The Rutabaga Rules Rule

Mrs. Linklater has won Judithheartsong's May artsy essay contest for her essay The Rutabaga Rules. YAAAAY!!!

She would like to thank the judges for their decision. And for dropping the voting fraud charges against her. She will soon receive one of Judi's lovely works of art, which is the main reason Mrs. L has been entering this contest. That and typing the essay help keep her out of chat rooms. 

She'll post a picture of her prize shortly [posted].  Meanwhile, you can find Judithheartsong's journal over in Other Journals.

Mrs. Linklater tried to link to the Rutabaga Rules twice and it didn't work. She has switched computers, so try it again. Or go to the archived entries and you'll find it dated May 19th. 

So much technical stuff to do, so little patience to do it.

 

 

Ask Mrs. Linklater Medicated Edition

Mrs. Linklater hasn't visited the advice columnists for awhile -- at the request of local law enforcement, but now that she's out on parole, what's the harm in sticking her nose where it ain't wanted while she's waiting for sentencing.

Ya know?


ASK AMY -- The Chicago Tribune
She's staying, but wistfully, with a sad man
Published May 30, 2005

Dear Amy: I am married to a good, kind man who loves me very much. Our children are married, so it is just the two of us. We are in our 50s and in good health, so these could be good years. He suffers from chronic depression and has been taking antidepressants, which have helped him. He goes to therapy and has done all he can to fight it, but it is something he will always have.

My husband was abused by clergy when he was a child, and severe depression also runs in his family. Remarkably, he is a kind and thoughtful father and husband, and a successful businessman. He is often sad; life doesn't put a sparkle in his eyes.

I love and respect my husband and will never leave him or stray from our marriage. We are no longer intimate because of the side effects of his medications, but we are still best friends. I'm thankful that he is in my life. I struggle with the fact he can never be happy.

Do you have any words of encouragement for those of us who know we have chosen the right path and will stay on it, but still have a persistent wistfulness that things could be different?

-- Wishing

Dear Wishing: For all of the people who contact me saying they want to leave their marriages because they aren't quite the trip to the moon on gossamer wings they'd expected, I offer up your story, which is one of love and devotion through sickness and health.

I appreciate it that you are seeking words of encouragement from me, but the true reward for you is in leading your life well and being a blessing and an example to your children and friends.

I hope that your family values you as much as you deserve to be valued, and that your husband and children adore you, as you deserve to be adored.

I will tell you this. Even those of us without the burdens you face feel a persistent wistfulness that things could be different. Persistent wistfulness goes along with late middle age, and I don't know a person in that stage of life who doesn't feel it.

The Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests (SNAP) is a national organization offering regular support meetings for victims of abuse and for loved ones. I read your letter to Barbara Blaine, an abuse survivor and now president of SNAP. She wants you to know that you and your husband are not alone, and that you could both benefit from meeting with other survivors and spouses. "We teacheach other coping skills. A lot of us have found hope and improvement in our lives through sharing with each other," she says.

To locate a local meeting, check the SNAP. Web site at www.snapnetwork.org, or call 877-762-7432.

Mrs. Linklater BUTTS IN, shouting and screaming like a woman over fifty who owns cats. [As a reminder, Mrs. L is over sixty and has no pets]

YO AMY, YOU SOUND LIKE A BIG BAG OF WIND.

Stop with the platitudinous drivel. If the poor man is on medication AND in therapy, BUT he has no interest in sex [the medication is an excuse, trust me] and he's ALWAYS sad, he's still EXTREMELY depressed. 

Here's a clue to his problem -- the medication and therapy ARE NOT WORKING. And while we're at it, persistent wistfulness does not go along with middle age.

Dating younger men or sporting a combover is a sign of middle age.  Wistfulness on the other hand is NOT. Taking a deep breath and sighing all the time is a symptom of DEPRESSION, not middle age. So his wife is suffering too.

It's time to sound the alarm.

With all due respect for SNAP and the services they provide, this kind and gentle man is at risk for suicide. He needs to be completely re-evaluated. He should be put on different and perhaps more powerful medication to start.

But even more importantly, what kind of therapy is he getting? Is he doing weekly reports on self help books? Or having one on one sessions with an expert in PTSD?

Let's hope he's not wasting away in some kind of once a week group therapy with the "worried well" led by an emphathetic, but undertrained social worker, where he can hide his pain behind his kind and gentle demeanor.  

His wife needs a spousal support group for sure, but if something isn't done soon, she'll be in a survivors of suicide group instead. 

Sorry, Mrs. Linklater gets all wound up sometimes. This time she'll probably get slapped with a REAL restraining order.

Nobody Willl Remember Who Won

Walter Hagen, the golf guru, once said that no one will remember who came in second.  

Mrs. Linklater, the asskicking guru, suggests that anyone who saw yesterday's Indy 500 will be hard pressed to remember who won.

Because this was Danica Patrick's race.

She was the first serious female contender with a chance to win the big one at the Brickyard. But at the end of the day her number was four.

Danica was the fourth woman to ever qualify at Indy. She qualified in fourth position -- the first woman to start in such a high position. And she finished fourth -- the highest female finisher ever. Higher than a lot of guys who have been racing at Indy for years it could be pointed out, unnecessarily.

Somewhere a numerologist is having a field day.

She made some rookie mistakes, killing the engine during a pit stop for one. She also lost a front flange after being tapped from behind in what became a multicar wreck, doing a full three sixty before gaining contol of her car again.  

But she made some slick moves, too, working her way back from sixteenth place to slingshot into the lead with 28 laps to go, propelled by the deafening roar of a very supportive crowd of more than one hundred thousand spectators. 

The moment had finally arrived -- a woman was leading the historic race for the first time. She led three times over nineteen laps.

And like Woodstock, the number of people who were actually at the track when it happened will increase exponentially over the years.

With six laps to go Danica was still in first place. But to conserve fuel she had to slow down to insure that she finished. So three other drivers crossed the line ahead of her. Three drivers whose names have already become the answer to a trivia question.

No Danica Patrick didn't win the Indy 500, but she sure won the hearts and minds of racing fans who are ready and waiting for this young woman to take her place in history.  

I wonder what a Danica hat is selling for today on eBay. 

Sex and the Indy 500

From AOL SPORTS
(May 28) - Robby Gordon accused Danica Patrick of having an unfair advantage in the Indianapolis 500 and said Saturday he will not compete in the race again unless the field is equalized.


Okay, Robby, let's discuss your problem.

All Indy cars have to weigh the same.  Then you add the driver.  You, Robby, weigh 200 pounds.  Danica weighs only 100.  According to the article, her lighter weight means about one extra mph over the course of the race.

In a competition where increments can win or lose everything, the weight factor is something to consider.

