Pink Phizz

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Just call me the wanderer

Well, we made it, safe and sound. Pretty uneventful; however, for Krip, it was a whole 'nuther story and I will get to him in a minute.

Found out it doesn't pay to sit in the back of the plane sometimes.

One, you get to smell the food that you aren't about to get in your wildest dreams, unless you win the lotto (lottery, for my American friends). While we got the manky, dry old pretzels, you know who were getting the nice warm snacks that smelt so damn good.

Two, by the time the flight waitresses reached us there was no, 'Chicken or Beef?' There was just beef. They had already run out of chicken. After eating our beef, I could kinda see why. I mean the beef wasn't really bad; however, it wasn't really good either. I am kinda wonderin' what the chicken was all about though.

And three, as far as "breakfast" goes, it was a repeat of the snack rendition at the beginning of the flight. My youngest was salivating over the smell of bacon and eggs; but much to her chagrin, the only thing she was going to get from that breakfast was the aroma. We got a croissant, yogurt, etc.

Needless to say, I felt rather guilty during the plane trip that we haven't managed to win the lotto.

Customs and all was a breeze. In fact, the customs' officer got rather excited because I remembered to bring my youngest's return ticket to show him that, indeed, I did plan on putting her on a plane two weeks from now to go back to school, and that I had absolutely, positively no intention of adding another illegal immigrant to the mounting swell of illegal immigrants that are here in the U.K. already. Besides, I would have told him, if he had asked, that my daughter was not the type he was looking for in an illegal immigrant anyway. She is highly intelligent, and if she continues on the path she is on, will be able to contribute to society and not be on the dole (welfare, etc.). However, since he didn't ask, I thought it might be a wise move not to volunteer said information; I mean, afterall, things were going rather peachy and I thought it would be in my best interest not to.

Then after I showed him how well I could think ahead for any pitfall, he gleefully called me a very "smart girl..." For a second there, I did think he was going to pat me on my head. Course when he finished praising me, I thought I would have like to swat the back of his head; which, of course I didn't or I probably wouldn't be here telling you all of this.

So what, may you ask did he say at the end of that sentence that brought me up short? The whole sentence was, "You are a very smart girl, especially for an American, since so many of them go 'huh?' when I ask to see their return tickets." I gave him an award winning smile and said "Thanks!" [asshole, quietly under my breath].

Now as for Krip. Have you ever been in a situation where you hear this type of phrase?

"Ah, Houston, we got a problem..." or 'A funny thing happened on the way to the Coliseum, sweetheart...'

Yeah, well that's kinda what my first conversation with Krip was.

I called, as pre-arranged when we landed, which incidently was 7 a.m. (U.K. time), all excited, just knowing that in about 30 to 45 minutes it would be like the beach scene in '10', me minus the cornrows.



Anyway, I called. Told him where I was, and then he proceeded to tell me that he had some bad news. He left the house at 6:15 a.m., got eight miles from home, and came to a dead stop on the M-26 due to a traffic jam, due to a wreck just outside Maidstone.
In which, I said that's okay, I'd see him when we got on the other side of customs and such.

No problem, right?


I called him back when we got out of customs. He was at a dead stop, in a traffic jam, due to a wreck somewhere on the M-25. Poor guy finally showed up almost two hours after we landed. Wound up having to pay a stinking £2.10 (almost $5) to park for approximately 15 minutes.

And as you've probably already guessed, it was not like the beach scene in '10'either, but rather Krip giving me a quick hug and peck on the cheek, telling me it was so good to see us and

"but, honey, I got to go pee."

So after an hour and forty-five minute drive to Raligh-Durham Interntational Airport; after a six hour flight and 3,883 (thousand) miles; after a two hour wait, and another hour and a half drive back home (due to traffic backed up, still), we finally made it back.

All in one piece. It only took ten hours and fifteen minutes to go from Little Mama's door to my door.

And did I mention the two dozen beautiful yellow roses that awaited me?

Oh, I am a lucky girl.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Last post from this side of the pond...see you on the other side

I had a wonderful time with Little Mama, Sarge, and the boys. And I thought it was mighty decent of her to have the baby before her due date, so that I could spend even more time with the newest member of our family.

I was able to enjoy some of my favorite foods, things that I missed living in England like BBQ pork (pulled) and sweet tea with lots of ice! [Side note: Bringing back Hershey Kisses for Krip and Butterfingers for me.]

I will miss them all dearly.

And wouldn't you know it, Thursday the heat wave is going to break and it will be in the 80's. Coolest temperatures they've had in over a month. Go figure.

So until sometime next year, good-bye America and hello England.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

You're speaking English, aren't you?

Okay, since I really have nothing to write about today and since I have both American blogging friends and British blogging friends, I think I will give a lesson in the "British" English language so that the Americans will know what the Brits are actually saying. Now, I'm going to let you in on a little secret, I am still stumbling along after almost three years living in England, but here goes:

biscuit = cookie
flannel = wash cloth
washing up liquid = dish soap
fanny = vagina
bullocks = shit, etc.
bollocks = balls (and I'm not talking about footballs)
telling porkies = telling lies
trousers = pants
knickers = women's/girl's underwear or panties
pants = underwear
jumper = pullover sweater
chips = fries
crisps = chips
sarnie = sandwich
buttys = sandwich(s), i.e. bacon butty = bacon sandwich
sweets = candy
boiled sweets = hard candy
lollys = lollipops or suckers
ice lollys = popcicles
fizzie water = soda water, i.e. club soda
lorries = trucks (semi's)
boot = trunk (car)
people carrier = vans
push chair = strollers

Americans tend to use 'name brands' as words, i.e, Kleenex and Xerox, to describe what we need or an action, where Krip says 'tissues' and 'copy machine.'

