's lots of legal mumbo jumbo in my giant packet o' information. First, an Arbitration Agreement. Basically, if I sign this form (and I think I have to in order to get the surgery done there), I am agreeing to waive my right to a jury trial if they hack up my eyes. I don't like that. I seem to recall being told that a good attorney could find a way around that document, but I'm not positive that's the case. Any attorneys out there know the answer?

Second, an Informed Consent document and an Addendum. Those forms have multiple boxes to check and initial. They basically say that I understand that I could go blind or die during or after this procedure, and that if I sign it, I'm cool with that. Um, no. I'm not cool with that, thankyouverymuch.

Also included in those forms is a specific mention of the possible complication of developing something called keratectasia. This scary word is a serious screwing up of your cornea, which could lead to a person needing a corneal transplant in order to see. That condition has shown up one to three years after surgery in some (seemingly rare) cases. Dr. Google tells me I don't want any part of this.

So, here's where I am now. This eye surgery is an elective procedure. I don't have to do it. I can see just fine with my glasses or contacts. Sure, they are inconvenient, but they work, without any permanent changes to my eyes. There is always the risk of infection with contacts, but I've been wearing them for the past twenty years without any complications at all. There's also the fact that in as few as ten years, I will have to wear reading glasses, even with "corrective surgery." That's just a part of getting old. Hopefully, I would get more than ten years out of my "new" eyes, but that may be all I get.

I know I'm probably being a Whiny Worry Wart as usual. I know quite a few people who have had a great deal of success with this surgery. Maybe I should just have them start giving me the Valium today, so I'll quit worrying and just do it. Or, maybe I should just take the $4,000 and go on a really awesome vacation with my husband.

Oh, the problems of a poor, little spoiled brat stay-at-home mommy. Ridiculous.

Labels: Lasik, Worry Wart

I saw her pink ball cap first. She and her little boy were about a hundred yards away from My Little Sunshine and me, but as she approached, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I noticed her long, thin legs and the quiet sound of her voice. Her socks woven with threads of many bright colors jumped out at me. They told a story. This was a woman who was loving life. As she walked closer, it became apparent that her hat was not just a fashion statement. It was a symbol of her struggle.

Under her hat with a purpose, I noticed her light, blonde hair was short. It was wispy. It kind of looked like the fuzz on a baby duckling. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. I could see her veins underneath, her lifeblood coursing through with dogged determination. She looked sick and weak, but her eyes showed the strength that willed her legs to keep moving.

As I watched her interact with her son who was about the same age as mine, I realized once again how very blessed I am. I may whine and moan, searching for a purpose, searching for answers, searching for something I haven't yet figured out. All the while, this mother relishes in her purpose and the sheer blessing it is to have one more day on this earth. She knows what her purpose is. It is to get well in order to watch her boy learn and grow and prosper. It is to be his mother. That is enough. That is what motivates her to put her feet on the floor every morning.

And so, I wonder, why her? Why was she chosen or cursed or blessed with this struggle? Why is she so sick, and I am so healthy? Why do I have the luxury to toil over meaning and purpose, while she has to fight for one more day? Why am I so damned lucky?

This is a question that has come up so many times in my life. So many of my friends and family members have died so very young. Every single person I have lost had so much to offer to this world, and in their short time here, they gave so much to me personally. I am so thankful for the chance to have known them, but I am so angry that they are no longer here. I have a hard time finding peace in any of their deaths.

A few years ago, I lost a friend and mentor to cancer. She was the person who inspired me to become a TV news producer. She took me under her wing on my first day ever in a television station, without hesitation. While some of the other hardened news people wondered what the hell a high school student was doing in a professional newsroom, she took it as her personal challenge to help me succeed. And she succeeded in her efforts. I modelled my career after hers. I worked as hard as she did, and I vowed to work even harder. When I worked my way up to her position, I took others under my wing and taught them everything she had taught me and everything I had learned since. It was my way of paying her back for her kindness.

My friend was so good at her job, that she was usually finished with her work very early. This was back in the day when we produced entire newscasts and rundowns on typewriters and had to rip script sets with carbon paper in between the pages. We had to back-time by hand, and making changes was not the easy task it is now. Things took twice as long then, but not for her. She was the best. The absolute best. She was so good, that she would spend her dinner break hitting tennis balls in the studio with one of the production guys. She was as passionate about her hobby as she was about her job. If she wasn't sitting in front of a typewriter, she had a racquet in her hand and a smile on her face

When she quit, she recommended me for her job. It was one of the most flattering things that has ever happened to me professionally. Her stamp of approval meant more to me than just about anyone's. She burned out on the business early, and decided to go to grad school. She was also a student of life. She was always learning and growing, and she loved to share what she knew with everyone around her.

We lost touch when she left the business and I left my job for college. I would occasionally run into her when I was visiting my parents. When I came back to town after graduation to take a job at my old station, I ran in to her all the time. We always vowed to get together. We were both newly engaged, though and very much wrapped up in our personal lives. I never did have that lunch with her, and I regret that all the time.

I heard several years later that she had cancer and had gone to Houston for treatment. I guess I thought she would beat anything that ever challenged her. She always had before. I woke up every morning and told myself to call her, to send her a card. I even bought one. I just never took the time to mail it. In my own way, I think I was in complete denial. Somehow mailing that card was admitting she was really sick. That was something I just couldn't do.

A few weeks later, a mutual friend called to tell me my mentor had died. As fate would have it, it was sweeps in the news business, and I couldn't even go to her funeral. Talk about feeling like less of a human being. That was one of the final straws for me and my TV career.

I vowed to make it up to Allison. I wrote her parents a long letter, telling them everything their daughter had ever meant to me. I wanted them to know that they had done an amazing job as parents. They had raised an amazing little girl who became an amazing woman. She touched so many lives during her short stay here. As I type, I have just come to the realization that I am now as old as she was when she died. 32. It's just not fair.

Allison had the chance to fall in love and get married, but she never knew the joy of being a mother. She never got to feel something so wonderful grow inside her own body. She only got to feel the cancer spread and extinguish the light that shined so brightly from her beautiful spirit. She would have been the most unbelievable mom. The world would have known one great kid had she been given a few more years.

As I looked at that mom in the zoo this morning, I smiled. Even though she's fighting for every breath, she has a little light to run toward: her son. She has a motivation to beat this terrible disease. She has a purpose. She is one of the lucky ones. I hope that she wins her fight.

It just so happens that our local Race for the Cure is this weekend. Even if you don't plan to participate, maybe you have someone you would like to honor. Maybe there's been someone in your life who's been touched by cancer. Maybe you just want to spread some good karma. Whatever the reason, you can help fight cancer with whatever you have to give. I'm donating the cost of a week's worth of lattes. That's not much, but it's something I need to do. For me. For that mom in the zoo today. For Allison. Thank you for lighting up my life, girl. You're still an inspiration, even though you're no longer here. I miss you.

Labels: Allison, Cancer, Race for the Cure

I just realized that I let the first birthday of my blog go by unrecognized. The first post of In Search of Walden went live on September 21, 2006. It was a time similar to this one in that my husband was working insane hours for the WCOOP, and I was spending a lot of my time by myself. I was searching for a creative outlet, searching for meaning, searching for a purpose beyond "wife" and "mother." I have to say that I'm still searching, but I am much more at peace with where I am in my life today than I was one year ago.

I had a really hard time transitioning from TV news producer/career woman to stay-at-home mom. I'm not going to lie. I've never regretted my decision, not for a single second. However, I have very much missed using my brain and the learning process that a working journalist experiences every day. I knew a little bit about a lot of things, and I was constantly learning more. Sure, a lot of it was totally useless information, but most of it was interesting and important.

I was very comfortable and confident in my abilities as a newsroom leader, but I was a new mom with very little confidence in my parenting abilities. By the time I left the business, I had 14 years of hardcore experience under my belt, and I had learned from the many mistakes I made along the way. I was a machine, an organizational madwoman.

