Had to post.

Rachel Maddow had a beautiful rant last night. Here it is.


“Ohio really did go to the president last night.

And he really did win.

And he really was born in Hawaii.
And he really is -legitimately- President of the United States.

And the Bureau of Labor Statistics did not make-up a fake unemployment rate last month.
And the Congressional Research Service really can find no evidence
That cutting taxes on rich people grows the economy.

And the polls were not skewed to over-sample Democrats.
And Nate Silver was not making up fake projections about the election
To make conservatives feel bad.
He was doing math.

And climate change is real.
And rape really does cause pregnancy sometimes.
And evolution is a thing.
And Benghazi was an attack on us.
It was not a scandal by us.

And no one is taking away anyone’s guns.
And taxes haven’t gone up.
And the deficit is dropping, actually.
And Saddam Hussein didn’t have weapons of mass destruction.

And the moon landing was real.
And FEMA isn’t building concentration camps.
And UN election observers aren’t taking over Texas.
And moderate reforms of the regulations on the insurance industry
And the financial services industry
Are not the same thing as communism.”

Love you, Rachel.

New Orleans.

Let me start by saying I’ve never had the opportunity to live in New Orleans. Much to my dismay. Having spent so much time there during my formative years and in into college, I do hold it very dear to my soul.

Now and again I will read something that shows me just how much I love that city, and reminds me I need to go back. Which I do. As often as I can get away.

Tonight’s memory jog is courtesy of Anne Rice. I’ve started rereading all of the Vampire Chronicles from ‘Interview’ and was struck by her description of New Orleans through Louis’ eyes. I’ll share it with you.

“But, let me describe New Orleans, as it was then, and as it was to become, so you can understand how simple our lives were. There was no city in America like New Orleans. It was filled not only with the French and Spanish of all classes who had formed in part its peculiar aristocracy, but later with immigrants of all kinds, the Irish and the German in particular. Then there were not only the black slaves, yet unhomogenized and fantastical in their different tribal garb and manners, but the great growing class of the free people of color, those marvellous people of our mixed blood and that of the islands, who produced a magnificent and unique caste of craftsmen, artists, poets, and renowned feminine beauty. And then there were the Indians, who covered the levee on summer days selling herbs and crafted wares. And drifting through all, through this medley of languages and colors, were the people of the port, the sailors of the ships, who came in great waves to spend their money in the cabarets, to buy for the night the beautiful women both dark and light, to dine on the best of Spanish and French cooking and drink the imported wines of the world. Then add to these, within years after my transformation, the Americans, who built the city up river from the old French Quarter with magnificent Grecian houses which gleamed in the moonlight like temples. And, of course, the planters, always the planters, coming to town with their families in shining landaus to buy evening gowns and silver and gems, to crowd the narrow streets on the way to the old French Opera House and the Théâtre d’Orléans and the St. Louis Cathedral, from whose open doors came the chants of High Mass over the crowds of the Place d’Armes on Sundays, over the noise and bickering of the French Market, over the silent, ghostly drift of the ships along the raised waters of the Mississippi, which flowed against the levee above the ground of New Orleans itself, so that the ships appeared to float against the sky.

      “This was New Orleans, a magical and magnificent place to live. In which a vampire, richly dressed and gracefully walking through the pools of light of one gas lamp after another might attract no more notice in the evening than hundreds of other exotic creatures—if he attracted any at all, if anyone stopped to whisper behind a fan, ‘That man…how pale, how he gleams…how he moves. It’s not natural!’ A city in which a vampire might be gone before the words had even passed the lips, seeking out the alleys in which he could see like a cat, the darkened bars in which sailors slept with their heads on the tables, great high-ceilinged hotel rooms where a lone figure might sit, her feet upon an embroidered cushion, her legs covered with a lace counterpane, her head bent under the tarnished light of a single candle, never seeing the great shadow move across the flowers of the ceiling, never seeing the long white fingers reached to press the fragile flame.

     “Remarkable, if for nothing else, because of this, that all of those men and women who stayed for any reason left behind them some monument, some structure of marble and brick and stone that still stands; so that even when the gas lamps went out and the planes came in and the office buildings crowded the blocks of Canal Street, something irreducible of beauty and romance remained; not in every street perhaps, but in so many that the landscape is for me the landscape of those times always, and walking now in the starlit streets of the Quarter or the Garden District I am in those times again. I suppose that is the nature of the monument. Be it a small house or a mansion of Corinthian columns and wrought-iron lace. The monument does not say that this or that man walked here. No, that what he felt in one time in one spot continues. The moon that rose over New Orleans then still rises. As long as the monuments stand, it still rises. The feeling, at least here…and there…it remains the same.”


So we’re back on the horse, so to speak.

Next cycle I will be starting Clomid.

I am SLIGHTLY apprehensive about taking it, since the chances of multiples increases dramatically with it and we have twins in the family.

My reaction will be priceless if we were blessed with twins. I can’t imagine what Frank’s would be. Just thinking about it makes me laugh maniacally.


Insomnia. I’ve never had any experience with it. I’ve known plenty of people who have, however. Tonight I cannot get to sleep.

Oh, I am tired enough, I suppose, after working an extended shift in the middle of my second (out of three) of six day work weeks before year’s end. But dreamland is elusive tonight and I’m starting to get angry.

Tomorrow and Saturday are sure to be at least twelve hours of booze shilling hell. And I’m not the sort to function well on less than seven solid hours of sleep.

I don’t know if this is due to the half pot of coffee I consumed with dinner. Or maybe things I should be concerned with that I am not. Or things I’m overly concerned with that I should not be.

There’s a lot going ’round in my head right now and that’s probably not helping.

I was reading. That usually helps me to drift. Well, until my Touchpad’s battery died, that is.

I’ll see what happens when I attempt to shut down the thought processes.


Good night, y’all.

I’ll do my best to not be a bear tomorrow.

No promises, though.

5 years.

5 years ago today I married my Beloved on a misty mountaintop in East Tennessee.

I love this man more than life.

Though it was a strange and long journey, I am so glad to have found him.

I love you, baby.


I was at work, a bagel shop in Altoona, PA, when a customer said, “Did you hear about the plane that hit the WTC?” We hadn’t. We turned on the news and were shocked, as we had all assumed it was some small commuter plane that had gotten off course.

As we were listening (No images as we did not have a TV. Only radio which was on NBC News.) the horror started unfolding. Two planes. Then the Pentagon. After a bit, reports started to trickle in about the plane in central PA. Not going to lie, alarm bells started ringing in my head. “Central PA? Where? Why? What’s so important about central PA? What do we do?” No one gave a more specific location and, as such, we didn’t know if it was headed for us. I started to panic a bit. I borrowed someone’s cell phone and called my grandmother in Memphis to let her know I was fine and that nothing had happened to Altoona.

The rest of that day is a blur. I’m not sure it matters, really. All I know is that I won’t forget where I was or what I was doing that day. Its forever burned into my memory. As it should be.

As a military brat I’ve always been patriotic. Comes with the territory. I can’t say that 9/11 made me more so. Perhaps more aware of it would be a better phrase. Whatever our differences politically, this a pretty damn good country and one we should proudly defend.

Heartfelt thoughts go out to all who lost someone that tragic day. To those still suffering. To those who lose their lives every day in defending our home, be they police, firefighters, or our military.

House update!

Well, we are mostly up to par on the painting we needed to get done. MOSTLY. But it doesn’t matter because we FINALLY move in on Friday! So. HAPPY!

I don’t have much else right now. I’ll be sure to take pics once we get settled into quiet suburban life. :)


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 583 other followers