I know that there are more, but I can't think of any. Since I have been here a month, my brain is slipping back into Americaneaze. So feel free to add on.

I know that Krip and I will be back to "What??" for a few days when I get back [on Thursday, BTW, Hooray!!!]

Monday, July 25, 2005

Home is where my heart is

Limbo. That's what Krip wrote to me this morning, that he is in limbo. That's exactly how I feel. I want to get back to my husband, my dog, and my home.

Wednesday can't come soon enough for me.

I want to go out on a long walk over the weekend. I don't care if it's pouring outside, I want to walk the countryside.

I have been cooped up for a whole month in Little Mama's house. The heat keeps one inside. It's been brutal - the heat. Tomorrow is suppose to get to 100 degrees, and Wednesday higher than that. This is not the heat index, this is just the temperature.

Don't get me wrong. I am not whinging; however, there is only so many clothes that can be washed, and so many dishes. Their house hasn't looked this clean, ever, and probably won't until the next time I come.

Like a tiger in the Chinese zodiac, of which I am, pacing is becoming second nature for me.

Things you learn from late-night television

Last night, Little Mama and I tuned into the Oxygen Channel and watched this.

Johanson has this bag of "hot stuff" that she brings on her show and last night we got the privilege of reviewing the this.

I was well, what can I say....gobsmacked.

Ah, no thank you, I'll take a pass on that

Just imagine this. You're lying in bed, it's way after midnight and you can't sleep. What do you do? You start remembering stuff. In my case, I started to think of food and/or drink that if I never had again would be too soon.

Tuna noodle casserole
Stuffing and/or Dressing
Beef Strogenoff
Fish Sticks
Bourbon (even the smell gives me the heevie-geevies)
Apple Juice
Egg Plant (Aubergine)
Creamed Corn

Sunday, July 24, 2005


I just got off of another's blog. The blogger is not the point of my pet peeve, I love her blog, in fact it's one of my favorites; however, it's someone's comment(s) on the blog that has gotten me thinking. The commenter was offended by the word, twat. After a long and quite involved dissertation of what the commenter was offended by on what liberals call the 'Right Winged' beliefs, the commenter finally came to an end by noting that twat was equated to cunt. And those words offended the said commenter.

So I am going to express just a few things that what I find very offensive.

I find the word 'Pro-Choice' offensive. I have never met a person who was pro-choice choose against abortion. Why in the hell don't these people stand up and declare exactly what they are for? I would respect anyone who would stand up and say 'I am for abortion. I believe it is a woman's right to be able to kill their babies, and I don't give a flying fuck what the father of said baby wants, nor anyone else.'

I find the word 'fetus' offensive. How come only in human mammals are unborn babies called fetuses. How come only in human mammals is a fetus a fetus until the baby takes it's first breath outside the womb that all of a sudden the fetus is a baby?

I find so called artists that call works of art that is total crap offensive, not the fact that the artist did it so much, that is their right; but because they actually call it art. Call it what it is, crap; i.e., feces thrown on any religious object is exactly what it is, crap; not art.

I find it offensive, i.e., little girls can't even have their ears pierced before the age of 15 without their parents' permission, or get an aspirin from a school nurse, but can walk into an abortion clinic and have an abortion and the parents never know about it.

I find it offensive that our military are looked down on by the very people they risk their lives for just so they can be looked down on.

I find it offensive that Congress can grant themselves pay raises and no one to stop them, and yet military families have to rely on such items as foodstamps, welfare, or WIC because their pay does not match the hours that are put in by the very people that are keeping those pompass twats safe so that they can give themselves raises.

I find the use of anything but the use of the word terrorists offensive. I find the media, the politically correct offensive when they refuse to see terrorists as terrorists and call them homicidal bombers, insurgents, freedom fighters, etc. Terrorists are, well terrorists.

I find it offensive when scum are granted higher sentences for killing an animal than the scum and perverts are for killing, raping, molesting, etc., a human being.

And last but not least, I really find tuna noodle casserole offensive. However, that's another round of posting. Ugh!

Cause for celebration

The excitement is still reverbrating around this house this morning. After dancing with glee, Little Mama and Sarge are still walking around with silly grins on their faces. They had been waiting with baited breath for three long days for that moment.
I bet you are just awondering what this phenomena might have been?

The baby finally pooped.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Hey! You talking to me?

The other day when the Sudanese were doing their usual montage of bullying, they decided to zero in on Secretary of State, Ms. Rice; her personal; and of course the media that were swarming around them. One of the members of the press was Andrea Mitchell.

Ms. Mitchell got roughed up by the Sudanese. And while I think that that was totally uncalled for, it was a treat to see it happen to a liberal in said media. I do think what she said was priceless though,

"There is no freedom of the press here."

Well, duh! I mean, you think?

A fizzle instead of sizzle

Last night, Little Mama, Sarge, and I sat down to watch the movie, Be Cool. Chili Palmer should have never been resurrected. I read Get Shorty and I loved the book. I really like Elmore Leonard. But, in my most humbled opinion, something is lost from the book to the screen. As much as I tried to praise E. Leonard, Get Shorty (the movie), just didn't cut it either. We never did finish the movie last night. We found it rather boring, watched a re-run of CSI instead.