So Robby, you probably want some dead weight added to Danica's car -- and anybody else's car for that matter --  insuring that all drivers weigh the same. Sounds good on paper except for one thing.

The strength factor. How are you going to equalize the strength factor now, Robby? At 100 pounds Danica is at a distinct disadvantage next to you.

That whole muscle strength is related to body mass thing. 

Driving an Indy car around a 2.5 mile track at speeds over 225 mph isn't like driving the Camry over the speed limit on the thruway. There are massive G-forces in the turns that require considerable strength to overcome and maintain control of the vehicle. Again and again and again.

How are you going to equalize things for Danica? Are you going to make it harder for the stronger drivers to steer?

Not likely.

Weight factor versus strength factor.  Six of one, half dozen of the other?  By the next Indy race we may know.

Right now, some female has finally found a decent ride and she could win this thing, even though she's only a rookie. Isn't that the real problem here?

So give it a rest, Robby. You sound like you're whining. Just like a girl.

Patrick's Saturday Six Memorial Day Edition

1. What is the most inexpensive, non-valuable thing you tend to collect and hoard?  Why do you do it?

I save the cartridges that film comes in.  Those little plastic containers that would be great for holding things like some change.  Or some thumb tacks.  Or pills.  Or matches.  Or a few cubes of bouillion. Only I never use them for anything.  I just save them in case I might need to use them sometime.  

2. What is the highest price you've paid per gallon for gasoline where you live?  Do you use regular, mid-grade or premium?

After $2.50 a gallon I hide my eyes.  I use premium because why save when you can pay more?

3. What is your favorite Bible verse and why?  If you don't have a verse from the Bible that holds meaning to you, what's your favorite saying and why?

Instead of a Bible verse, Mrs. Linklater has always liked the prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, the one that starts out --
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. 
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is despair, hope.
Where there is darkness, light.
And where there is sadness, joy. . .

She reads it from time to time to see just how far she has strayed from accomplishing any of those things.

The saying that resonates most for her is one her great grandmother used to utter in total exasperation, when she was cranky, which was often, "Go tell my ass, my head's gone a huckleberryin'."

4. What was your favorite movie from the 1970s?  When did you last view it?  Do you have it in your movie collection?

The sixties and seventies have all kind of blurred together.  Godfather probably in the seventies. Mrs. L watched it a few years ago and noticed how old Al Pacino and Diane Keaton were getting. Kinda like Mrs. Linklater's own bad self.  She owns the trilogy in VHS. Time to upgrade maybe.

5. Do you weigh more, less, or the same as you did one year ago?  Six months ago?  Three months ago?

Mrs. Linklater started eating more sensibly last year, except for those occasional bags of Riesen's chocolate toffees. Hmmm.  Anyway she weighs less, but the real question is does she look any better?

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #54 from Jennie: What one lyric sums up your current love life?  Your view on life?  Your past?  Your hopes/dreams/fears?

For right now, just to get this entry posted, let's go with It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. . .for everything.  And I'll get back to you with something more accurate later.

Requiem for a Tree

The last of my huge elms was cut down yesterday.  It was almost 52' high and more than 12.5 feet around.  After a long struggle, it finally lost the battle to Dutch elm disease and stood a skeletal remnant of itself this spring, hovering over my yard like an apparition of Death. 

All I have are memories of its enormous canopy arching over two back yards for almost three decades, a protective layer of shade cooling our porches and houses, its gargantuan branches reaching down to touch me when the wind blew.

When the equipment came to take it down, I was long gone. I couldn't bear to watch the beautiful, long limbs of my lovely tree as they were amputated one by one and sacrificed to the woodchipper.  So I left my house early for work. And didn't return until almost dark.

I decided not to stay to be a sentry, supervising the gang of tree workers who would no doubt damage my flowerbeds and fence if I weren't there. But I preferred to risk whatever might happen rather than suffer the agony of losing a friend.

The trucks were still there when I got home. It had taken them almost ten hours to remove it. One last limb was being fed to the chipper.  I noticed they were about to remove the stump.  And I stopped them.

Let it be, I said.  Let it be a headstone.  A monument to the memories of almost half my lifetime. And a tree I loved more than a lot of people I know. 

 

Gentlemen and Lady, Start Your Engines!!!

She's only 5'1" and [cough] she's a girl, but rookie Danica Patrick could spank the big boys this weekend at the Indy 500. Only the fourth babe ever to qualify [what's a girl got to do to get a ride around here, fellas?] she's also the most telegenic -- a sassy, classy 100 pound chick in a fire suit. And at 23, a good, potentially great, driver. She had ten top five finishes on the Toyota Championship circuit last year. The only driver to finish all 417 laps.  The first woman to do this. The first to do that. Finally someone with two X chromosomes who isn't the Indy equivalent of tits on a bull. 

She wanted the pole position -- and was pissed that she didn't win it. You gotta like that in a female -- rechanneling her energy from shop til you drop to peddle to the metal. It also doesn't hurt that she's part of the Rahal-Letterman Team whose car won Indy last year. She can drive, she's got the car, she's got the crew, she's got everything she needs to take it all. And she's even from Illinois, originally. Go Land of Lincoln.

I wonder who's doing her hair and make up?

R.I.P.

The record setting catfish died en route to Kansas City yesterday. Gone to the great aquarium in the sky. Cause of death is still unknown, but stress was mentioned. Fish out of water comes to mind.  Wonder if they'll stuff it. Or serve it.  Because there sure isn't a toilet big enough to flush it down.

 

Fish Tale and Other Stories

Stuff from the Chicago Sun-Times and other sources today:

AP  

A fisherman named Tim Pruitt, not to be confused with a guy on death row with the same name, set an Illinois record for a 124-pound blue catfish he caught in the Mississippi River.  It should approved as the world record soon.  But here's the good news.  The fish is still alive and on display in Kansas City, Missouri.  The blue should be returned to the Mississippi this summer.  Yay.

The Northwestern University Women's Lacrosse Team won the NCAA Championship over the weekend, beating UVA 13-10.  This is notable for more than one reason. First because as recently as 2001 they were only a club team. Second, it's the first time any lacrosse team that didn't play in the eastern time zone has won the championship. Third, it's the first NCAA championship for NU since the men's badminton title [or something equally compelling] in 1941. Fourth, did I mention they went undefeated? And fifth, this is only the second NCAA title in the Northwestern's history.  Plus NU is one of Mrs. Linklater's alma maters.  Go 'Cats.

Next time you have a layover at O'Hare Airport in Chicago, just take a stroll on the lower level and walk over to the health club at the Hilton. It's just across from the terminals. You can work off some of those inflight calories, instead of sitting at Wolfgang Puck's, Berghoff's, Mrs. Field's, or Starbuck's and piling them on.  Who knew?