I loved my work, but I began to loathe all of the bullshit that came along with it. I mourned the death of an industry that wasn't what I believed in when I started it 14 years earlier. I puked in my mouth a little every time I attended a management meeting. I loved DOING journalism. I didn't love being a newsroom manager. Don't get me wrong. There were days when I enjoyed that role. However, as I told my beloved boss when I quit, I despised the Business of the Business. It's not who I am. I'm a work-horse, not an information salesperson. I'm also a no-nonsense kind of person. I couldn't stand having to put up with people's bullshit excuses on why they couldn't work or why they couldn't work the way they should be working. No one has ever accused me of being sensitive.

So, two years ago in December, I took it to the house. I became a woman I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be, and I was surprised by what I found on the Other Side. I never thought this would be such hard work. I never expected to find myself so fragile. On the other hand, I never knew I could have so much fun or feel so much joy. Being a mother has changed who I am, all for the better. I've just had to make some adjustments along the way.

That's why I am so thankful for this blog. I have enjoyed this so much. It has allowed me to explore who I really am, besides a former-TV-news-producer-work-a-holic-no-hobby-having-hard-ass-bitch. It has also opened up my world to some really wonderful people who have shown me so much support during my journey. There are days that just reading my comments has kept me steady for a few more hours. Thank you all so much.

Before I remembered that it was my blogiversarybirthday, I was already planning to write something about blogging. I loathe most things trendy, and I'm not out looking for cyber-booty, so I haven't really spent much time perusing MySpace. However, I have recently had several occasions to venture onto someone's MySpace page. My curiosity got the best of me, and I started traveling from one person's page to another via their "friends" links.

I just don't freaking get it. First of all, most of the pages I saw (I'm sure they're not all like this) are crack-overload with all this video, music, graphics bullshit everywhere. I think I developed ADHD just looking at the pages. They hurt my brain. Secondly, I don't get the comments. Most of the ones I saw were just one-liners on stupid graphics that talked about "showing YUR page some LUV." What the fuck is that? First of all, are they just playing web tag? Second, could they be bastardizing the English language any more? Maybe I'm just an old lady, but that is so annoying. It's interesting that I saw many people much older than me with MySpace pages that were just as juvenile as the ones teenagers were producing.

Some people might find blogging to be stupid, a waste of time, even narcissistic. At least the blogs I read are thought-provoking, well-written, and hilarious. I feel like I've read some good social commentary most days. I often feel like I've learned something. Some days, I get a much-needed laugh. This whole MySpace phenomena is so bizarre to me. I don't see it as an effective way to communicate or even entertain. I've found myself totally annoyed with the MySpace pages of people I know and like. The MySpace adventure I've taken recently has shown me a part of society I never want to meet in person. That whole concept has furthered the Stupidification of the World as far as I'm concerned. Maybe I'm misguided here. If I am, somebody please tell me.

Anyway, I'm thankful for those who are thoughtful in their blog writing and blog reading. Those types of people enrich my life. I appreciate your style and grace and character. If some of you are also MySpacers, I hope that you'll enlighten me. If not, keep doing what you're doing, and please keep reading here. I really enjoy your feedback, advice, and support.

I leave you with a trip down memory lane, with my first entry here on In Search of Walden from September 21, 2006. I think RP and Soul Mate may be the only people who've read the early stuff here, so for most of you, it's just like new, only not!

I'm starting this blog as I'm sure most people do: as an experiment. I've wanted to be a writer since I was 7 years old, and I've been practicing journalism as a hobby or a profession in the years since then. Harriet the Spy became my roadmap for life in elementary school. I started carrying around notebooks and recording the most mundane details in the life of a poor white girl who spent most of her time traveling the world through books. That decision at age seven carried me through the age of 30. Now at age 31, I don't really have any direction, other than from my two year old son. He pretty much dictates my daily schedule, my choice in music, and my general outlook on life.

Just two short years ago, I was a career woman, working to take over the world of television news. I lived and breathed my career. I had no friends outside of my workplace. I had no goals other than to be the best producer of news in the Western World. Now, I rarely even watch the news. It's funny how quickly your priorities can change. For the first time in my life, I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up. All I know is that I want to make a difference some how in some way. I think I have something to offer. I just don't know exactly what that is or how to find it.

I titled this blog In Search of Walden, because it is a work that has resonated with me like no other. It's as if Henry David Thoreau was reading my not-even-close-to-being-formed mind when he wrote this book. If I were in a different time or place in the universe, I would like to undertake an experiment like that, but I'm a suburban wife and mother with responsibilities. Therefore, I'm going to conduct my search for meaning and purpose from my chaisse lounge in my cookie cutter vinyl siding house. It seems as good a start as any.

I've wanted to start a blog for years. My husband is the best writer I know, and he's faithfully written several blogs for years now. I'm not as talented as he is, and I'm also more fickle. I don't stick with things very well. This is a project I'd like to make work, since it is one that could give me some insight into my own mind and possibly be the creative outlet I need to get me off this quarter-life-crisis carousel. However, I'm making no promises that I can't keep. I will simply promise myself that I will try this little experiment and see where it takes me. If it takes me to a remote spot in the woods where I find the meaning of life, cool. If it merely takes me to the end of my cul de sac, so be it.

Labels: Blogging, My Journey, MySpace

I just got back from an awesome morning with My Little Sunshine. We went to a fundraiser for Goodwill called The Big Dig. It was a wicked cool event, especially for little dudes like mine, even though it was very hot and very dusty. Essentially, it was at a construction site where various companies brought in their heavy equipment (diggers, dump trucks, cement mixers, etc.).

For 15 bucks, my little man got to actually DIG with a digger. His little hands were on the controls, and he got to scoop up and dump out a pile of dirt for about five minutes. He was in dirt heaven, and he was very serious about the work he was doing. If my camera battery didn't die, I might have been able to share his "all-business" face. Just my luck.

I couldn't help, as I was enjoying this insanely cool time with my son, but to reflect on something I read yesterday. My friend Beep wrote a blog post about autism the other day that really got me all riled up. She and I are both moms and former journalists, so we've been on two different sides of the discussion about this issue. Luckily, neither of us has a child with autism, but both of us are concerned about the issue as mothers in today's world.

Beep saw an episode of Oprah that got her thinking. She's not the kind of girl to sit around and buy everything she sees on daytime TV, and I may be the only stay-at-home mom in America who doesn't watch Oprah or Dr. Phil or any daytime TV for that matter. The point is, as journalists and intelligent women, we're not likely to be freaked out by something just because it was ON TV.

The episode that sparked her interest featured Jenny McCarthy and some other star whose name I don't recognize. Both women have sons with autism and both believe vaccinations (MMR in particular) caused their sons' conditions. Now, Beep used to work in a hospital. She's read the actual medical studies that have found no causational link between the MMR and autism. So, even though she had heard this fear floating around, she decided (as did I) that her son would get the MMR.

However, after hearing these women's stories, Beep started to wonder if there was some sort of link. The numbers are completely staggering to me. In 1998, one in every 3000 kids in the U.S. was diagnosed with autism. In 2007, one out of every 94 boys is diagnosed with autism. Let me write that again...
ONE IN EVERY 94 BOYS.
ONE IN EVERY 94 AMERICAN BOYS has autism.
Unlocking Autism says that the rate of autism has gone up in the U.S. 4,000 percent in ten years. 4,000 PERCENT.

Many people believe the MMR vaccine and/or mercury are to blame. Frankly (and I say this with more than a slight case of embarassment), since my child does not have autism, I have not educated myself on this condition. I can't say I have an opinion on what causes it.

I can, however, say that I as a mother better start some serious research. SOMETHING is causing this. How can something so potentially devastating be so prevalent and not be the hottest topic of conversation in this country? Are these numbers wrong? If they're right, what do these numbers mean for our children's generation? ONE IN 94 BOYS. What does that mean for these little boys who will one day be men? Why aren't more people jumping up and down about it?