Tonight, though, we are gonna watch House of 1,000 Corpses.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

The politically correct are gonna kill us all one day

This cartoon, that I got over from Mike's blog kind of says it all.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

The real version of the Bible

Okay, so I've been thinking. You know the Bible. You know that part where God makes Adam and Eve, then gives them permission to romp around nak'd as jay-birds living a free and simple life "As long as you don't eat from the fruit of THAT tree..." kinda thing. And you know the story, how Adam and Eve ate from the forbidden tree, were cast out, and proceeded to screw like rabbits, which went on to produce Cain and Able, their two strapping young sons?

Remember reading about that part?

And the part where Cain gets pissed off at his only sibling,Able; only God knows why, and decided to murder the poor bastard?

Remember that part?

Well, in reality,that should be about where you should be reading "The End". I mean, if you think about it, there was Adam, Eve, Cain, and Able. Cain kills Able, which leaves Adam, Eve, and Cain. And no one else around the campfire.


Just Cain, and his two parents...Adam and Eve. Adam and Eve have got to be pretty old when Cain went out and bashed his brother's head in. Hell, they were both adults by the time God made them. I've seen the pictures, you've seen the pictures, they weren't little kids. Okay, so by the time we get to see their pictures, they have already been driven out of Eden, and they have resorted to wearing those crazy fig leaves, but it's pretty damn obvious to the onlooker, that they are adults. The two "partners" went on to conceive, bear, and raise two sons. Adam and Eve are old, they're tired, and they are ready to chuck it all in. Which leaves Cain, alone, by himself, no one else.

Hmmm, so where did we come from.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Double-edged sword

I am full of mixed emotions. I am ready to go home; however, I will really miss Little Mama, Sarge, and the boys when I leave. I don't know when I will be able to hop over the pond to come again. Since I was just here four months ago, I kind of used my quota up for this year. I would like for me and Krip to be able to come next time, so that kith and kin can put a person to the voice over the phone. But that will be a while since airline tickets are so damn expensive. I have been there for all three of her babies now, so I am glad that I didn't miss the event.

I also know that when we leave in about a week that two weeks later my youngest will be boarding that jet and crossing the pond yet again. She will be heading back to her Dad; only because her school is there, and there is no way that I could afford the tuition for her private school, but her Dad can.

So, while I'm looking forward to going home; I am dreading that shortly thereafter, my precious girl will be leaving me until Christmas.

It's pretty bad when my youngest has to reassure me by telling me that it will be all right.

Do not read while drinking anything

Seattle man dies after sex with horse

Police say death was accidental, investigate farm on cruelty suspicions

SEATTLE - A Seattle man died after engaging in anal sex with a horse at a farm suspected of being a gathering place for people seeking to have sex with livestock, police said Friday.

The horse involved in the incident was not harmed, and an autopsy of the unnamed man concluded that “the manner of death was accidental ... due to perforation of the colon,” a police spokesman on

Talk about being hard up! Guess all the sheep and goats were taken.
Just a little hint for the next asshole that tries this. A horse is to be ridden on top, not the other way around.

Wise words

I'm sorry, but I find this intensely funny. And I don't think he would have to worry about me keeping up. Think superglue.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Stoopid is as stoopid does

Stoopidity never ceases to amaze me. Here are some examples:

How to store your baby walker: First, remove baby. Anonymous Manufacturer

We are unable to announce the weather. We depend on weather reports from the airport, which is closed, due to weather. Whether we will be able to give you a weather report tomorrow will depend on the weather. Arab News report

Caution: Cape does not enable user to fly. Batman Costume warning label

Your food stamps will be stopped effective March 1992 because we received notice that you passed away. May God bless you. You may reapply if there is a change in your circumstances. Department of Social Services, Greenville, South Carolina

Oh Lordy, you just gotta love those stoopid people. They make the rest of us look downright smart.

Day trippin'

Have you ever been so tired you feel like you are trippin? That's how I feel today. The two boys have a new battle strategy, they are into night maneuvers. Now they have decided to wake up during the night.

So last night, the new baby woke up and cried every two hours to get fed; the two year old woke up three times, screeching. [Side note: Damn that child can screech on a certain note that just kind of reverbrates inside your brain, and leaves you in limbo]; and the five year old decided that three o'clock in the morning was definitely the time to get up.

I am so damn tired. I want to go home. Now. I want quiet. Is that really too much to ask for?

I miss Krip.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

So who's the dummy

Okay, so I'm cruising around and checking out what other bloggers have to say this morning, and I finally got around to [Side note: being in the 'R's, he's a bit down the line] Random Ramblings' little literary tidbit for the day. It's funny, it's all about idiots. Anyway, his post got my little brain aworkin' and I remembered seeing this book next to Little Mama's chair:

Breastfeeding for Dummies

Let that sink in for just a moment, folks.

There is actually a BOOK out there explaining how to whip out your breast, stick it into your baby's mouth, and let him or her proceed to suckle. This book is 322 pages long (not counting the index).

Chapter 19, "Ten Breastfeeding Wives' Tales".

1) Size Is Everything:
Let me tell you something girlfriend, it doesn't matter if you qualify only for a training bra, or whether you can make Jordan look flat chested. You either can produce milk or you can't.