Here's a shocking headline Mrs. Linklater knew was coming:  "Crestor riskier than FDA admits."  Hahahahahaha. It's a drug.  It's monitored by the FDA.  [Foolish Dumb Asses] So, ya think?

Bryan Adams, the singer, is also Bryan Adams, the photographer. He has published a book of photographs called American Women, the third in a photographic tribute to a close friend who died of breast cancer in 1977.  You should see his picture of Hillary Clinton. She looks mahvelous. The other two books featured Canadian women and Brits. Of the women in his last book he says, ". . .with this last book, Ilearned a lot about instilling confidence in one's self.  That's the biggest difference I found between the American women and the women from the other two books.  The American group just had this incredible, wonderful sense of self-confidence."   Is this a great country or what?

Let me get back to you on that.

 

 

Mrs. Linklater's All Purpose Graduation Speech

Students, parents, distinguished faculty. Thank you for this opportunity to address the graduating class of 2005. 

Today is the first day of the rest of your life.  Or, you can wait until tomorrow like you usually do.

Now is the time to take stock.  Now is the time to take the lessons you have learned and put them to good use. 

Now is the time to try your wings. Expand your horizons. Live the life you've dreamed.  Explore the unknown.

And now, if I may be so bold, is the best time to turn to your parents with the answer to the unasked question:

When will you be moving out?

Thank you.  And may the thought of not sucking off the parental tit any longer fill your heart with joy.

Patrick's Saturday Six Indy Qualifying Edition

These are my FINAL answers:

1. What is the last product or service you tried just because you saw a commercial that impressed or amused you about the product?  Did you like the product or service after you tried it?

Febreeze got my attention.  I spray it on everything.  Sometimes for no reason. I'd used it for mouthwash if I could.

2. How old is the oldest photograph in your home?  Are you in it?

There's a picture of my mother taken when she was nineteen, just after she graduated from nursing school.  I am not in that picture for eight more years.

3. What is the most supernatural event you have experienced?  Did you feel there was a specific reason that it happened to you?

I have ESP all the time. About two months after breaking up with an old boyfriend I flashed on him having a motorcycle accident. I was standing on my porch with a girlfriend when it happened so I told her she was my witness to what I had just seen.

I couldn't verify my vision by calling him. He had moved and I didn't know where.  One day, months later I was at a focus group facility in a distant suburb and flashed on where he was living. In my mind's eye I saw a building off the exit ramp in a town about half an hour away. So I called information for that town and they had his phone number. I called him. He lived in the building I had visualized. We got together and I told him about my ESP experience. He left the room and came back with a pair of scuffed boots and beat up pants. They were the clothes he had been wearing when the motorcycle accident happened. I had seen the crash as it occurred. 

I have no idea why this paranormal event, or any others, have happened. It creeps me out to wonder why.

4. Do you usually consider the glass half-empty or half-full?

Usually if I see a glass that has liquid exactly half way up, I start thinking, hmmmm, is it half empty or half full?  Am I a pessimist or an optimist. To solve this dilemma, I just drink it up and say, hmmmm, it's empty, better get some more.

5. What part or parts of your body do you shave regularly?

Think of a place on the landscape of one's body and my trained Russian hair removal professional can think of a reason to shave it or wax it. Scanning every inch with her giant magnifying glass she finds an offending growth, applies the hot wax and removes it [rips it out of its socket actually] with unrestrained glee.  She'd rather wax than shave because it hurts more.

6. What day is typically your busiest of the week?  What day are you usually the happiest?  What day are you usually the saddest?

Any day I have to get up when it's still dark is going to be a busy day.  Any day I can call room service is a happy day.  Any day I have to fly in a middle seat is a very sad day.

Mrs. Linklater Apologizes

I've just taken a look at my recent entries and realized there's no rhyme or reason to what I'm writing about.  

You never know what you're going to get when you come here.  Ranting, raving, or just plain silliness.  So I apologize to anyone who was hoping for a semblance of order.

Because there ain't any.

And there won't be any, either.

Not Mrs. Linklater's style.

But you know that.

And by the way, if you think this was a real apology -- my fingers were crossed.  Na na na na na.

WEEKEND ASSIGNMENT -- Your Star Wars Moment

In 1877 [nice typo Mrs. L], I was a card carrying adult. Not a wannabe. A full contact married with children grown up. I went to the movies to be entertained in an adult way. [No, I didn't go to adult movies to be entertained.] I always wanted to learn something. Or be moved to tears. Or stunned by the photography, story, props, acting, costumes, price of the ticket. Stuff like that.  

So there I was, a year before my divorce was final. Needless to say, I had things on my mind that only a movie could distract. Getting settled in my seat, I was opening my Raisinets, nibbling on popcorn, and sipping a drink. They were all in various stages of consumption as I looked forward to some ClintEastwoodAlPacinoNameAnOlderActor movie, when the previews began.  

The theater we were in was old fashioned. In other words, it had a HUGE screen with one of them there new fangled state o' the art surround your seat with sound systems that make you twist your head and follow the singing, shouting, and shooting as it bounces from one wall to the other and back. 

Suddenly, a Captain Video meets Flash Gordon space fight starts zooming across the screen. The noise level of the guns shook my seat. The shouting between the good guys as they fought off the bad guys was deafening. Their screams were topped only by the shag carpet alien making noises more suitable for a porn movie [not that I would know], at a decibel level reserved for torture.

I sat frozen, as the action proceeded with such pace I had to be still or I would miss something.  My eyes were wide open, like those googly pictures of the runaway bride. My jaw was slack. The piece of popcorn I was about to eat sat disintegrating on my tongue  This was celluloid on steroids.  Suddenly, like brakes slamming to a stop at sixty mph, the frenzy ended.  And COMING SOON!! Star Wars!! flashed on the screen.

I turned to whoever I was with and snorted disdainfully, "Well, thatwas stupid."

My suburban sensibilities had been ripped from their moorings. That first experience aside, I've been hooked on Star Wars ever since. My favorite episodes are still four and five.  But this last one may earn a place on the shelf next to them.



Extra credit:  EWOKS -- good or evil.?  Let's see, Teddy Bears on meth.  What do you think? 

Saddam Hussein Named Jockey Briefs Celebrity Spokesperson

In an unlikely marketing move, Brent Murphy, chief elastic waistband tester for Jockey Briefs Worldwide, has been promoted to All-Time Exalted Underpants Ruler of the Universe, according to information just released from Jockey's Wisconsin focus group facility in Milwaukee.

His recent surprise product placement of Jockey's Old Guy briefs on deposed dictator Saddam Hussein led to a shakeup among upper management in this midwestern mecca for bun warmers.

"I spend my time helping people cover their ass, so I just thought covering Saddam's butt would just be a natural extension of what I already do," claimed the inventive employee, whose previous experience includes putting panties on naked statues for former attorney general John Ashcroft. His new assignment gives him the key to executive washroom.