Like I said, I don't know what to think about all this. I've got to do some more research for myself, but I thought I'd throw this discussion out there and see what other people think. Perhaps someone smarter or more educated than me can provide some more insight.

In the meantime, here are some links of sites I'm going to read:

Autism.org

Autism Society of America

National Autism Association

Unlocking Autism

Labels: Autism, Mama Rant

Baby Jack seems to be doing well tonight. He is out of surgery and now on his way to a full recovery and a fabulous life. Thanks for all your good thoughts.

Here's the official word from Jack's daddy, posted on their family's web site:

Short version: YES!

More info: The surgery went very well. The ventricular septal defect was smaller than it has been and was easily repaired. The atrial septal defect was repaired well with pericardium. The valve repair looks good so far, but will need further monitoring (short term and for the rest of his life). His electrical system is working well and the pressures in the various parts of the heart are normal. He came off bypass with no problem. We will know more as time unfolds, but things look really good right now. He will be sedated and on the ventilator until sometime tomorrow at least. All really good news.

We are going to go up to the CICU and wait to see him as soon as we can. Thanks for all you well wishes, thoughts and prayers.

Can you believe they reached right into his heart and fixed it? WOW. (Good thing he was still under warranty).

Labels: Jack

Our friends' little baby boy Jack is in a pretty important heart surgery right now. Please send some good thoughts toward the Boston area this afternoon.

Labels: Jack

I love shrinking myself. I always have. I am fascinated by what makes people tick, and I never hestitate to get inside my own head or the heads of others. People are interesting. I know I have a lot of personality traits, some might call them quirks or defects, that make me uniquely me. Sometimes, it's enough to have a reason for a particular characteristic, even if it doesn't help you embrace it or change it in any way. Just knowing it's there can help you deal with certain situations in a better way.

I've taken quite a few of the scientific personality tests. I absolutely love them. I'd take one every day if I thought it was possible or even remotely healthy. In the absense of science (or at least scientifically-acceptable testing conditions), I'll just take fun.

I found out about this PersonalDNA test on Kellogg Bloggin', and it sounded like a lot of fun, so I took it. Please note that I was doing so with my three year old in the room, eating breakfast, watching The Bearenstain Bears, and jumping on the furniture. Given the circumstances, I answered the questions to the best of my ability.

When I first read the "label" assigned to my results, I wasn't sure that they got anywhere close, but once I started reading the description of Benevolent Inventor, I would say it's just about as spot-on as any other non-scientific test I've taken. Plus, it gives you this cool little mappy-thingy to put on your blog. Just mouse over each color on the box to see what it represents.



For my complete results, click here.

If you'd like to take the test yourself, click here.

Labels: Kellogg Bloggin', Personality Tests

We're back at Mt. Otis after what I consider a very succesful road trip to the Show Me State. We stayed an extra day because of Soul Mate's crazy work schedule (even the Mobile Office found some dead spots in Southern Missouri).

My Little Sunshine did quite well with the 13 hour drive. He only got antsy a couple of times and didn't have a single accident in either direction. I hate to curse myself or anything, but I think it's safe to say he's OFFICIALLY potty trained now. If he can hold it long enough to make it to Lucky's in No Damn Where, he can hold it until I find a bathroom in the Target.

The dog did well also. I guess she didn't have much of a choice, since we drugged her and all. It wasn't solely a selfish dispensing of prescription drugs. She gets very antsy in the car, so it was for her benefit as well as our sanity. She only lost her mind once in the McDonald's drive-through in Charleston, Missouri. I lost my damned mind there, too, so I really can't blame her.

The wedding we went to was absolutely fantastic all around. Every part of it was beautiful and well-planned. Besides that, it was amazing to have all of our friends together again. We had a blast sitting around an outdoor fireplace and laughing on the night of the reception. Unlike the Old Days, no one got too shitty drunk. We all actually acted like mature adults. I'm not sure exactly how that happened, but it did, and it was fun, if not remarkable.

One thing that sucked, though, was happening more than 700 miles away. At about 7am the morning after the wedding, our cell phones started ringing. We didn't answer right away, because some asshole cabbie had just called us back a few hours before (note to self: never call a cab --or three-- at bar-closing time...bad idea). Anyway, when we checked our voicemail a few minutes later, we realized that it was ADT letting us know that our burglar alarm was going off at our house in South Cackalacki. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

Granted, 7am is not really a good time for people to be breaking into houses. It is daylight at that time. Granted, the alarm is freakishly loud, and if someone was breaking in, they would likely run for their lives as soon as the sound pieced their eardrums. Granted, the wind was blowing really hard that morning.

HOWEVER, I immediately realized that my husband and I had stupidly announced to the world ON OUR BLOGS that we were not anywhere close to home. Anyone who wanted to rob us could read exactly where we were, because I am a moron. How many times did my dad warn me about lower-tech ways to let people know you're not at home? He wouldn't even put one of those "My honor student goes to Bumfuck Junior High" bumper stickers on the car for fear that someone would go there and kidnap me. I mean, I know better than to do shit like that. I did it anyway, and as soon as I knew the alarm was going off, I figured someone was busy emptying out my house because I basically invited them to.

Besides that, Soul Mate and I are often vocal in our criticism and/or opposition to people and entities that are full of shit. We have likely pissed quite a few people off with the things we write on our blogs. My paranoid mind thought payback was certain. I even had nightmares about a person or people breaking into our house and lying in wait to maim or kill us when we came home.

Frankly, when I thought there was a criminal in my house, I didn't really care if they took any of our things. The only thing I was worried about (besides the threat of physical harm) was that they would get their hands on our checkbook or something, which would be a real bitch to sort out.

When the alarm company called us back to let us know that the cops had searched and cleared the house and classified the alarm as "false," I was then paranoid about how I left the house. Was it a disaster area? Did I leave dishes in the sink? Were any of my private things in plain sight? It was just creepy to know that anyone was in my house looking around, even if they were just trying to make sure someone hadn't hacked me up in my bed or something.

I know all of this paranoia was born out of a feeling of complete powerlessness. We were halfway across the country and something was going on in our home. Feeling powerless really sucks for control freaks like me. Chances are, the wind just blew the back door open (it was open when the cops got there). Yeah, the deadbolt doesn't always work, and Soul Mate yanked on the door with both hands before we left to make sure it was secure, but it was still probably just the wind. I still made my husband "clear" the house before I would bring our son inside, but I will concede that my paranoia was most likely unfounded. I will, however, be more mindful about what I announce to the world in this forum. I sometimes forget that anyone can read this. I just write to write, and I love that some people actually enjoy reading it.

Another thing I learned this weekend: Children's Claritin is like Kid Crack. My son has what appear to be seasonal allergies. Last fall, he was the Snot-Nosed kid at school, because I didn't want to medicate him. This fall, I consulted his pediatrician, who recommended over-the-counter Claritin (or the generic) to alleviate some of his symptoms. When he first started taking it, I wasn't sure if he was just excited to go see his grandparents. Then, I wasn't sure if he was just excited to be with his grandparents. Now, I'm certain that this medicine is the equivalent of crack for his little body.

Now, he's a very energetic child. He moves a lot. He speaks a lot. However, he isn't typically the Tazmanian Devil on Crack. Where he would normally play with a toy for a couple of minutes and then move on, he would play with it for a couple of seconds. Where he would normally eat a little breakfast and watch a little Curious George before he started talking incessantly, he would start moving his lips when his eyes opened and not stop until they closed. Normally, he would have a couple of violations of the "inside voice" rule each day. On Kid Crack, he never found his inside voice. By the time he went to bed tonight, I thought I was going to collapse in a heap of exhaustion. Remember, I spend all day, every day with this little ball of energy. I'm used to hard work. This was just insane.

First call tomorrow: Doctor Feelgood. Beg, no, plead, for another option. Send kid to school with a runny nose instead of a runny body/mouth/attitude. Pray Doc has an answer. My body is too weary to keep up with Spiderman on Crack tomorrow.

Second note to self: stop over-using the italics function. It's annoying.