2) Blondes Don't Have More Fun:
Now this is about pain, your nipples, and a mouth. It hurts even to read about it.

3) Heavy Breasts Mean More Milk:
All about engorgement, etc.

4) You Can't Even Eat Anything Good:
Just live and learn; hint: worse than smelly diapers.

5) A Crying Baby Must Be Hungry:
If your baby is getting to be a real budda, you are feeding him or her too damn much.

6) Keep Your "Partner's" [I really hate that f*ckin' word] Hands Off:
So you both leak from different orfices, who really cares. Go for it guys.

7) Sour Moms Make Sour Milk:
If you are bitchy, while your milk may be considered bitchin' by your baby, the milk won't make the baby bitchy. You will.

8) Nursing Leads To Sagging:
Ah, no, that's called gettin' old.

9) Public Nursing Is Criminal:
If that's all you see going down in public, then you lead an awfully sheltered life.

10)Breastfeeding Is Birth Control:
Shock and horror. No.

There you go in a nutshell. Women for thousands upon thousands of years have been breastfeeding their babes. Can't imagine how they managed before this book came along, can you?

And yes, there is a book called, SEX for Dummies for f*cksake.

Hootin' with the owls

Let me ask you something. How do kids do it?

The new Dad, my youngest one, and the five year old got back from the hospital last night around 9:30. The five year old came down around 11:15 saying that he didn't like the movie that he had been watching for almost two hours. Which means that he watched the whole f*cking thing, before he decided that he didn't like it. [Please note, that the new Dad had already left to go back to the new babe and Little Mama while all of this was going on, naturally; and as you can see, I couldn't go to bed until he went to bed so that I could turn off the movie that he decided that he didn't like.]

Anyway, it wasn't until after midnight [because, as noted above, I had to wait until the five year old decided he was going to visit the old sandman] before I was able to lay my head down on my much wanted and needed pillow, and being so damn tired, I couldn't fall asleep until way after two in the A.M.

Guess what time both little (boy) darlin's got up? Six-fifteen in the f*cking a.m.

There aught to be a law against that.

Pay-day baby

Little Mama had a bouncing baby boy. He was born C-Section around 4 p.m. on Friday. Baby weighed in at 8 pounds, 9 ounces; and is 20 inches long. He looks like his Dad (just as all of them do).

Little Mama and bouncing baby are doing wonderful.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Smiling never more

A list, so far, with photos of known dead and the missing from the London bomb blasts set by the terrorists a week ago Thursday. As you can see the terrorists didn't give a damn who they killed.


Little Mama has opted for a C-Section. Right now, she is having no contractions. Gonna get all kinds of good drugs.

Smart girl.

Also means Little Mama won't be home until Sunday. It's going be an interesting next two days. I'm putting these little darlin's to work on Saturday, the house will be spotless for the new babe and Little Mama.

So far it's been going fairly well. The two boys have learned that I don't give a damn who had what and when, I take the stoopid toy away and then neither one gets it.

Also the five year old hasn't been giving me any lip either. Pretty pleased over this. I do believe it could be that I promised him that I wouldn't hesitate to tape his mouth up if he tried it. I am relieved, so far, that he hasn't; it will take an awful lot to get the gooey mess from around his mouth.

Just how do you get the tape residue off?

Pay day

Seven o'clock this morning, Little Mama's water broke. They are off to the hospital. I'm here with the two kiddies. Trust me when I say this, I'd rather be going through the contractions.

To be continued.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Stranger than fiction

Something strange occurred early yesterday evening. At first I couldn't put my finger on it. Started to believe that I was on some sci-fi, low budget, movie set. All these children came streaming out of their homes, blinking and rubbing their eyes at the daylight like a bunch of baby moles. Then it dawned on me. Since we were having an electrical storm, a lightning bolt had hit something, which caused us to lose our electricity.

All over the neighborhood, kids streamed out of their homes because there was no electricity to generate the boob-tubes, the computers, the various types of video games, etc. Somehow, most of them actually managed to dig up their bikes, skateboards, and other outdoor playthings. And a small miracle took place, they played. They actually remembered how to ride their bikes and other things. It was something to behold. It really was.

It's quiet as a tomb outside now. Nothing stirring, not one sound. Nothing.

The puzzle is starting to take shape

British police identify London bombings mastermind:

LONDON (AFP) - British police have identified the man thought to be the mastermind behind last week's bombings in London in which at least 52 people died, a report said.

The British-born man in his 30s, of Pakistani origin, arrived at a British port last month and left the country again the day before Thursday's attacks, The Times newspaper reported.

The four suspected suicide bombers, three of whom have been identified by newspapers, were also Britons of Pakistani origin.

According to The Times, security sources believe the mastermind was involved in previous terror operations and has links with followers of Osama bin Laden's Al-Qaeda extremist group in the United States. carry on here

What a brave boy this guy is.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

And you think you've had bad days

Corpse Falls Into Traffic in Texas

The Associated Press
Wednesday, July 13, 2005; 4:05 PM

DALLAS -- The body of a Louisiana man strapped to a gurney fell from the back of a pickup truck Tuesday onto a south Dallas highway and into the path of oncoming traffic. "I didn't think it was possible for that to happen," said Mary Ellen Douglas, who was driving to work when she saw what she initially thought was a package that had fallen from a truck. "I wanted to get out of there. It was too freaky for me," she said in a story in Wednesday's editions of The Dallas Morning News.