Timed for the release of the latest and hopefully last Star Wars movie, Revenge of the Sith, the Saddam Hussein Jockey briefs launch has put the world on notice that prisons offer marketers a hitherto untapped resource for new campaign ideas.

In other news, AOL journals editor and commander in chief of the weekly Editors' Picks, some guy named Joe, took six days to write two entries in his new blog, which doesn't seem to serve any useful purpose. John Scalzi he ain't.

"The Right Stuff Has No Gender"

In light of the bill before Congress that will attempt to make sure -- once and for all -- that women will not be engaging in combat [the definition of which is still ambiguous -- not women, but COMBAT], I recommend this excellent article written by an Air Force officer regarding the absurdity of combat restrictions on female pilots.

http://www.airpower.maxwell.af.mil/airchronicles/apj/apj87/bateman.html

It's worth noting that female heroics during firefights on the ground in Iraq may have called attention to the Catch-22 dilemma of this decades old restriction intended to keep women out of frontline positions.  [Bet you thought they were over there to set the tables and make the beds.]

Whatever its intended purpose, the rule is becoming almost indefensible in the desert.  Particularly in light of a war where no one knows where the frontline is.

Enforcing this sexist, and rapidly obsolete restriction now serves only to keep a person from doing a job she volunteered for and is trained to perform. Not to mention the effect it will have on military preparedness. 

On the other hand, I do think there should be a rule that keeps married couples with children from serving in a combat zone at the same time. One of them should always be allowed to stay home. Children should not have to suffer the destructive separation anxiety caused by the threat of losing not one, but two parents.

Women in combat and gays serving openly in the military.  We're this close.

People who think it won't happen have their heads up their butts.

Eleven Year Old Girl Pitches No Hitter in Little League

[You can read the story at Newsday or Google "11 year old girl pitches no hitter."]

The only girl playing in a boys' little league pitched a no hitter for her team.  It was the first no hitter ever pitched in the league. Earlier in the year she pitched a one-hitter.  

She also bats .714. 

Not that it matters to her or anything. Much. But fifty years ago that girl could have been Mrs. Linklater. If only they'd let her play.

The Rutabaga Rules

Ever since the discovery of romantic relationships, there have been people who have felt compelled to give advice about finding them, keeping them, repairing them, ending them, in fact, pretty much anything you might want to do with them.  

So it's only natural for Mrs. Linklater to finally jump on the bandwagon with the Mars and Venus crowd and offer up her own take on things.

Kind of like that new guru Oprah loves, who wrote "He's Just Not That Into You."  Is that bleached blond, spiky-haired oracle the next Dr. Phil?

Shouting "Who cares!!!" Mrs. Linklater takes the plunge and throws the Rutabaga Rules into the abyss of public opinion.

The rules according to the rutabaga are a very short guide to understanding how far up you are on the romantic food chain. Any resemblance to an actual relationship is coincidental.

R -- RUN, do not walk away from any guy over the age of twenty-one who still lives at home with his parents. Run faster and farther if he still lives at home with his mother.

U -- UNDERSTAND that if you're divorced, a guy always wants to know how soon you will be having sex. He will want to know even sooner if you are divorced with kids. You might as well be wearing a sign that says, "Just Do Me."  If you are a widow, he doesn't want sex, he wants your money.

T -- TRUST me, any guy who didn't finish high school, has trouble spelling and spent time in a correctional facility is not a catch. No matter how good his tattoos are. There are two exceptions to this rule:  Slim and none.

A -- AUDITIONS. Don't do them. If he wants to have sex, ask him if this is an audition or do you have the job. It's always an audition if you have sex before you know his last name.  If he takes you to meet his parents on the third date, that's just a trick to get you to audition.

B -- BREAK up with any Bozo who criticizes your body, your hair, your clothes, your job, house, children, friends, family, furniture, food, car, or anything else that matters to you.  By the way contructive criticism is an oxymoron. There is no such thing. Criticism should not be confused with feedback. Feedback is friendly. Criticism is crushing.

A -- A man isn't kidding when he says things like he doesn't want children and he doesn't want to get married. He means TO YOU. How many women have wasted years trying to get them to change their minds. And watch him marry someone else as soon as they break up. Hey, that was stupid.

G -- GET good at stuff guys like. Start with sex and food. Enjoy the practice sessions. Guys love to help you with your homework. For anyone who thinks this rule contradicts any previous rule, give it a rest.

A -- ANY woman who can't spend a Saturday night alone, by herself, without stalking old boyfriends online, or eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's isn't ready for a guy.

Okay, those are Mrs. Linklater's Basic Rutabaga Rules. Your romantic life may not get better if you follow them. But they can't possibly get any worse. These rules, as good as they are will change from time to time depending on Mrs. Linklater's mood.  You have to stay fresh in this business.

Oh, yes, Mrs. L is sure there is someone who wants to know why they are called the Rutabaga Rules. Long story short:

Once upon a time Mrs. Linklater fell in love. Yeah, who knew. Unfortunately she picked someone a whole lot younger so her chances of having a future with this guy weren't good. Especially since she could no longer be considered for breeding purposes. Let's just say Monica Lewinksy had a better chance of becoming First Lady.  

So the time came for him to break up with her and she suffered like all women do. Tears, bags of chocolate, you know the drill. Mrs. Linklater may have a tough shell, but she's made of Marshmallow Fluff inside. Anyway, shortly after everything was finished, over, and they were never going to speak again, ever, he sent her an email. In the email was a request for a recipe for how to prepare rutabagas. And the fire got stoked again, albeit it temporarily.

The experience taught Mrs. Linklater her first relationship lesson of the new millennium [with a nod to Yogi Berra]:

Just because it's over doesn't mean it's over.

[Note to anyone clever with crafts: The Rutabaga Rules are suitable for framing if you want to serve them up as a gift to someone.]

The link to Judithheartsong's May artsy essay contest: http://journals.aol.com/judithheartsong/newbeginning/entries/1440

[See previous entry to find out why ORACLE, RUTABAGA, AND ABYSS ARE TYPED IN RED]

Judithheartsong's Artsy Essay Contest for May

Here's the assignment for the month:

Pick at least three of the thirty-three words listed below and use them in an essay. Use them correctly, but be as witty as you please. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry or prose -- have at it!!!!!  These words MUST be highlighted or differentiated in some way so that we can all find them easily.

haberdashery 
abyss        
fertilization             
neophyte
aardvark
feasible
barbarous
farcical
kumquat
connotation
serendipitous
ascendant
fortuitous
adoxography
palatial
mastication
tarantism
titter
apodyopsis
runcation
gongoozler
bassoon
rutabaga
mytacism
dompteuse
alka-seltzer
farctate
malapropism
arduous
pineapple
oracle
fallacious
bomba

There are several words on this list that I have never seen before. Farctate for one. Mytacism for two. Gongoozler. Runcation. Tarantism. Apodyopsis. Dompteuse. Adoxography. Bomba.  