Labels: My Little Sunshine, Road trip, Soul Mate

We’re paying homage to Ole Willie today. Back on the road for another 220 miles to St. Louis. So far, we’ve traveled 170, and Soul Mate has had to pee twice. There’s more pressure on his bladder than a woman who’s nine months pregnant. It’s just not natural.

We left My Little Sunshine with the grandparents. He couldn’t care less that we left, but I always have a hard time leaving him anywhere. I know he’s having the time of his life, but he’s not with me. It must just be a mama thing.

We’re only going to be gone for about 49 hours, so it’ll be over in a flash. Then, we’ll all rest up for the Long Road Home. I imagine we’ll all be pretty tired by then, so those 13 hours will seem like 30.

Did I mention before that it took us 13 hours and 13 minutes door-to-door on our trip on the 13th of September? Strange. The superstitious part of me didn’t want to get back in the car this afternoon. I punched her in the face and got behind the wheel. So far, so good, although we experienced some strange wobbling feeling that caused us to pull over on the interstate and check the tires. They’re still there, so all is well.

This leg of our trip, we’re headed to the rehearsal for our friend’s wedding. Soul Mate has the jitters, because he’s playing guitar in the ceremony. He’s been practicing his little fingers raw, so I know he’ll do great. He just wants to do a good job for his buddy.

If this is anything like our wedding, I’m sure there will be some fun stories to tell later. Who knows when I’ll be able to share them, since Soul Mate will be working his ass off on the trip back (Mobile Office rules).

Hope everyone has a fabulous weekend. Send some good thoughts out for our buddy MD who’s headed back to Iraq. He’s one of the best people we know. Come home safely and soon, MD.

Labels: Iraq, MD, Road trip

Soul Mate is live blogging our road trip today over at Rapid Eye Reality. Because he's lapsed into paranoia, it may be a bit hard to follow. Nonetheless, if you care to catch up with us, have a look.

2:30pm Eastern.

I’m picking up the live blog that Soul Mate started on his blog…we’ve changed drivers and, thus, writers, oh and music selection. We’re back on X Country on XM. Bye, bye, Mama’s iPod.

If you want to see where we've been up until now, go back to RER

If the feds are still tailing us as Soul Mate suspects, they’re doing a damn good job of being surreptitious. We’re on a winding, two-lane highway about to cross into southwest Misouri. The last speed limit sign I saw said 35mph. That’s annoying.

We’re in farm country now, looks like soybeans for miles. The crops creep right up to the non-existent shoulder of this “highway.” I have a bit of an obsession with barns, and I suspect I’ll see a few along this road.

We just passed a “Drive Smart Kentucky” sign. I find that to be more than a bit amusing. Hey, I used to live in this state. I can say whatever I want.

Lots of stop and go here on Highway 60. Looks like the kids at Ballad County Middle School are fat, the kids at Ballard County Elementary are out on the playground, and the corn in these part has already been harvested.

My Little Sunshine is now watching Monsters Inc. The dog has been re-drugged, and Soul Mate and I are settling in for the final stretch.

2:45pm Eastern

Lots of mobile homes and falling-down buildings in this part of the world, and yet, it is beautiful country. It’s an odd manmade contradiction. It’s a beautiful day, by the way. It’s 85 degrees, blue skies with a few white wispy clouds.

We just passed a strange little place along this little highway. It’s called Suntastic Tanning Bed. When Soul Mate noticed it, he said, “Like you’re not going to have your coochie stared at in that tanning bed.” From the looks of it, I’d say there’s a good chance of peepers there.

Soul Mate is now very excited about the idea of taking a picture of my boobs next to the Wickliffe Mounds. I’m not sure he has heard about the whole sacred ground thing.

2:52pm Eastern
Soul Mate just exclaimed, “I sure hope we’re in Missouri!” Perhaps we should trade places again, folks.

Um. Yeah. Hopefully I’ll survive long enough to finish this sentence. We’re about the cross the Mississippi on a scary little bridge. Soul Mate is driving and taking a picture with his Blackberry, and it really stinks here. Besides that, someone just passed us going really fast in the wrong lane. A cop in an unmarked car? Stay tuned. We’re stopped just before the bridge. Omen?

2:56pm Eastern
Did I say the Mississippi River stinks? Soul Mate is now out of the car, barefooted, trying to check out what’s going on ahead of us. Sunshine just looked away from the DVD player long enough to exclaim, “Mommy! Look! There’s a boat on that ocean!”

2:58pm Eastern
Soul Mate had the window rolled down. He said, “Brush fire. Something’s burning.” I responded, “Is that why you have the window down, so we can smell it better?” “I just like the fresh air,” he says. He knows he’s just said something utterly stupid. I can see it in his eyes. He bounces back quickly, however. “I rolled it down because I got tired of smelling your smart ass.” Nice, sir. Nice.

3:01pm Eastern
Traffic seems to be moving again in the OTHER lane. Wonder what that means for us? We’re still sitting painfully still. Baking here on the Mississippi.

3:02pm Eastern
Cross your fingers and say your prayers, folks. We’re crossing this bridge. They are in fact doing work on the bridge and there is, in fact, a news crew here covering it. NBC 6 I’m assuming out of Paducah. Get me the fuck off of here.

3:05pm Eastern
“Hey, look! Another bridge! This one longer and skinnier,” Soul Mate said just as we turned off the godforsaken substandard bridge. Now entering Missouri. Watching commerce tug along the Mississippi. Soul Mate points out that the news crew was likely out of Cape Girardeau. That’s probably more close to right.

3:07pm Eastern
Looks like the smell that was burning our noses was some intentional burning of farmland. Lots of scorched earth to our left. The cows don’t seem to mind the smoke.

3:11pm Eastern
Looks like we might have lost our rolling internet connection. If you don’t know, we’re connected to the internet in my car through Soul Mate’s Blackberry. It’s worked quite nicely up until we entered BFE Missouri. Even in Kentucky.

3:13pm Eastern
This is a really sad part of the world. Soul Mate is guessing this is an area that was completely under water during the huge floods in the 90s. We can’t remember when it was, but that seems like a good theory. There are a lot of places that seem completely abandoned. Abruptly abandoned.

3:16pm Eastern
We’re back up and running.

3:18pm Eastern
Now entering Interstate 57. There is a Flying J within sight, and that makes Soul Mate scream, “Flying Jaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!”

There’s some sort of memorial on the side of the road that has a torn-in-half car with a cross in the middle. I’m guessing something bad happened there.

3:22pm Eastern
We’re back on two-freaking-lane road again. This blows with a capital B. Sunshine is getting antsy. He’s now coloring and watching Madgascar. Thank God for Pull-Ups.

3:24pm Eastern
Ah. Four lanes again. We can relax a little. It is flat here. Very flat. Still farm country. Soybeans to the left and mowed down corn to the right.

“Little Rivi-Airhead” is on XM X Country. Soul Mate says what I was thinking. “If I never hear this song again,” he says, “it will be too soon.” Amen.

The road is very white here. It’s reflecting the sun quite harshly, especially since I can’t wear contacts (and therefore sunglasses) right now. I seem to remember thinking this same thing when I was driving through this area by myself about 15 years ago.

3:31pm Eastern
Passing through New Madrid for now. It’s not pronounced like that lovely place in Spain, folks. It’s like mad-rid.

We just saw our first cotton field of the trip, and Mater honked his approval as we passed it. Soul Mate took Mater away from Sunshine a few hours ago because it was making too much noise. Now, just to spite him, the toy will start talking or making noise every time we hit a bump in the road. Now it’s worse. It’s in the front instead of the back of the car. Tee, hee, hee.

3:38pm Eastern
Seems like I’ve lost my internet connection again, and my hopes have been dashed. I thought we were getting pretty close to our destination when I saw a sign that said 228 miles. Damn. Soul Mate had to go and point out, “You remember Missouri is wiiiiiide at the bottom. Skinnier on top.” Yeah, hon. Kinda like me.