Authorities said the driver was carrying the body to a Shreveport, La., funeral home after the man died Monday at a Mesquite hospital.

"The driver of the truck was not aware that he had lost the body," Dallas police Lt. Rick Andrews said. "He saw the open door. He stopped and looked. He turned around, went back and retraced his steps and found the body."

Drivers swerved to avoid the corpse and gurney.

Dallas police Senior Cpl. Max Geron said no charges are expected to be filed.

I honestly don't know what to say to this. Bizarre is a good word.

Bam, bam, bam

Been playing "Medal of Honor, Frontline," on PS2 while here with my daughter. They rented it for me; so anyway, today when both my daughters went back to the video place, they renewed it for me.

To make a long story, short, when the lady remarked that someone musta really liked this game, my youngest responded,"Yes, my Mom. She's hooked on it!" See boys, even us girls love to shoot Nazis.

And the majority of my shots are head shots.

Go to sleep...NOW

The two year old decided yesterday not to take a nap. So, of course, he went to bed early. Do you know what time he finally decided to go to sleep?

11:30 P.M.

Guess what time he woke up this a.m. Five-thirty in the f*cking morning. That's what time. The little darlin' decided he didn't want to take a nap again this afternoon. Betcha can guess what this day was like today, can't you. It wasn't pretty.

Little Mama went to the hospital today, she has labor pains even in her neck, poor baby. The doctor just sent her home. Not ready yet. She says that she's never gonna have this baby. Pleasssseee God! Make it happen soon!!!

They all went up to crash early this evening; Little Mama, the five year old and the two year old rugrat(s). Six-thirty to be precised. It's been heavenly.

Tomorrow's another day. [sigh]

Not a bed time story

From cricket-lover who enjoyed a laugh to terror suspect

Sandra Laville and Ian Cobain
Wednesday July 13, 2005
The Guardian

Ten days ago Shahzad Tanweer, a 22-year-old British Asian, was playing cricket in the local park with his friends. It was something he loved to do. He was a sporty young man who loved martial arts, drove his dad's Mercedes and had many friends in the Beeston area of Leeds. read on

This article is worth the read. I am very surprised that it is coming from the Guardian. While it appears that the writers of this article were trying to spin, in my eyes, a sympathetic slant and having this person somewhat human, it unnerves me in a totally different way. While this man appeared to be living a normal life, it seems as though his normal life was what he created as a front, a cover; and his true life showed through last Thursday morning.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Knocking your head against the wall

BBC edits out the word terrorist
By Tom Leonard

The BBC has re-edited some of its coverage of the London Underground and bus bombings to avoid labelling the perpetrators as "terrorists", it was disclosed yesterday.

Early reporting of the attacks on the BBC's website spoke of terrorists but the same coverage was changed to describe the attackers simply as "bombers".

The BBC's guidelines state that its credibility is undermined by the "careless use of words which carry emotional or value judgments".

Consequently, "the word 'terrorist' itself can be a barrier rather than an aid to understanding" and its use should be "avoided", the guidelines say.

Rod Liddle, a former editor of the Today programme, has accused the BBC of "institutionalised political correctness" in its coverage of British Muslims.

A BBC spokesman said last night: "The word terrorist is not banned from the BBC."

Who does this remind you of? To me, they are the media, the government(s), and the rest of the politically correct of this world.

ter·ror·ist[Pronunciation Key:(trr-st)]
n. One that engages in acts or an act of terrorism.
adj. Of or relating to terrorism

What part of the word t-e-r-r-o-r-i-s-t don't they understand?

EU's big bad thumb

EU Commission targets states over noise pollution

BRUSSELS, July 11 (Reuters) - European Union states that have not adopted EU rules aimed at reducing noise in crowded cities will face court action if they fail to act soon, the bloc's executive said on Monday.

The European Commission said it was initiating legal action against 11 states which had failed to incorporate the rules into national noise pollution legislation, which should have been done by July 2004.

The states are Austria, Belgium, the Czech Republic, Finland, France, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Luxembourg, Portugal and Britain.
more here

Who are the clowns that come up with this stuff? I have a picture in my mind of nanny police running around giving tickets to construction crews drilling holes, other policemen blowing their whistles, businessmen/women shouting for taxi's, the honking of horns, etc. Just everyday sounds of city life.

These politicians really have just too much time on their hands.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Doin' a little jig

I fixed something tonight that the kids all ate. And I mean all of them ate. The five year old would rather go without food until breakfast the next morning. That's a hell of a long time; from lunch on one day to breakfast the next. Sometimes I think that the kid may be practicing just in case he has to go on a hunger strike someday. We had no screaming, no crying, no gnashing of teeth. It was wonderful! Nothing but smiling faces all around. Kinda like a real life sitcom.

God, what am I gonna do to top that tomorrow night?

Oh, happy days

Little Mama, by the way, that's tongue-in-cheek cause she's not so little anymore, went to the doctors today and she is 3 centimeters along and 80% effacement. It was said that she will not last the weekend. That baby is a coming!! I think the baby will come at night and will be born on Wednesday, the 13th.

What say you.

It's time to take blinders off

I know that this is long, but please take the time to read MARK STEYN.