I would think that to farctate would be to expel gas in a certain art gallery.
I imagine that a gongoozler is someone bamboozled by gorgonzola.
Tarantism has got to be philosophy according to tarantulas.
Dompteuse means you've doubled your domp.
Adoxography is the doxology in photographs.
Bomba can be whatever it wants.
Runcation took the place of funkedelic a couple of weeks ago.
Apodyopsis is like A-Rod-yopsis only cheaper.
And mytacism is a religion based on a tropical drink.

I won't be using any of those words when I write my essay.  

But there is one word I cannot wait to sink my teeth into.

Rutabaga.  

Not many people know this, but I have rutabaga karma.
 

Boxers or Briefs

Does Darth Vader wear boxes or briefs?  That was the $1.39 question on my Welcome Screen tonight. I am paying for this shit?

After a day where my toughest decision was whether to have the tuna pita or the cobb salad for lunch, contemplating Darth Vader's lingerie was almost refreshing. In a disturbed, you need to get a life kind of way.

But a slippery slope I slid down like the last train out of town.

Stormtroopers, oil can or WD-40?  Han Solo, Altoids or gum? Luke Skywalker, gay or straight? R2D2, plastic or paper? Yoda, Puma or Adidas? Jabba the Hut, Diet or regular?

Barbara Walters, t-shirts or nighties? Diane Sawyer, Listerine or Scope?  Jay Leno, garlic or onions?

Bill O'Reilly, two ply or recycled?  Hillary Clinton, Nascar or Formula One?  Ted Koppel, mousse or conditioner? Jessica Simpson, real or fake?  Sam Donaldson, real or fake?

Oprah, delivery or DiGiorno's?  Ty Pennington, Rob or Amber?  

Okay, I've had my fun. Now it's your turn.

Have You Seen It?

Mrs. Linklater has apparently lost her sense of humor.  If anyone finds it please tell her where it is.  

Discriminating or Discriminated Against?

This comment was left in Patrick's Saturday Six -- Time to Mow the Lawn Edition a couple of entries ago:


Have you ever felt discriminated against?

hmm .. i wonder why we all feel like we have to say "yes" to this, versus, "of course!" ..

the first suggests that discrimination ought not to happen .. the second assumes that it is part of the human condition .. the first suggests that we have been victimized and "someone should pay" .. the second assumes a more participatory role in the whole discrimination process ..

discrimination is not something that is only done TO us .. it is something we all DO .. ha .. not so much fun to read or write though .. :(


Mrs. Linklater found the comment very thought provoking. So she decided to put her thinking cap on and try to sound intelligent.  Linear thought has never been her strong suit so you may come back to this entry and find it has changed over time.  Hopefully for the better.

When she listed the many discriminations against her, Mrs. Linklater didn't ever say "yes" or "of course" when she answered the question. Her examples made that obivous. She simply listed the discrimination she experienced.

However, she could have easily combined them, "Yes, of course!"

"Yes," because the discrmination happened and it was wrong, and "of course," because she is a member of group defined as female and discrimination against females was rampant during her childhood and much of her adulthood. And continues in a more covert way now.

However, she doesn't feel that by answering "yes" to feeling discriminated against that someone should pay.

She does feel that the discrimination was wrong and shouldn't happen to her or anyone.

But wanting retribution is an immature way to handle the anger and frustration that discrimination causes.  She does believe that change should and could take place and there are ways to make it happen. And change did happen, since much of what she experienced has been legislated out of existence.

Mrs. L also doesn't think that by answering "of course" that she is accepting the act of discrmination as part of the human condition, as something we all do.

Saying "of course" to whether she has ever felt discriminated against means that she acknowledges her membership in a group of people who have been singled out for negative treatment based on specious or spurious thinking. People who are considered unacceptable because of some unique and irrelevant trait -- one which is being used as an excuse to eliminate anyone with that trait from participation in a coveted activity.

She agrees that we all discriminate against other people.  But she also thinks that having discriminating taste isn't such a bad thing.  It's when we discrminate against other people because of their membership in a group, rather than on their individual merits, that we do a disservice to humanity.

The is the longest Mrs. Linklater has ever tried to make sense. Could some of you help her here?

What do you think?

Speaking of Discrimination

THINGS FEMALES TAKE FOR GRANTED IN THE USA JUST AIN'T SO IN OTHER PLACES

Male-Female Race Sparks Arrests in Pakistan From Associated Press

LAHORE, Pakistan — More than two dozen people were detained Saturday after taking part in a foot race that included women, defying a ban that was issued after Muslim hard-liners attacked participants in a similar mixed event last month.

They were very disturbed when a woman won.

Asma Jehangir, the former chief of Pakistan's human rights commission, a woman, and about 30 other participants were detained at the race, police official Waqar Abbasi said. The event was canceled.

Pakistan has a human rights commission? When do they meet, the first Tuesday of the next millennium?

Authorities banned women from competing in foot races after Muslim hard-liners, who regard women's participation in sports as un-Islamic, attacked runners at a similar event last month in Gujranwala, also in Punjab province. Abbasi said police and other officials had asked organizers to obey the ban, but they refused.

Pretty soon a woman's existence on the planet will be deemed un-Islamic.

One of the organizers, Nabeel Ahmed, said that the arrests were "unjustified" and that race participants had not committed any crime. Ahmed said the runners were beaten before they were bundled into police vehicles.

This sounds like getting arrested for going to the grocery store to me. But I must not have all the facts.

Khawar Mumtaz, a human rights activist, said police dragged away dozensof people. "Police treated participants of the race like criminals," she said. "Some women were also severely beaten."

See, it IS a crime to be a woman. 

Patrick's Saturday Six Time To Mow The Lawn Edition

1. How many scars do you have on your body?  Where are they?

I have several scars, but you can't see them unless I point them out, because they were all sewed up with subcutaneous stitches so they wouldn't show. On the right of the tram, you can see some on my foot, my hand, and my arms. Two spots on my face don't tan because the dermatologist burned off sunspots. EWWWW this is getting gross. And I haven't even mentioned the very special scar almost every American woman gets when she has a baby. Okay, we're done here.

2. What is the last junk food you ate in such large quantity that you actually felt guilty afterwards?

Boy that bag of Vintner's cheddar cheese popcorn went down smooth. Wish i felt more guilty about it.  Because I think I'll have another bag tonight.

3. What is the closest spot to your home where you go when you feel like you need an afternoon escape?

The beach -- three miiles away. Lake Michigan has the power to refresh and restore me. Of course, just getting into the Jeep to drive over there can make me feel better too.

