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Posts Tagged ‘Death’

Zumba is the devil. Zumba kicked my ass. Kicked. My. Ass.

For those of you who don’t know, Zumba is like Broadway choreography set to Latin music. Here’s an “official” definition.

Maybe the moves are “easy to follow” for the other 99.9 percent of the population, but I couldn’t even make the drill team in high school. And they didn’t have a full squad even after I tried out, if that tells you something.

Thankfully, this fellow was not my instructor.

I felt like a “Fantasia” hippo thrown in with the Rockettes.

Me

Them


















I’m not completely inept, it just takes me a while to learn choreography. Once I learn it, I won’t forget. But it is hard to learn when your life is flashing before your eyes.

There were weights involved also. And mats. And Desperate Housewives in cute workout clothes. I’m so glad my friend Keisha was there for a reality check. And to make sure I was breathing.

See the guy in the back? Kindred spirit.

I’m proud to say I made it through without blacking out. My face was Pantone 187, though.

It is the color I imagine Hell to be. Zumba, I’ll see you in Hell on Monday!

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I’d like to post about Trish’s birthday weekend — also known as the Shock and Awe Safari — but I need to get photos from her. To tide you over until that post, here is an update on Shelly and Jeanne.

They don’t hate me anymore, but they are still suspicious of me. (I think they’ve seen what I often cook for dinner.)

They are also lazy. No eggs yet. You may remember that Trish squeezed out her first egg on, appropriately, Labor Day.

Shelly and Jeanne have been really loud lately though, so maybe they are getting ready for egg action. And Jeanne has been pecking at the window. For what purpose, I don’t know.

Maybe she’s trying to modify our eating habits. Maybe she should worry about producing some eggs …

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When I let the dogs out this morning, I decided to go out also to check on my (rather pathetic excuse for a) garden. It is a good thing I did. Look what I found:

“COPPERHEAD!” my inner girly voice shrieked. The mom, independent woman and rational voices immediately gave that other one the smackdown.

Eddie was taking his Saturday morning constitutional with the SCAD Bike Club, so I was left to my own devices. Ordinarily, I’d leave a snake alone. This one was on my patio, though. I have kids to protect.

So, I looked in the shed for our hoe or shovel, but they were nowhere to be found. Plan C was the post hole digger.

I calmly approached the interloper with my chosen weapon (which was freakin’ heavy, by the way). It saw me coming and slithered under the carcass of the blow-up water slide that has been on our patio for weeks (a sore subject for another time). I beat the snot out of that section of the slide with the post hole digger.

Slowly, I lifted the corner. The snake was not there. I lifted the corner a little more and saw it. My flailing had delivered only a flesh wound.

It coiled and tried to strike. I went berserk.

I think it's dead now.

I turned around and Dominic was looking at me through the window. His eyes were very wide. I couldn’t tell if he thought it was cool, funny or frightening.

Great. He’s probably scarred for life.

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Oh, the irony in this sign at a BP station in Ohio. If I spilled anything at that station, I’d take my cue from the head of BP and I’d pretend it wasn’t that bad, blame everyone else, and then not let anyone else give me ideas on how to clean it up.

Tony Hayward, have you learned nothing from those unfortunate CEOs who have come before you in crisis? Apparently.

One of the topics I cover in my Promotional Writing class is crisis management. Crisis is nothing new, so there are plenty of case studies. Why don’t people learn from the mistakes of others?

Good crisis management: Tylenol in the ’80s, Hugh Grant, Jim Joyce. Bad crisis management: Tylenol in the ’00s, Tiger Woods, Exxon. Horrible crisis management: BP has no equal.

Here is how you handle a crisis in three easy steps:

  1. Talk to the media immediately and regularly.
  2. Apologize.
  3. Make it right by fixing the problem and compensating the victims.

BP has done none of these things. In fact, they’ve pretty much done the opposite of what they should have done. Who is advising these people?

And they keep making it worse in so many ways. One of those ways is that they are not allowing media to document the situation. Don’t they understand that they are squandering a prime opportunity to salvage their reputation? They could show the world what they are doing to fix the problem.

Unless, of course, they don’t really want to show what they are doing.

Hmmm…

I’ll leave you with this image, and the knowledge that I’ll never buy from BP again.

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The only thing of consequence I did today was save an earthworm. When I went out to get the mail, I noticed him struggling feebly on the pavement. He was quite brown, and very close to toasted. I picked him up and relocated him to a spot in some shaded dirt.

The worm enjoys his new home.

Another worm was not so lucky, but he looks kind of cool in death.

"R" is for RIP. (I found it in this shape.)

Then I started noticing many other creatures. (I don’t pay much attention to the natural world, so this is a big deal.)

I don't know what kind of spider this is. My blog is not part of the Discovery Channel.

It looks like this spider was on meth when he created this web.

Seeing these spiders reminds me of this hilarious video. And I’ll leave you with that.