Time for stoic Brits to come out swinging

July 10, 2005


One way of measuring any terrorist attack is to look at whether the killers accomplished everything they set out to. On Sept. 11, 2001, al-Qaida set out to hijack four planes and succeeded in seizing every one. Had the killers attempted to take another 30 jets between 7:30 and 9 that morning, who can doubt that they'd have maintained their pristine 100 percent success rate? Throughout the IRA's long war against the British Crown, two generations of politicians pointed out that there would always be the odd ''crack in the system'' through which the determined terrorist would slip. But on 9/11 the failure of the system was total.

Thursday, al-Qaida hit three London Underground trains and one bus. Had they broadened their attentions from the Central Zone, had they attempted to blow up 30 trains across the furthest reaches of the Tube map, from Uxbridge to Upminster, who can doubt that they too would have been successful? In other words, the scale of the carnage was constrained only by the murderers' ambition and their manpower.

The difference is that 9/11 hit out of the blue -- literally and politically; 7/7 came after four years of Her Majesty's government prioritizing terrorism and ''security'' above all else -- and the failure rate was still 100 percent. After the Madrid bombing, I was struck by a spate of "comic" security breaches in London: two Greenpeace guys shin up St. Stephen's Tower at the Palace of Westminster, a Daily Mirror reporter bluffs his way into a servant's gig at Buckingham Palace a week before Bush comes to stay; an Osama lookalike gatecrashes Prince William's birthday party. As I wrote last March: "History repeats itself: farce, farce, farce, but sooner or later tragedy is bound to kick in. The inability of the state to secure even the three highest-profile targets in the realm -- the queen, her heir, her Parliament -- should remind us that a defensive war against terrorism will ensure terrorism.''

To three high-profile farces, we now have that high-profile tragedy, of impressive timing. The jihad, via one of its wholly owned but independently operated subsidiaries, scheduled an atrocity for the start of the G-8 summit and managed to pull it off -- at a time when the ports and airports and internal security of a small island were all supposed to be on heightened alert. That's quite a feat. The only good news is that the bombs were, by the standards of what's out there, small. One day they won't be.

Of course, many resources had been redeployed to Scotland to cope with elderly rocker Sir Bob Geldof's pathetic call for a million anti-globalist ninnies to descend on the G-8 summit and tie up the police with their pitiful narcissist preening: the papier-mache Bush and Blair puppets, the ersatz ethnic drumming, etc.

The choice for Britons now is whether they wish to be Australians post-Bali or Spaniards post-Madrid. That shouldn't be a tough call. But it's easy to stand before a news camera and sonorously declare that "the British people will never surrender to terrorism.'' In reality, unless it's clear a threat is primal, most democratic peoples and their political leaders prefer to regard bad news as a peripheral nuisance which can be negotiated away to the fringe of their concerns.

That's what Britain thought in the 1930s -- back when Hitler was slavering over Czechoslovakia, and Neville Chamberlain dismissed it as "a faraway country of which we know little." Today, the faraway country of which the British know little is Britain itself. Traditional terrorists -- the IRA, the Basque separatists -- operate close to home. Islamism projects itself long-range to any point of the planet with an ease most G-8 militaries can't manage. Small cells operate in the nooks and crannies of a free society while the political class seems all but unaware of their existence.

Did we learn enough, for example, from the case of Omar Sheikh? He's the fellow convicted of the kidnapping and beheading in Karachi, Pakistan, of the Wall Street Journal's Daniel Pearl. He's usually described as "Pakistani" but he is, in fact, a citizen of the United Kingdom, with as English a resume as you can get: born in Whips Cross Hospital, educated at Nightingale Primary School in Wanstead, the Forest School in Snaresbrook and the London School of Economics. He travels on a British passport.

Or take Abdel Karim al-Tuhami al-Majati, a senior al-Qaida member from Morocco killed by Saudi security forces in al Ras last April. One of al-Majati's wives is a Belgian citizen currently residing in Britain. In Pakistan, the jihadists speak openly of London as the terrorist bridgehead to Europe. Given the British jihadists who've been discovered in the thick of it in Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Israel, Chechnya and Bosnia, only a fool would believe they had no plans for anything closer to home -- or, rather, "home."

Most Britons can only speculate at the degree of Islamist penetration in the United Kingdom because they simply don't know, and multicultural pieties require that they keep themselves in the dark. It's not just the British left that's been skeptical of Washington's war on terror. Former Foreign Secretary Douglas Hurd and many other Conservative grandees have been openly scornful of the Bush doctrine. Lord Hurd would no doubt have preferred a policy of urbane aloofness, such as he promoted vis-a-vis the Balkans in the early '90s. He's probably still unaware that Omar Sheikh was a Westernized non-observant chess-playing pop-listening beer-drinking English student until he was radicalized by the massacres of Bosnian Muslims.

Abdel Karim al-Tuhami al-Majati was another Europeanized Muslim radicalized by the 250,000 corpses of Bosnia. The fact that most of us were unaware of the consequences of EU lethargy on Bosnia until that chicken policy came home to roost a decade later should be sobering: It was what Donald Rumsfeld, in a remark mocked by many snide media twerps, accurately characterized as an "unknown unknown": a vital factor so successfully immersed you don't even know you don't know it.

This is the beginning of a long existential struggle. It's hard not to be moved by the sight of Londoners calmly going about their business as usual in the face of terrorism. But, if the political class goes about business as usual, that's not a stiff upper lip but a suicide cult. The question now is will the British return to the fantasy agenda of Bob Geldof or avenge their dead?

I found this all pretty sobering. How about you?