4. Of those in your collection, what movie have you watched the most times?

Gladiator. DVD and VHS. Russell Crowe has the power to refresh and restore me. Am I repeating myself ?

5. Have you ever felt discriminated against?  What about you do you believe led to the discrimination?

Let's see I couldn't play little league baseball when I was growing up because I was a girl. I couldn't play intercollegiate sports in college because I was a girl. Or be a field goal kicker. I couldn't go to Dartmouth, Yale, Harvard, etc., because I was a girl. I couldn't go to any of the military academies because I was a girl. I couldn't buy a house first time around without a male co-signer [who had a lower income actually] because I was a girl. I was turned down as a renter once because I was a single parent with children.I wasn't hired for a very high paying job once because I was a single parent with kids. I was denied reimbursement for childcare when I travelled at one place I worked because the men didn't claim childcare costs. Let's see they were all married or didn't have custody of their kids or made enough to have a live in housekeeper. How much time do you have, this list could get ugly.

6. RAPID FIRE QUESTION #3:  Have you ever hired a:
   a. Maid  -- YES [at my family's request]
   b. Lawyer -- YES [don't get divorced without one]
   c. Chauffer -- YES [cheaper than a cab to the airport here]
   d. Plumber -- YES [butt crack and all]
   e. Photographer -- YES [my business]
   f. Realtor -- YES, fired one too
   g. Gardener -- YES [sometimes they even mow the lawn]
   h. Personal Trainer -- YES, but fired the one who dropped a 45 lb weight on my foot
   i. Psychic/Spirtual Advisor -- Paid five bucks to go to a psychic fair and the guy I went to said I had a medical condition I needed to get fixed. He was right, but I didn't know until I went to the doctor who had no clue either.
   j. Mortician -- YES, his name was Coffin, I am not kidding

Weekend Assignment #Ninety BaZillion

SCALZI'S Weekend Assignment #59:
Teachers Worth Remembering [for good or bad]

Weekend Assignment #59: We've all had teachers who have made a difference in our lives. Tell us about one of yours. It can be a teacher from any level of education, from kindergarten to graduate school.

While I'm sure everybody else will be writing about a wonderful teacher whose good counsel and kind words they will treasure forever, my most memorable teacher was also the worst teacher I ever had.

Her name was Miss Elizabeth Meadows. She taught at Skokie Junior High School in Winnetka, Illinois. Winnetka boasted a school system that had a national reputation for innovation. One of their innovations was to get rid of grades until high school. In Miss Meadows' class this would come back to haunt me.

My family had just moved from the city and I had skipped half a grade at my old school, which was considered one of the better public schools in the metro area.  So I was half way through sixth grade as the new school year was about to start. My younger brother had skipped half a grade, too. i just assumed they would skip me the other half a grade and I would start seventh grade in the fall.

In a decision that would affect me for the rest of my life, they skipped my brother a full grade, but not me. I was told I was too old to be skipped. I was ten.  How could I be too old? Apparently they had a policy that if a student was past a certain age, he or she wouldn't be skipped ahead, but held back. Regardless of their skills.

I remember trying to talk to the principal about why I wasn't being skipped to seventh grade. i was distraught, He just ignored me and walked away. My mother wasn't going to buck the system. Heck, we had moved to Winnetka in order to embrace it in all its glory.

So I began the fall at the beginning of sixth grade. It soon became very apparent that I was a fish out of water. I could already write cursively but everyone else in my class was still printing like second graders. I had already been taught multiplication and long division. The class was still just adding and subtracting double digits. I was finishing speed tests almost as fast as they were handed out.  

I won all the spelling bees. But no one was happy for me. No one congratulated me. It wasn't like I was smart. It was just very clear that I did not belong in that class. And the teacher, who could see I didn't belong, didn't seem to care. Miss Meadows knew she had a loose cannon on her hands and she resented me.

I loved to write. I had already started writing and producing plays at my former school.  So, I wrote my first comedy, called The Japanese Tea Party, about Americans who visit Japan and don't like the taste of the tea. Hey, comedy is hard.

I remember turning it in and thinking about how much fun it would be to produce it. But Miss Meadows saw a chance to put me in my place. She called me up to her desk and proceeded to ridicule my lack of knowledge about the Japanese tea ceremony in front of the whole class.

She totally disparaged my efforts, almost gleefully. She knew I was bored and should be in seventh grade. But, instead of finding a way to interest me and keep me from languishing, she was happy to find a way to put me down and let me know I wasn't so smart after all.

I was devastated. I had always received praise for my schoolwork. I'd had always earned good grades. Now there was nothing for me. Not even grades. Instead there were meetings with your parents and evaluations from theteacher about your progress.

I was head and shoulders ahead of everyone in the class and my parents were told I wasn't working up to my capacity. No shit.

If we'd had grades there would have been tangible proof that I was doing the work at a high level. Then, if there were complaints about me not working to capacity, the burden would have been on the teachers, not me.

It didn't help that I was being put down at every opportunity by Miss Meadows. I stopped writing. I stopped caring, and I started getting into trouble. Nothing big. Just stuff that bored kids do.

With nothing to challenge me academically, the school decided to occupy my time with electives.  But art and childcare were the only two offered to me for some reason.  Home Ec, Shop, and Printing, all the really fun ones, were off limits.  So I took an art elective. I was good at drawing. I loved to draw from the time I was in fourth grade, spending hours making portraits of horses, which were my passion.

Unfortunately, I was the only sixth grader in a class full of eighth graders. And a a brand new kid at the school besides. A fish out of water again. The teacher finally said he didn't think I fit in. Ya think? So I had to settle for childcare.  I hated childcare. Watching little kids climb on the jungle gym was like punishment. No thanks. I don't know whether I quit or stuck it out. I do remember how slowly the minutes passed when I was standing around as a glorified babysitter in the nursery school they had on premises.

Miss Meadows, an unmarried, ancient old battleaxe, continued putting me down every chance she got. Somehow I was chosen to write a play that all the sixth grade classes participated in, but Miss Meadows made a point of telling me that I would only be allowed to write a certain part of it, even though the whole concept was mine.

By the end of that year I had become a lazy student, disengaged and bored with school. I did as little as possible to get by, because I could. Seventh grade wasn't much better. Even though I was in the accelerated class, I was still ahead of everybody and very bored. It wasn't until eighth grade that I finally felt challenged. By that time my study habits sucked, since I had never had to study before. Quite frankly, I don't think they ever recovered.

Naturally when my nemesis died, they named a new addition to the junior high after her. The Elizabeth Meadows Wing. I didn't go to the dedication.