3:42pm Eastern
Internet is back up. Next stop: Dexter, Missouri Mickey Ds.

3:45pm Eastern
We just saw gigantic blocks of harvested cotton on the side of the road. I mean huge. They’re as big as a single-wide at least. Soul Mate has just rolled down the window to smell the burning earth. We just drove through a thick, white cloud of smoke that hung low over the interstate. These farmers are all in a time of transition here. Kind of like the mood in our car. The dog is freaking out. The kid is freaking out. Soul Mate is freaking out. I may not be writing this much longer.

3:50pm Eastern
Stopping at the Dexter Wendy’s. Perhaps the release will lighten the mood.

3:52pm Eastern
“Conspiracy Theory” is the song on XM X Country right now. Too bad Soul Mate is in the Wendy’s peeing. He’s a big fan of the conspiracy theory.

4:04pm Eastern
Back in the car. We’re 11 hours into this trip and the dog still won’t pee. We’re tried to get her to go in three perfectly fine patches of grass, but she wants nothing to do with it. She’d much rather trip in her sunny little spot in the car. Can’t say I blame her. Soul Mate is now ordering Frosties in the drive-through.

4:05pm Eastern
Back on the road. I’m going to eat me some chocolate goodness. Stay tuned.
Soul Mate has just threatened to throw Mater out on the highway.

4:17pm Eastern

Frosties inhaled.

OK, let’s see. Where the hell are we? We’re entering Butler County Missouri according to the signs.

Let me catch you up a bit.

After we left the Wendy’s, we passed a church. It was the Something Evangelical Free Church. My question is: is it an Evangelical-free church or an Evangelical free church? I mean, either way, that’s cool.

A few minutes later as we hit another bump, Mater screamed, “Ow!” Soul Mate said, “That thing complains more than you do.” “That’s harsh,” I said. “Yeah,” he replied. “I didn’t mean to insult him like that.” Smoked.

A few minutes down the road, we see the tractor portion of a tractor trailer pulling a car. Soul Mate says, “I’ve never seen an 18-wheeler pulling a car.” I say, “Um. It’s more like a 10-wheeler.” Pissed, Soul Mate replies, “That’s because it’s not pulling its trailer. Douche.” Yep. We’re ready to be out of this car.

4:31pm Eastern

We just had to exit AGAIN in order to stay on 60. Soul Mate points out that it feels like we’re going in a circle. He thinks we might be on our way back to Paducah. Quick! Check the bag! Did they accidentally give us a plastic knife with our Frosties? I want to slit my wrists!

4:36pm Easten
Soul Mate says he has no idea what’s between Poplar Bluff and Springfield except a whole lotta nuttin’. That’s 180 miles of nothing. Oh, wait! No! There is something. A lovely place called Van Buren is coming up in about 30 miles. What’s there, you ask?
Hold on.

4:39pm Eastern
Hold on. Something monumental has happened. Soul Mate has had it with X Country! I think that New Madrid fault must be shifting or something!

4:40pm Eastern
So what’s in Van Buren, Missouri, you asked? The world's largest natural spring at Big Spring's State Park, that’s what.

4:42pm Eastern
Listening to Wolf Blitzer on satellite radio, driving through Ellsinore, Missouri, population 363. Soul Mate says, “I’m not sure where they all live.” Frankly, I’m not either.

4:43 Eastern
Soul Mate says excitedly, “We get to go through Winona, too! Entering Winona! I love towns named after women! That’s my favorite thing!” Your favorite thing? Really? “Entering Winona” or ENTERING Winona? Seriously.

4:46pm Eastern
The Wolf Blitzer show is talking about a recent poll on the Iraq war. As we drive through Missouri, one of our dear friends is on his way back to Iraq. God, I wish this thing would end.

4:49pm Eastern
That didn’t take long. We’re back on X Country. Nothing like war talk to get us back to “Silos and Smokestacks.”

4:56pm Eastern
Whew! We just passed a state trooper going 80mph in a 55. He pulled off. Soul Mate thinks he had a hard on for the guy was trailing. “I’m just flouting the law all over the place.” “I’d already paid the ticket in my mind,” he adds.” Perhaps we should Slow. The. Fuck. Down.

4:58pm Eastern
Text message from our buddy, Ryan:
“here's a great thing to do on road trips: bet on how many opposite-direction cops you can flip off before one of them turns around and pulls you over out of spite.”

He doesn’t know how close we were to getting thrown in jail!

5:00pm Eastern
Soul Mate is almost begging to get a ticket. “I almost wouldn’t mind getting a ticket at this point. I’m due. It’s been ten years at this point. Frankly, with my record, I’m surprised I’m not being recruited as a mule or something.” Hey, Mr. Federale, he’s just joking, ‘kay?

5:07pm Eastern
Not so flat anymore. Now it’s windy. Very windy. Soul Mate is now flouting the law and the signs that warn of certain death taking these curves too quickly. I think he’s tired of driving. Frankly, I’m tired of him driving, too.

5:11pm Eastern
Deer! Brakes! No. Not a deer! Coyote! Mercifully, the coyote didn’t join the squirrel on my tires.

5:15pm Eastern
Now Entering Winona. Soul Mate cums in his pants.

5:17pm Eastern
“Good Vibrations” by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch is now on The 90s on XM. Soul Mate has agreed to allow me to listen to it in return for him getting to pleasure himself while entering Winona. Soul Mate remarks only, “Somehow, he’s a much better actor than…than…well, whatever this is.”

5:20pm Eastern
Newly potty trained child is screaming from the back that he needs to poop. There is NOTHING. NOTHING…anywhere around here. Fortunately, he’s wearing a Pull-Up, and the only thing that’s getting hurt is his poor little soul.

5:26pm Eastern
Salvation in the form of a log cabin-looking joint called Lucky’s. Hopefully, they have indoor plumbing here. Soul Mate and Sunshine are on a quest to find out.

5:27pm Eastern
Some dude with a pack of Marlboros hanging out of his shirt pocket just looked at me like “What in the holy hell are you doing, woman?!?” I’m sure he’s one of those people who call the television station saying, “Dot com? Dot com?!? We ain’t got no dot com down here! Why don’t you just tell me what’s on it!”

5:34pm Eastern
Officially leaving Lucky’s in Meth Country, USA.

By the way, they did have indoor plumbing, and my boys did use it.

5:40pm Eastern
We’ve busted out the Wheat Thins and the fruit chews. The kid is going to eat the dog if I don’t make use of the magic snack bag.

6:03pm Eastern
Haven’t posted in a while. Been busy IMing with Soul Mate’s work colleague. I think I’ve said some inappropriate things. Oops. I want out of this car. I’m a little cagey.

6:07pm Eastern
I guess NoDamnWhere is a good place to spend rush hour. There’s not a lot of rushing going on around here. Now officially entering Texas County. Not as funny as Entering Winona. It’s just where we are.

6:09pm Eastern
In about three minutes, our whole family will have been in this car for twelve hours. That’s a long damn time. We’re still not there yet.

6:12pm Eastern
We pass the twelve hour mark in the budding metropolis of Cabool, Missouri. “Flatland Boogie” is on the radio. I’m not sure, but I think Soul Mate has stopped talking to me. Did I mention I hate this song?

6:22pm Eastern
Springfield: 61 miles

Soul Mate has developed Restless Leg Syndrome.
Sunshine is trying to keep himself from peeing his pants by whacking himself in the junk. I’m trying to convince him this is a bad idea to no avail.

6:38pm Eastern
I stand corrected. The junk-hitting worked. Sunshine made another successful bathroom stop in NoDamnWhere. Hopefully, this is our last stop before we make it to where we’re going.

6:41pm Eastern
I’m officially starving. We’re all very much looking forward to some of Soul Mate’s mama’s home cookin’.

6:42pm Eastern
Apparently, there’s a cattle auction going on here in Norwood, Missouri right now. The dog is NOT pleased.