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Will he or won't he

My oldest daughter, Little Mama, is starting to have contractions. Not the ones that you can use a stopwatch on yet, mind you, but finally they are starting. Now there are two scenerios that could be played out for this coming week:

a) This babe will decided it's time because dad is out in the field for the next four days and it would take him at least 45 minutes to get back, due to humvee's don't move very quickly. And if this is the case, then most probably it will be in the dead of night.


b) Since she has her and the baby's overnight bag(s) packed, not a damn thing will happen, but the continued contractions will get worse, and Little Mama will not be someone that anyone will want to mess with.

Wanna flip a coin?

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Thinking of you

"Rule Brittania
Brittania rules the waves
Britain never, never, never
Shall be slaves"

He's stealing my heart

Next door to my oldest daughter is this puppy who winds up being outside the majority of the time. I'd say he is about six months old. He is the sweetest thing, and just craving for attention. Anyway, so I have been curious as to what breed he was. I just knew that he wasn't a Heinz 57 type of breed; another words, a mutt. This morning I got on the international breed website and by chance I zeroed in on the breed, Black Russian Terrier. Bingo!! I didn't take the picture above, but I could have. He sits in a corner of the yard, closest to my daughter's yard waiting for us. There are days that he is outside all day long, I mean 12 hours long, with nothing but water.

It breaks my heart.

This is what they look like as adults. Black Russian Terriers are the first breed bred for military installations, obviously bred in Russia. I noticed that some of the pictures have the dog with his tail docked, while others don't. The puppy's tail is not docked. Two of the most notable things I read about this breed is that they need to have human contact to hone in their social skills, and that they need to be trained. I have noticed that those are the two things this puppy is not having done. Obviously, it's not house-trained or it wouldn't be outside all damn day, and I have never seen anyone out there with him, his starving for attention is a constant.

Boy, if I could take him home, I would. He's a doll.

Did I mention that they have another dog too? Another adult American Blue Pit Bull. But he's not out there hardly at all. They breed him with others. Being a money maker, I suppose they cherish him a little more.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

The low down

Okay, so my oldest daughter and I decided to watch the Oprah Show today. Now, I really didn't think I was naive, little slow on the uptake sometimes, but not naive. But damn!! This is a new one for me.

In my most humbled opinion, if it waddles like a duck; quacks like a duck; even paddles like a duck, I would think that you could technically label "it" a duck.

This gives new meaning to "boys night out."

Spot on

This horrific act of terrorism on London this morning rather pushes back the discussion of who is responsible for "Global Warming," as well as, which country gives the most towards 'world poverty' don't you think?

I wish that I had come up with this, but this short statement couldn't be more profound. As a news presenter said on Sky News today,

"....we took our eye off the ball".

True grit

I woke up this morning to the news about London. What a terrible thing to have happened; however, if the world thinks that Brits are anything like the Spanish, then they have another think coming. Everyone that I know, no matter what their politics, religious views, status in life, etc., have grit. I know them as strong individuals. This beautiful country has battened down the hatches before when terror struck, and they will do so again.

And by the way, can we now, please, go back to calling these scum of the earth just what they are? They are not 'freedom fighters', nor are they 'insurgents.' The scum are terrorists.

Plain and simple.

Here's a little cheese with that whine

I tell you what. I experienced approximately 10 hours of the Noggin Channel yesterday. Ten whole, long-ass hours. I am starting to slide into the brain-dead zone. It's so hot outside, that the kids cannot go out and play until around 7 pm. I mean, by ten o'clock A.M., it is already about 97 degrees outside. Little Mama is sooo ready to have this other child. Their third child. Their third son. Oh, joy. My other two grandsons are five and two. All boy these two. Not a sensitive bone between them.

Have you ever noticed how kids can whine? I mean all the time. I mean whining for no damn reason. Just for the hell of it. If there was a competition for whining, my five year old grandson would win hands down. I would happily pit him against any whiner in the northern hemisphere; oh hell, both hemispheres, and he would win. It would be no contest.

The five year old wanted to eat lunch not ten minutes after he had eaten his breakfast. Then when lunch finally arrived, he whined that he wasn't hungry. Not 15 minutes after lunch was over, he whined that he was starving. I bet you can kinda tell where this is headed. Want me to tell you what dinner was like? Let's just put it this way...he didn't eat; which meant that he wouldn't get anything else until breakfast tomorrow morning. Guess what he wanted before he went to bed. You guessed it, breakfast. He whined all day yesterday. And I mean the whole damn day. I also found out that the five year old expects you to be a mind reader. Shit, how am I suppose to know when he is thirsty if he doesn't say that he is thirsty? Nooooo, it's a lot more fun for him to whine that I should automatically know that he is thirsty.


Now for the two year old. He's teething, molars to be exact. He will be his regular old self, and then suddenly scream like a banshee. That went on all damn day too. He didn't take a nap that afternoon, and trust me when I write this, we were all made aware of the fact that he didn't take a nap either. I can put up with his whining because it's a little bit of a screeching whine and when you give him something to drink or eat, he smiles and is happy for about thirty seconds. And he'll say "thank you" without me reminding him to say so.

That's nice.

You can imagine what my phone call was like with my darlin' last night. That's right, I whined the whole damn time.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Just a little heads up

Something tells me that Krip will be having a major whinge on his blog later today. I'm not going to steal his thunder, but I do believe it might be about a certain dawg.

Bless 'em.