Extra Credit: Tell us your second favorite subject in school.   My second favorite subject in high school was geometry. I was fascinated by it, thanks to Mr. Donald Leverenz, a dynamic and interesting teacher who had me looking forward to every class. His students never scored lower than a C on the comprehensives we had to take at the end of the year. Other teachers had students who didn't score above a C. He was such a goood teacher that he ended up running the whole math department eventually.  

[My favorite class was English no matter who taught it.  I loved to read and write and despite Miss Meadows' tireless efforts, no one could stop me from enjoying that.]

Last Saturday's Saturday Six -- Taking the Day Off Edition

1. What is your single biggest frustration right this minute?

Finding a pair of reading glasses with two good lenses and keeping my cell phone charged.

2. What classic television show would you most like to see made into a modern-day movie?  What classic movie do you think you'd like to see remade?

Classic TV -- Pee-Wee's Playhouse.  The backstory on that one would be worth the price of admission. 

Classic Movie -- On the Waterfront with Russell Crowe in the Marlon Brando role

3. How many people in your family are war veterans? Of those, how many have you actually talked to about their experiences in war?

My Dad was in WWII.  I lost an uncle in that war, too.  I lost another uncle who would have been a pilot. Everybody in my generation missed Vietnam with school deferments.

In his seventies my dad, who was lucid for all practical purposes, started talking about his experiences in the war, except that he made most of them up. He was a doctor who spent the whole time stateside working with soldiers who came back with "shellshock," but later he claimed he was in Europe. As part of the Airborne. Earth to Dad.

4. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #51 from COURTENAYMPHELAN:  Who do you think is the best author in J-land for poetry?  How about for prose?

Poetry?  I hate poetry. Unless it's limericks or lyrics for a song.  Poetry makes my eyes glaze over.  Never have so many people been so oblique for so little reason. Get to the point already. So don't ask me about poetry.

Prose, hmm.  I consider anything that isn't poetry to be prose. I prefer non-fiction. For that, we have lots of great writers. For storytelling skill I'll always go with Belfastcowboy75. For satire, ScreaminRemo303.  For daily life, I love Robbush6.  In fact, everyone listed in my Other Journals is there because I like how they write, no matter what you call it.

5. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #52 from COURTENAYMPHELAN: If you haven't put your picture in your journal, would you consider doing so?  If you have, what made you do so?

Total vanity. I look pretty good for sixty-one years old.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #53 from Nyuknyukpik2:  What is your favorite black and white movie and why?

Dr. Strangelove. The quintessential anti-war movie. Peter Sellers was a genius.  I also had a crush on Sterling Hayden who was Gen. Jack D. Ripper.

What Was She Thinking?

Might as well kick some ass this morning.

Two little girls were murdered on Mother's Day in Zion, Illinois, a town just north of Chicago best known for being just north of Chicago.

The girls were best friends.

In a heartbeat law enforcement has firmly affixed the blame on one girl's dad, Jerry Hobbs, who just got out of a Texas prison twenty some days ago.  Of course, they probably got a little suspicious when he was the first person to find the girls.

Not that former inmates deserve special scrutiny by the cops because of choices they have made in the past.  But you have to be glad the police smelled a rat right away.

His resume features fifteen years of fuck ups, including attacking his wife and neighbors with a chain saw not too long ago. Lots of battery, marijuana, ignoring anger management classes and other I'm A Loser arrests and trips to the slammer.

The only predicter of future behavior is past behavior. He was a timebomb whose fuse had been lit a long time ago.

But he isn't the reason I'm on a rant. His wife is. I mean his significant other. His partner. The woman who had his kids.

With a history of violent domestic abuse, why did this waste of DNA allow that sociopath, and the soon to be murderer of their innocent daughter, to come live with her, the kids and her parents when he got out of jail last month?

Once again, Mrs. Linklater is dumbstruck by the stupidity exhibited by battered women.  Despite all the articles, tv shows, news reports, and agencies that tell these women again and again that abusive men get worse, not better, the pile of dead bodies continues to rise.

No woman deserves to be abused.  But I don't have much sympathy for women who don't get way far away from these men. And continue to make babies with them.

Mrs. Hobbs' spouse didn't deserve a second chance to be a dad and a husband.  He'd already had his chance many times before. Thanks to Mom.

Turns out he murdered his daughter over a minor disciplinary problem, stabbing and beating her to death because her mom said she could go play a day early, when she had been grounded. WTF?

Dad got ticked because Mom had made a decision he didn't like.  So he took out his anger on the kid. And the little girl's best friend had the bad luck to be with her, so she was killed too.

If the mom is like most battered moms she probably thought she could control his anger.  Or at least manage it.  Instead of moving so far away from the guy he couldn't find them.

Yoo hoo -- you're an idiot.

Women like this are endangering their kids every day. They won't leave. They let these creeps come back. And they accept the abuse without taking responsibility for the damage it does to their children.

If anyone should be going to prison, it ought to be any mom who endangers her kids by not keeping them away from these nutcases.

At the very least they ought to take her other children away from her.

She is not only incompetent.  She was an accessory to murder.

Lock her up, too.

THE VOTES ARE IN. 

AND, IN A MOVE MRS. LINKLATER CAN TRULY APPRECIATE, ARMAND HAS IGNORED THEM.

SO THE NEW HELL BENT FOR GREATNESS AWARD IS NOW "KICKIN ASS AND TAKIN NAMES".

IT'S OFFICIAL. MRS. LINKLATER'S  S**T DON'T STINK.

TODAY AT LEAST. 

CUT AND PASTE THIS LINK TO ARMAND'S DRAMATIC PROCLAMATION OVER AT HIS JOURNAL:

http://journals.aol.com/armandt/sense/entries/524

OR CLICK ON ARMAND'S JOURNAL OVER IN OTHER JOURNALS

Okay, I'm trying an entry via AIM, AOL's free access to writing journals.

Let's see how it works. I can choose Verdana 14 pt. but will it default to whatever my MAC uses? [In order to change to a different typeface I usually have to go through Firefox. I know, none of this makes any sense to PC users. Me either for that matter]

I'd like to read some of the new journals that are coming in via AIM. Anybody got some links?

Why I Can't Run For President

Apparently the Runaway Bride has a criminal past. When she was planning her escape did she consider what would happen when every facet of her life was subjected to the microscoptic scrutiny we've come to expect from the press?  It took them a couple of weeks to track it down, but you knew they would find something if there was something to find.

Film at eleven.

UPDATE:  Guess the Runaway Bride was busted a couple of times for shoplifting.  The last time she had to spend a couple of nights in jail too.

AND she broke up with another fiance.  This ain't the first tiime she didn't walk down the aisle.  

Just Another Heartwarming Mother's Day Story

So the kid in Ft. Benning, Georgia gets a ten day suspension from school for talking on his cell phone to his mother, who had called him unexpectedly from Iraq.