6:44pm Eastern
It’s very pretty here. We’ve gotten out of trashy and into an area where families take pride in their land. I’ve noticed a lot of tiny roadside cemeteries in this area. It would be interesting to see if they’re just family plots on family land. They’re all in the middle of lots of farmland.

6:47pm Eastern
The setting sun is very hot right about now. For the first time today, I’ve had to point the AC vent in my direction.

6:48pm Eastern
Just passed a sign that said “Laura Ingalls Wilder Home and Museum.”
Campbell, love ya, but we ain’t stoppin’ this time.

6:50pm Eastern
Soul Mate just ripped a massive belch. “That was from the soul, baby!” he screams. Indeed.

6:54pm Eastern
Allison Krauss singing “Oh Atlanta.” Some things are just beautiful. That’s one of them.

Now entering Webster County

6:56pm Eastern
I think I might have unusually large nostrils. Maybe I’ve just been staring at them too long.

6:57pm Eastern
Soul Mate says we’re now seeing billboards for things that are past where we’re going. That’s got to be a good sign, right? Get it? Sign! Ha!

6:59pm Eastern
Soul Mate just saw a sign with a horse and buggy that said “Share the Road.” That’s not the same “Share the Road” sign we’re used to seeing.

7:04pm Eastern
Yep. Huge nostrils. AND a double chin. Where’s that plastic knife from Wendy’s?

7:06pm Eastern
The kid has just had a small bowl of Wheat Thins, a small bowl of Puffs, and two bags of fruit chews. He’s still hungry!

I’m glad Soul Mate is driving. The sun is blazing right now, almost straight at our faces. It’s miserable riding. Driving without sunglasses would really suck.

7:09pm Eastern
Observation from Soul Mate: “It’s just too long in the car when I saw the sun rising in my rearview mirror and setting right in front of me.” Yeah. Uh huh.

7:12pm Eastern
As he passes another cop going at least 15 miles over the speed limit:
“I’m invisible! I’m invisible! That’s a Rogersville police officer. He’s got nothing else to do, and he’s STILL not pulling me over! I’m invisible to these guys!”

7:14pm Eastern
God bless America. We’re in Greene County. Finally. Not there yet, but closer.

7:16pm Eastern
A little comic relief in the form of a song: “Fat Women in Trailers.” God bless America. Again.

7:22pm Eastern
Getting off on Highway 65. We’ll call it a day here. I may never blog again. Sweet Jesus.

Labels: Live-blog, Road trip

Editor's note: end updated with new information

As I looked at their faces on cnn.com, I searched for answers. I stared for a long time, but I found nothing. Nothing can explain how these six people ended up being so diabolical, so hateful, so evil. It terrifies me that we live in a world where not one person, but six, can decide to commit one of the most heinous crimes I've ever heard. The victim survived, but she will never have the life she did before these people violated her body, her mind, and her soul.







Here's what investigators say happened. Two people who are still out there somewhere drove a 20 year old black woman to a home in Big Creek, West Virginia. Before deputies rescued her from the home, the woman was sexually assaulted, stabbed repeatedly in the leg, and beaten. Investigators believe the torture went on for at least a week.

Police reports show that while one of the suspects cut her ankle, that person said, "That's what we do to [racial slur] around here." In addition to the physical violence, the Faces of Evil reportedly made her eat rat and dog feces, drink from the toilet, and lick up blood. All the while, they threatened to kill her if she left the home.

On Saturday, someone found mercy in their hearts somewhere and called in an anonymous tip to law enforcement. Deputies were talking to a woman on the porch of the home when they saw a woman inside limp toward the door and say, "Help me."
The 20 year old woman had injuries all over her body. Her hair had been pulled out. She was broken, but alive.

Her family has asked for her story to be told, using her name and showing her face. In most cases, members of the media do not identify victims of sexual assault. However, in this case, some members of the media have chosen to do so at her parents' request. I am no longer a member of the media, but I am not going to use the woman's name here. I do not know that she had a say in that decision. I do not feel that anyone has the right to make that kind of decision for you, not even your mother.

I understand the mother's pain and outrage. I would want people to fully grasp what those monsters did to my child. However, in the long-term, it may not be in her daughter's best interest to be named and shown on national television and all over the internet.

I hope that family can find a way to help this young woman heal. She has suffered more than any human being should ever suffer, especially at the hands of other human beings. I hope that she will find a way to move past this devastating experience and not let it swallow her soul.

There is currently an investigation into whether these six monsters should face federal hate crime charges as well. What they did was pure evil. They committed these acts of torture while shouting racial slurs at their victim. I do not know what more it requires to be charged with a hate crime.

Before they even dreamed up this heinous act, the six Faces of Evil had been criminally charged a total of 108 times. Frankie Brewster, a 46 year old woman, had even been charged with the murder of an elderly woman. She pleaded guilty to a lesser charge and served a few years in prison.

What I want to know is where things went so horribly wrong in these people's lives that they became so warped? How do you go from being an innocent child to a grown monster? The answer I'm sure is that most of them were victims themselves. I'm sure many of them suffered terrible abuse at the hands of another. That is also wrong, but it does not give them a free pass to terrorize another human being. I know quite a few people who survived a childhood of abuse, and those people have never hurt another human being.

I just cannot even begin to comprehend what went on in that house. I'm not sure I want to, but I feel compelled as a member of the human race to understand. I feel compelled to find out how something like this could happen in our supposedly "civilized" society. I feel compelled to find out how I can protect my loved ones from ever encountering anyone this deranged.

Let's just hope this poor young woman can move beyond these dark, dark days and find some light to warm her soul.

2pm update:
The New York Times is reporting this afternoon that this was not a random attack. The victim apparently had some sort of relationship with one of the accused attackers. In fact, Bobby Brewster (the male in the first set of pictures in this post) had been charged with domestic battery and assault back in July. Those charges involved violence against the same woman. An investigator classified Brewster's relationship with the victim as "some sort of social relationship."

For more on this story, go to this cnn.com article.

Labels: Big Creek West Virginia Torture Case, Crime, Race

It's happened again. I'm officially a fatass. It sort of creeped up on me this time. I know it happened over the summer, as I got out of my exercise routine and got into my old bad habits. I've started exercising again, but that's not enough for a girl like me. I have to work my ass off AND eat right, or I'm going to be shopping at Lane Bryant before I know it.

There's nothing like the three-way mirrors and the harsh lighting of a women's dressing room to clue you in to the ugly truth. A little voice way back in my head had been hinting that I had ruined all the hard work I had done to get skinny after My Little Sunshine was born. I told that bitch to shut up and go get me some Ben and Jerry's. After spending a few miserable hours in the mall trying on clothes to wear to our friend's wedding this weekend, I have to admit that little bitch is right, as always. God, I hate her.

So, I'm saying it here and now. After I return home from the wedding, it's back on the Self-Improvement Program, or SIP as it's often been called among our friends. It will be my goal to get hot again before The Luckbox and Lady Luck get married in January. I know that's going to be a hard time to lose weight given that it will be the holiday season, but I'm finished being lumpy.

It pisses me off that I have to be so constantly vigilant about my weight. There are so many people who can eat whatever the hell they want and not exercise (Soul Mate) for years at a time and not gain any weight. I hate them all. They suck. It's just not fair. I hate having to go through life counting calories and depriving myself of all things yummy. That's a real pisser.

On an entirely different note, the MTV VMAs may not revive Britney Spears' music career, but the show has certainly revived the interest in her snatch. My Google hits for "Britney's snatch" have skyrocketed since her pathetic performance the other night. God, you people really need to get a life! There's got to be a better, less nasty snatch you can look at on the internet. And some of you pathetic people are searching for her pink parts at work. Hope your bosses aren't spying on you. That should be grounds for firing on the basis of stupid. Geez.

Labels: Britney Spears, Weight

OK, so we have our answer. What is the question you ask?

Will Miss Teen South Carolina, Caitlin Upton, become the next Katie Couric?

Well, folks, I think the verdict is in.