Cheap talk that didn't work

If I was one of the judges judging who would hold the Olympics for 2012, this statement would definitely be the deciding factor for me.

"The heart of Paris and the heart of France are beating in unison in the hope of becoming Olympic host in 2012," Chirac said during the city's final presentation to the IOC. "You can put your trust and faith in France, you can trust the French, you can trust us."

I was also glad to see that New York, the Hildabeast's primary city did not get the Olympic bid. Having Billary there would have tipped my choice too. As much as the media hyped her up as a 'dazzling' figure on the world stage, maybe the judges [wisely] took that 'dazzle' to be fake-gold. It's not that I didn't want to see New York as a city win the nomination, I just didn't want to see Mrs. RODham-Clinton flouncing all over the networks crowing that she got it for America.

So, congrats go out to London for grabbing the gold for 2012.

By-the-way, I'm still cleaning up the coffee that was spewed all over the computer screen.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Hotting up

I do believe our cold snap of around 90 degrees is over. It was 100 degrees as of noon today. We won't even discuss the humidity factor.

Can't believe I am starting to miss England's weather.

Lighting up the sky

Last night we had a glorious fireworks show in my oldest daughter's back yard. Started out with the small fireworks, drawing in all the neighborhood kids, and gradually building up to a finally of righteous proportions. Lots and lots of oooings and ahhhings rippled through the small crowd and much appreciated applause.

And what perfect timing.

About five minutes later, nature decided to put on it's own version of fireworks for the Fourth. Thunder and lightning with the rain to follow. So back into the house to watch the fireworks from New York; which although was absolutely beautiful, in no way was a match for the fun we had doing our own.

It was the perfect ending to a grand old day.

Again, Happy Birthday America.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Happy Fourth of July

Sunday, July 03, 2005

Bull's eye

So last night we are out with the kids letting off some fireworks, you know some twirlies and sparklers, that kind of stuff. Prelude to the big round of fireworks tomorrow night. Anyway, so 'Mama to be' and me are sitting watching the kids, and low and behold I get bitten. On my right cheek. Not any old right cheek, but the right cheek that is pearly white. That right cheek. You guessed it, my arse.

Still trying to figure out how in the hell that one mosquito managed to bite me through my knickers, shorts, and the canvas chair I was sitting it.

It itches.

Everybody's doing it

I have written about three different posts about the Live Aid/8 gig(s). I even had one published and then deleted. It's been done to death on other blogs. After commenting on this blog I have entered into a discussion of what to do. Starting to feel like Chicken Little for cryingoutloud! Out of everything that I have read, I have come to one conclusion, something must be done. In this everchanging, traveling in the fastlane society, I wonder how long the euphoria of something must be done is going to last. People, nowadays, tend to have a memory of a goldfish.I give it until the G-8 summit is over, and then the media will zero in on something or someone else.

Hm, about a week, I do believe.

Who let the air out

Don't be fooled by the time you see below. I am writing this entry from the U.S. of A. It's seven o'clock in the f*%king A.M. here. I have been up for about an hour. I don't get up at 6 a.m. on Sundays mornings in my normal life. However, I'm up because the two rugrats were using the youngest and my airbed as a trampoline last night, and it has sprung at least one leak, probably more. Me and my youngest have experienced being 'born again' this morning. Trust me, folks, it was not a pleasant experience. Being drawn to the center and all wrapped up in bed linen in a smothering affect is not fun. Couldn't wait to get out of there.

It felt like I was in one gigantic vagina.


Saturday, July 02, 2005

Missing you

Okay, it's rubbing off on me. My darling loves, and I mean loves to whinge. It has become almost second nature for him to do so. And since I felt he needed to keep in practice while I am gone and in keeping with the spirit of his love of whinging, I promptly went out today and spent some of our dosh on me and the crowd.

Wal-Mart is a fun store to lose your dosh in. It doesn't help that I now think in English "Sterling" instead of U.S. "Dollars" either. No matter what my darling grump thinks, I think he came out okay with the balance cut almost in half, in my most humbled opinion.

Now, I want to whinge. It's hot. I mean really hot. It's muggy, really muggy. And I am bored, really really bored. Bored, as in give me a B-O-R-E-D, bored. My youngest and I haven't even been here a week yet, and I am about ready to climb the walls.

I am starting to feel like a teenager just waiting for her boyfriend to call her. I wait all day until 9pm (British time) or 4pm (Southern Time) for him to call. Then, after the first five-ten minutes, we really don't have anything to say, but I be damn if I want him to get off the phone. I just want to hear his voice.

And I know that he misses me tremendously too. He gave me a prime example last night. After his dinner, he really wanted a cup-a-tea, but our dog was on his lap and my darling grump didn't have the heart to get him off. Said that he really missed me bringing him his tea. He had to wait 45 minutes until he was able to get off his arse and get it himself.

Isn't love divine?

Friday, July 01, 2005

Another thought

I'm taking a sideroad today and not talking about the adventures, or misadventures of my stay here at my daughter's. I have been musing over the show that we have been following, and that both me and my husband are crazy about.

Grumpy Old Men.

What I can't figure out is why men between the ages of 39 and 45 are being interviewed as 'Grumpy Old Men.' At that age, those guys may have a right to complain, but be grumpy? If these men are grumpy at 39, what the hell are they gonna be like at, say, 50 or 51.

Oh, wait, silly me, they are gonna be just like my old, darling husband.