No cell phone use is allowed at the school when it's in session, even though it sounds like the kids are permitted to carry them.

Allegedly the infraction occurred during lunch hour and the kid was outside the school. Maybe yes, maybe no.

Neverthless, the school starts getting calls about the harsh punishment. From all over the country. As a result of this outcry, the ten day suspension is reduced to three days.

Turns out the young man was also rude and profane, apparently, to the teacher who told him to give up the phone. He supposedly didn't tell the teacher that the call was unexpected or that it was his mom calling from the desert.  [One would wonder why his phone was turned on during school hours when getting calls was against the rules, but no sense in turning this into a Dateline investigation.]

Anyway, everybody's got a take on this one.  The school was too harsh. Ten days smacks of zero tolerance for an infraction that needed to be tempered with mercy. The boy should have been more forthcoming and less insolent. He wasn't really outside the school. He was inside. Whatever.

Here's what Mrs. Linklater thinks happened.

Kid gets a call. A teacher, who's idea of handling kids is to take an authoritative approach, demands that the little snotnose hang up and give him or her the phone.

Hey, you -- no cell phone use during school hours -- you know the rules -- gimme  that phone.  You're not supposed to be talking to anyone.

The kid just ignores the teacher and tries to continue the call, maybe with one hand over his other ear. He probably starts walking away so he can hear better over the teacher shouting at him.

For all the kid knows his mother will run out of time to talk to him if he has to stop and explain everything to the pissed off teacher.

Now the teacher is really getting annoyed.  And probably attempts to physically take the phone away from the kid. The kid gets mad and uses profanity to keep that from happening.

Dammit this is an important call.  Leave me alone.

It boils down to a struggle for control.  A teacher saying do it my way or else.  And a kid who misses his mom and doesn't want to lose contact with her. He also knows instinctively that the teacher is being an asshole.

They're both at fault.  But I blame the teacher who was probably aggressive and accusatory, because it sounds like the kid reacted like we all do when we've been verbally attacked before having a chance to explain ourselves.

There are probably a million other ways the situation could have been handled.  With a better outcome for the student, the teacher and the school.

Not to mention the boy's mother, who would have had a chance to tell him she loved him without an altercation taking place.

You know you're not supposed to be on the phone, son, is this an emergency?  It's my mom calling from Iraq. Well, why don't you walk with me down to the office so you can continue your call there.

As they walked the teacher could let others know that it was his mother calling from Iraq, which is a reason to celebrate, not a reason to punish. And there would have been an easy explanation for a rule being bent.

And it should have been bent.

Mother's Day Musical Chairs

This morning I will be with three young adults who won't be with their mothers.

Their mothers won't be with any of their children.

And my children will each be with somebody else's mother.

I wish every mom could have a child to give them a card today.

And every child could have a mom to hug them and say thanks.

Mrs. Linklater Needs to Ask Mrs. Linklater

Usually Mrs. Linklater is all about taking the advice columnists to task. She is the Andrew Dice Clay of the Ann Landers set.  Some people have a calling. Mrs. L has a shouting match.

But now, strange as it may seem, Mrs. L finds herself in a pickle. In fact, she's pretty deep into the jar. Here is her tale of woe:


As Mrs. Linklater has aged, not doing anything on the weekends has become her idea of a good time. She prefers doing nothing that requires planning or more than three minutes in the microwave. She hates to have to think about what she's going to do when it means getting tickets for something, putting on clean clothes, driving, that kind of stuff.

For instance, this weekend she had hoped to do the Weekend Assignment and the Saturday Six at her leisure, say sometime Friday night for the first one and sometime Saturday for the Six.  But no, she is supposed to go out and HAVE FUN with FRIENDS who came to town and want to see HER.  Yes, she loves them.  And she loves to spend time with them. That's not the point.

There's a wonderful dinner tonight.  A chance to see a ballgame tomorrow.  Theater tomorrow night.  Let's not even talk about all the Mother's Day crap. Sorry Mrs. Linklater just allowed a moment of unrestrained cynicism to overtake her. As much as she loves her stepmother, her beloved biological mother is dead. And her wonderful children are across the country or across the pond. So she's not with the program much this year.  

Here's the guts of the problem. Turns out a another friend's daughter is getting married Saturday. This is a friend for life.  And Mrs. Linklater has known the daughter since she came home from the hospital.  In fact, the little blue baby blanket Mrs. L never finished is up on the shelf of her closet still. The ceremony is planned for just after the game ends.  And the reception will be held while Mrs. L is supposed to be with her other friends at the theater.

Unfortunately, the invitiation Mrs. L was supposed to get never showed up. And she just found out about the nuptials, which are a three hour drive away. The conversation went something like, "Hey, you coming or not?" 

Not only did she not get the invitation, the bride's family will not be well represented and since Mrs. L is considered family -- well, you get the picture.

There's no possible way she can do both. That means she gets to feel guilty about whatever she misses. And that pretty much just sucks.

So not only does Mrs. Linklater have plans for the weekend, but it turns out she should have had other plans for the weekend.  When all she wanted to do is have no plans at all. 

We're Such Suckers

Just for fun I did the What Does Your Birth Date Mean for my kids.  They were born in different months, but both were born on the same day.

The eleventh.  

I thought that the quiz had 366 different birth date meanings.  One for each day of the year. And leap year.

Not so.  Both my kids, who are as different as night and day, came up with the same description of what their birthday meant.

Apparently, there are only thirty one different meanings for all the millions and millions of birthdays -- according to this recent quiz.

Hey, we've been had. Okay I knew that going in.

And yet, mine was so strangely accurate.  

One of Patrick's Fascinating And Revealing Quizes

WHAT DOES YOUR BIRTHDATE MEAN? 
[This has to have its roots in numerology.]

Your Birthdate: October XX  [Don't feel like telling the actual date]

Your birthday on the XXth day of the month shows individual self-expression is necessary for your happiness.

You tend to have a good way of expressing yourself with words, certainly in a manner that is clear and understandable.

You have a good chance of success in fields requiring skill with words.

You can be very dramatic in your presentation and you may be a good actor or a natural mimic.

You have a vivid imagination that can assist you in becoming a good writer or story-teller.

Strong in your opinions, you always tend to think you are on the right side of an issue.

There may be a tendency to scatter your energies and have a lot of loose ends in your work.

You may have significant artistic talent and be very creative.

Mrs. Linklater's reaction to the quiz -- as someone who has spent her entire career as a creative person, primarily as an ad writer with a year in improv comedy -- this is creepy.

Take the quiz yourself.  Of course, the link below may or may not work.  That's part of the charm of Mrs. L's journal. You can always resort to Other Journals and look for Patrick's Place and click on that link. 

http://www.blogthings.com/whatdoesyourbirthdatemeanquiz/