I did not watch the MTV Video Music Awards, because I don't watch MTV. However, thanks to my adventures in Blogland today, I have seen Britney Spears' "comeback" performance (go to Up for Hollywood or E's blog for some fun perspective on that) and also Miss Caitlin's 16th minute of fame.

Some people believe that all it takes is a pretty face to become a television news anchor. I can tell you without a doubt that this is not true. I have worked with pretty faces. Some of them were former beauty pageant queens. There are many former tiara-wearers out there filling seats at anchor desks, but the ones whose only skills are applying stage makeup and giving head are certainly not the cream of the crop in the television news world.

Miss Caitlin already proved with her interview on the Miss Teen USA pageant that breaking news wouldn't be her strong-point.

Now, we have seen that reading the teleprompter is also not in her skill set. Well, at least there's always Maxim.

Labels: Miss Teen South Carolina

Last night, Mt. Otis played host to an evening of cards that quickly and surreptitiously got a bit rowdy. If you care or dare, G-Rob made a valiant attempt to live blog the event, although that attempt derailed before its completion. To be honest, I didn't know what went on in my own home until I read it on Up For Poker. I was eating icecream and watching a chick flick in the next room and was completely oblivious (with the exception of the occasional yell) to the state of things. It wasn't until I saw my husband go stumbling down the hall wearing sunglasses that I knew things were a little off the tracks. That was 10pm. I think I went to bed four and half hours later, so you can imagine what might have happened in between.

Needless to say, when My Little Sunshine woke up at 6am, mommy was very tired. Family Nap Time made it on the schedule for Sunday before Saturday ever ended. The only way I survived the morning was starting a frantic effort to clean up my house. I knew if I stopped moving, I'd fall over. My prediction came true once I did slow down. I'm not sure if I've slept that hard in years.

It was awesome waking up a couple hours later with my entire family (including the dog) in my bed and football on the TV. Sunshine was cool enough to just chill with us on the bed and watch. That was a minor miracle considering Sunshine rarely sits still, especially after he wakes up. He's gotta move, man. The only thing that got me out of bed was the call of the left-over guacamole I had made for the party. That's one thing that stands no chance for survival here on Mt. Otis. The kid and I love us some guacamole.

Right now, Sunshine is playing Legos in his Chiefs uniform and Soul Mate and I are watching NFL Sunday Ticket while playing on our laptops. So far, we're 1-1-? for our teams. Soul Mate's Chiefs sucked with a capital S. My Steelers ruled with a capital R and an oooooooo in the middle. And the Packers are tied with 2:07 to go in the 4th.

I'm still in my PJs. I just got motivated enough to brush my teeth. I don't mind wearing funky clothes. I can't stand a funky mouth. The beauty of football Sundays is you can give yourself permission to do nothing and like it. After an insane summer, that's exactly what the doctor ordered around here.

Labels: Football, Lazy Days

I don't really have any deep thoughts to discuss right now. It's been a really busy week, and my head's all over the place with the things I have to do before we head home to the Show Me State for the wedding of one of our college buddies. That's why you're going to get another Brain Stew.

South Cackalacki's former State Treasurer Thomas Ravenel pleaded guilty to possession with intent to distribute cocaine in court today. T-Rav said he's been snorting coke as often as once a week. He admitted to buying coke once a month or once every other month and sharing it with friends at parties.

Here's my favorite part: Ravenel said he didn't have any symptoms of withdrawal while at his fancy rehab joint in Arizona, so he wasn't actually treated for drug addiction. He got counselling for "issues relating to his childhood" that led to "immature and reckless behavior." Although it doesn't say it on the station's web site, the reporter covering the story for WYFF 4 said on the air that Ravenel claims those "issues" were related to his parents' divorce, which happened when he was 10. He's 45.

Ravenel told reporters, "I pled guilty today because I am guilty and I want to let you know that from the start, I accepted responsibility. I am cooperating with the government and I am looking forward to putting this bad chapter behind me and moving forward. I am very remorseful."

This case has taken on a bit of international intrigue as well. One of Ravenel's co-defendants didn't show up for court yesterday. Pasquale Pellicoro apparently talked to the Charleston Post and Courier on his cell phone. He reportedly told the paper he couldn't find an attorney to take his case, so he packed his shit and went to Switzerland. He says he will only come back to the U.S. if he feels his rights will be protected. Pellicoro is from Italy, but he was working as a wine merchant in the Charleston area.

Pellicoro reportedly told the paper he has known Ravenel for seven years. They met at a language school where Pellicoro taught Ravenel French. Pellicoro reportedly told the paper Ravenel enjoyed getting different mixes of people together at his house after the bars in Charleston closed. He said people would go to the bathroom in groups of two or three, and that he never "really saw" Ravenel doing coke.

This morning when my husband told me Pellicoro didn't show up for court, I briefly wondered if Ravenel or some other rich and powerful person had him wacked. It makes more sense that he fled, but it would have been an insane twist if they wacked him before he could spill his guts.

The Ravenel case has been good entertainment, but I'm now much more pumped about the entertainment I'm currently enjoying: Kickoff of the 2007 NFL season. Hell yeah, folks. It's football season. Thank you, DirecTV NFL Sunday Ticket. Party at my house every week. All you pathetic people who don't have The Ticket are invited. I serve cold beer and fat-on-a -stick. You'll have to tolerate a lot of yelling, all-offense three-year-old football hijinx, and yippie dog fetch with a half-eaten miniature football. Heaven, I say. Heaven.

Speaking of the kid, he didn't beat the hell out of anybody or shit his pants at school today. That was welcome news. I've adopted the Progress Not Perfection mantra for My Little Sunshine and me. It makes for a much happier household.

By the way, I'm totally jealous of the mom who threw her kids' toys into trashbags and drove them to Mattel's El Segundo headquarters. She was so fed up and overwhelmed about figuring out which of her children's toys she had to take away that she packed that shit up and made a statement. Dana Laine Parker says she's just a regular mom who had had enough. She, like many of us out here, says she had a false sense of security. She assumed that it was OK to allow her kids to "gnaw on" any toy bought in this country. None of Parker's toys happened to be on the recall list. She says she's going to make an effort to be a smart consumer in the future.

Congratulations, Dana Laine Parker, for at least doing SOMETHING. Perhaps seeing you on CNN will spark a larger movement among parents. I wish I had thought of that. I am glad you did, and I hope it makes a difference.

For more information on the latest round of recalls, click on the links below. You can always find information on all product recalls on the Consumer Product Safety Commission web site.

Fisher-Price Recalls Bongo Band Toys Due to Violation of Lead Paint Standard

Fisher-Price Recalls Geo Trax Locomotive Toys Due To Violation of Lead Paint Standard

Mattel Recalls Various Barbie® Accessory Toys Due to Violation of Lead Paint Standard

Note: Ravenel picture from WYFF 4
Pellicoro picture from Post and Courier

Labels: Football, Mama Rant, Mattel, My Little Sunshine, Thomas Ravenel, Toy recall

Looks like we mamas are going to have to do something afterall. Although there are very few details available yet, there seems to be more evidence that MATTEL HATES CHILDREN.

CNN.com is reporting tonight that Mattel will announce tomorrow YET ANOTHER toy recall. This one (the third this summer) involves toys MADE IN CHINA that contain EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF LEAD PAINT. Sound familiar, people?

The news report on CNN says tomorrow's announcement will be a recall of a Fisher-Price toy (not very specific) and accessories to a Barbie playset. Hundreds of thousands of toys will apparently be recalled. That's better than the millions earlier this summer, but it's the same issue, folks. The. Same. Issue.

Please, join me in sending a message to Mattel. We do not like companies that hate our children. We will not buy your shit. Seriously. Your shit can hurt our babies. You are a bunch of ruthless, money-grubbing assholes.

Pass it on to your real friends and family, your invisible internet friends, and your imaginary friends: MATTEL LOVES MONEY. MATTEL HATES CHILDREN.

Be smart. Look for the logo. Don't buy it. Even if your kid cries. Crying is better than brain damage.