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I may need to stop reading the paper. It’s not good for my blood pressure.

This time it is not because of a Savannah Morning News error, but rather an article that is printed on page 12A. It was a small piece, but it had a large effect on me.

Warning: If you are Catholic, or a pope supporter in general, you might want to stop reading now. I’m about to write some not-so-nice things about the pontiff.

According to the SMN article (The New York Times has a larger, better overview), Pope Benedict XVI told Catholic social workers, health providers and some others assembled for a Mass in Fatima, Portugal, that abortion and same-sex marriage were two of the most “insidious and dangerous” threats facing the world today.

Really? Happy gay people are a threat to the world?

Not child abuse? Really?

Ben, let’s talk. I know you are in a world of hurt trying to pretend that you don’t need to deal with your big, fat scandal, but you cannot throw us off the scent.

I know you don’t have kids, so you might not get it, but children are sponges. They soak up all the good and bad that they see, hear and feel. So if a bishop is letting his little bishop run free all over 10-year-old hide, there is a problem. And that is going to affect that child forever.

If you believe that killing children (even still as a fetus) is wrong, then how could you not see abuse as one of the biggest threats to the world? There are thousands and thousands of children who have been abused by priests and others in the Catholic Church and likely will suffer psychological, emotional and physical effects. According to the American Psychological Association, children who have been abused have an increased risk for:

  • Depression
  • Post-traumatic stress disorder
  • Dissociative and anxiety disorders
  • Eating disorders
  • Poor self-esteem
  • Somatization (the expression of distress in physical symptoms)
  • Chronic pain
  • Behavioral problems including sexualized behavior, school/learning problems, substance abuse, destructive behavior, sexual dysfunction in adulthood, criminality in adulthood
  • Suicide

Barbara E. Bogorad, Psy.D., founder and former director of the Sexual Abuse Recovery Program Unit of South Oaks Hospital in New York wrote:

Abused children are 53% more likely to be arrested as juveniles, and 38% more likely to be arrested for a violent crime. During preschool years, abused children are more likely to get angry, refuse direction from teachers, and lack enthusiasm. By the time they reach grade school, they are more prone to being easily distracted, lacking in self-control, and not well-liked by peers.

But it is same-sex marriage you choose to target as the problem?

Yes, there is a problem. And he is wearing a pointy hat.

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Yes, I know I just posted an entry last night, but I had to post again. Please feast your eyes upon this:

Grizzly? Seriously? They think a bear attacked the man?

No. They meant “grisly.” Come ON!

The good folks at the Savannah Morning News should be ashamed. It appears Arek Sarkissian II compiled the information for the article. I seem to recall he also enjoys putting in an ampersand in the college’s name.

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We didn’t need another dog. But it looks like we have one.

I think Eddie and I both knew when we took in Mona that she would end up staying. We made (half-hearted) attempts to find another home for her. We thought our friend Sarah’s mom might take her. But I’ll admit we didn’t push too hard.

Yesterday, I broke down and got her this:

That’s a big step. Pretty permanent. Kind of like a wedding ring. But how could we resist this face?

Or the fact that she looks like this when she chews her toys:

But I am worried about one thing: She is very interested in Shelly and Jeanne. Eddie built the coop next to the playroom window so we could check on the chickens easily (ie. see if there is an egg before we have to walk out there). (And yes, convenience equals laziness.)

Maggie the Murderer better not be giving her any ideas.

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Though it pained me to do it, I cleaned out Trish’s coop last weekend. (Sad.) Shelly and Jeanne had grown fast, and it was almost time for them to take over the coop.

I knew the time had come last night when I heard a commotion. My feathered friends had found their wings and were pretty darn excited about it. I wish I had a recording of their chirps.

This morning, they moved into the coop.

They seem pretty happy about it. It is a much bigger place, with no nosy, noisy neighbors. Shelly likes the yard, while Jeanne plans to become involved with the neighborhood association. She heard about the crime in the area, and wants to make sure she does all she can to keep the place safe.

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I hadn’t planned on it when I woke up, or even thought about it during most of the day. But at 4:30 this afternoon, I decided I needed to get new chickens.

Jeanne and Shelly are Araucanas (blue eggs!) and came from Economy Feed and Seed on Carolan Street. Originally, Shelly was going to be named “Patty,” as a nod to Patricia (otherwise known as Trish the Chicken’s namesake), and Gideon wanted the other to be named “Mike.” (Why? I don’t know.) But “Patty and Mike” just didn’t sound right. And naming one “Mike” would ensure we would end up with an unexpected rooster.

I named our previous chickens after live people, and they ended up dead. So this time, I named them after dead people in the hope that the chickens will stay alive. Shelly was Trish’s mom, and Jeanne was mine.

The boys and I are excited.Eddie has registered his concern and dismay. Noted. And obviously ignored. (Sorry, Sweetie!)

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