Labels: Mama Rant, Mattel, Toy recall

My husband spent a good bit of today trying to revive my laptop. It had suffered some brutal body blows after being infiltrated by some sneaky enemies disguised as children's computer games. I have to admit Soul Mate warned me this would happen. When I got the first free game from a Chick-Fill-My-Belly Kid's Meal, I thought it would be a fun way to introduce My Little Sunshine to the computer. I did not heed the warning. In fact, I almost scoffed at it. In addition to being a musical elitist, my husband is also a bit of a techno-snob. I wrote off his statements as the rantings of a mad Blackberry/Twitter/Nikon D70 junkie. Oops.

I not only ran the first game on my computer, I also installed it. Unfortunately, Sunshine freaking loves it. He wakes up asking to "go find somebody on the 'puter," and sometimes pitches a fit when we have to shut the game down. Yeah, there were a few signs it might have a death grip on my computer, but I thought it was just having a bad day or something.

We never got the Blue Screen of Death, but we got the Black Screen of Stroke. It blows, too. I mean, I don't have to plan a funeral or anything, but there might be a stint in rehab in our future. After installing Ad-Aware, Spybot, and doing some Clean Up!, it seems Soul Mate was able to revive my friendly little machine here. I've felt quite disconnected all day because of the emergency surgery. Sure, I don't spend all day in this box, but I do like to check in every few hours or so.

So, here's your warning: Throw those Kid's Meal computer games away! You really can't get something for nothing. There is a price, and if you're like me, you don't want to pay it. It's not worth it. Especially when it's giving those spies at Chick-Fill-My-Belly all sorts of information about you. Resist the urge! Fight the power!

And, here's something else: Payment to my husband. Thank you, honey. You were right. I was wrong. There. I said it. Cherish the moment.

There was another big moment on Mt. Otis today: Sunshine's first day back at "school." We've been building up to this day for the past two weeks with daily conversations and recitations of the rules. We've gone to visit his new classroom, meet his new teachers, and talked about all the fun he was going to have until we were convinced of it ourselves.

Sunshine was clearly very nervous. He avoided the subject like the plague for the most part. He even wigged out last night when Soul Mate was telling him a bedtime story about a kid who turned into Spiderman on his first day of school.

I was concerned for a number of reasons. First, Sunshine was going to have new teachers. He had a friend of ours last year, so that made it a lot easier on him to be away from home. Second, Sunshine hasn't gotten the hang of this sharing and not pushing business. Third, we're still potty training.



We took a few pictures on the way out the door this morning. Sunshine was decked out with his "spiky hair," "Spidey lunchbox," and "Too Cool for Pre-school" t-shirt." Damn, my kid is cute.

Even though he stalled on the way in the building, Sunshine ran off into the classroom without saying goodbye or looking back. Part of me was a little sad that he'd grown so independent in the course of a couple of months. That part was really small and quiet, though. Most of me was jumping up and down on the inside. Sweet, sweet freedom, if only for a few hours!

One bit of good news is that they didn't have to call me to come pick him up early. Last year, he was inconsolable for the first few days. We had to ease him into the idea. Once he was used to it, he still didn't stay for the full time. I always picked him up early, so he could get a full nap at home in his bed.

Bad news is that Sunshine apparently had a few violations of the Parents Day Out Code of Conduct. He apparently pushed a couple of boys down in an effort to show who is boss. I was disappointed, but not surprised by this at all. I can't wait until he grows out of this. He also had an "accident" 15 minutes before I arrived to pick him up. I'd say that's pretty good for a kid who just started wearing big boy underwear this weekend. Overall, I'd call the day a success. There's certainly room for improvement, but there always is.

Finally, as an homage to Al Can't Hang and to appease my husband a bit, I had a little Adventure in Pork today. For those of you who know me, you know that I'm a bit freaky with food. I haven't had much of a relationship with many mooing, oinking, or clucking animals in more than 15 years. Over the 11 or so years Soul Mate and I have been together, I've added a few animal products back into my diet. Soul Mate loves meat, especially the mooing and oinking varieties, so it's been quite a challenge for him to tolerate my finicky and often inconsistent appetite.

Tonight, Soul Mate made some sort of oinking kabobs that I promised to try on the condition that he would no longer pester me about pork if I didn't like it. I have to admit that the piggies on a stick were tasty. The consistency still bugged the crap out of me, but I'll be the first to tell you they tasted good. Will I be ordering up some Wilbur Chops on our next date night? Probably not. Will I make another effort to love The Pig? Maybe. I'm not ruling it out, and that's Progress (not Perfection).

Labels: Food, My Little Sunshine Memorable Moments, Preschool, Soul Mate Summer

On this Labor Day, three once powerful men are getting a taste of what life's like for the powerless. If they were Regular Joes, they might be in even stickier situations. For now, however, the rest of us can just be happy that they're not all walking off with their power, positions, and influence intact.

I've ranted about Idaho Senator Larry Craig and South Carolina Treasurer Thomas Ravenel on this blog before, but I haven't addressed Durham District Attorney Mike Nifong here. All three men held positions of power that they horribly abused. All three men deserve what's coming to them and then some.


Unfortunately, Mike Nifong will only spend one day in jail. A judge found Nifong in criminal contempt of court for lying about DNA evidence in the Duke Lacrosse rape case. The day in jail won't hurt Nifong nearly as much as being forced to resign from his position of power, which went largely unchecked, and being stripped of his license to practice law. What he did is digusting. I cannot imagine the hell those boys and their families went through. Thankfully, in this case anyway, he abused his power for personal gain against the wrong kids. Their parents had the money and connections to fight back and to get those boys the help they needed. Most of the Regular Joes out there would be destroyed by what Mike Nifong did. I hope all three of those young men find a way to become successful, productive members of society in spite of the evil man who tried to ruin their lives to better his own. What a colossal douchebag.

One of my favorite products of the Good Ole Boy system in South Cackalacki is planning to plead guilty to a drug charge this week. Former State Treasurer, Thomas Ravenel, or T-Rav as I've taken to calling him, will formally enter the guilty plea on Thursday. It's a reduced charge of course, conspiracy to possess with intent to distribute less than 100 grams of cocaine. However, T-Rav will have to tell the truth about any other criminal activities he knows about, and the government will be allowed to request a polygraph if they don't believe him. If he rats out any of his blow-nose friends, the government can request he gets a lesser sentence. If Ravenel had gone to trial, he could have been sentenced to 20 years and prison and a million dollar fine if found guilty of the original charge.

I don't expect T-Rav to give up any of his coke fiend politician buddies in this deal. He's already caused enough trouble for the Republican party. I imagine he'll plead guilty and then saunter off to spend his millions on the beach somewhere. I do have to give the guy some props for owning up to at least part of what he's done. He could have worked the Good Ole Boy system a little harder. However, his not doing so at all makes me wonder what else might have come to light had this investigation gone any further. Hmmm...


Finally, good ole Idaho Senator Larry Craig. Bless his heart. He's agreed to resign his position in the U.S. Senate effective at the end of the month. I'm glad we will no longer have this hypocrite in power in Washington. It sickens me that on the one hand he was fighting to keep homosexuals as second-class citizens while on the other hand getting it on with other men. Does he just not want to admit to himself that he's gay? Does he just find it so shameful that he has to maintain this terrible charade as a married right-wing homophobe? I almost feel sorry for him. It must be pure torture to live a lie like that. Most people who choose to live in the closet, though, merely live a double life; they don't set out to make life difficult for those who have chosen to live their lives as homosexuals out in the open. That is just plain cruel. For that, I am glad that he has given up his power. Other gay people should not suffer because he can't be his true self.

I hope all you fine people enjoy a laborless Labor Day. I'm going to go try not to screw up another "home-cooked" meal.

Note: Mike Nifong pic from The Baltimore Sun.
Thomas Ravenel pic from WYFF4.com

Labels: American Justice System Politics, Duke rape case, Mike Nifong, Senator Larry Craig, T-Rav, Thomas Ravenel