tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8160493375854868202024-03-13T10:30:50.709-07:00SarahEliza is BloggedAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-9239036031877091322014-04-13T15:49:00.001-07:002014-04-13T15:49:14.038-07:00Local Art is Always in Style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uai0Yj11bMY/U0sSZkMbFbI/AAAAAAAAAS4/Mn7uC-Q9ISc/s1600/DSC01560+(800x600).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uai0Yj11bMY/U0sSZkMbFbI/AAAAAAAAAS4/Mn7uC-Q9ISc/s1600/DSC01560+(800x600).jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
On Saturday I had the unique privilege (and it truly was a privilege) to buy an original piece of artwork. This painting (center) is by Diego Gutierrez Monterrubio. He is an artist, among other talents and occupations, and I'm sure he can be found through Facebook and probably Google. He was instrumental in initiating the Porterville Art Walk. He has and will continue to do great things.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-41351663700914720212014-03-23T00:03:00.000-07:002014-03-23T00:03:09.579-07:00An Argument* Between Body Parts (*contains bad language)<div class="clearfix" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.818181991577148px; line-height: 13.963635444641113px; zoom: 1;">
<h4 style="font-size: 24px; line-height: 28px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Conversation between my Mouth and my Guts <span style="font-weight: normal;">(digestive system, not bravery.)</span></span></h4>
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<br />
Scene<i>: Me at an open fridge. The moment of reckoning for the average American.</i><br />
<br />
<strong>My Mouth</strong>: <em>Sweet! There’s still cream cheese in the fridge.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>My Guts</strong>: <em>Wait! Before you start champing at the bit, don’t forget you’ve been throwing dairy at me for 3 days now and quite frankly, I cannot tolerate it any longer.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>My Mouth</strong>: <em>Yeah I know. You’ve been grumbling, getting all twisted up and then popping off at me from day one.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>My Guts</strong>: <em>But you won’t listen. You’re not the one who has to try and break lactose down. I don’t even have the proper enzymes. You know that!</em><br />
<br />
<strong>My Mouth</strong>:<em> Don’t worry about it, babe. You can handle it.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>My Guts</strong>: <em>You’re being a selfish asshole, Mouth. Remember when you gave me acid reflux from shoveling down jalapeños, day after day, and you told me to “just deal with it?” And it’s one thing when you’re only hurting us, but half of the whole body had to sleep sitting upright! Do you remember that?!</em><br />
<br />
<strong>My Mouth</strong>: <em>As the professional mouth here, I’m going to have to ask you to shut the fuck up, Guts. Did you ever think maybe Dairy isn’t the one being an intolerant dick</em>?<br />
<br />
<strong>Announcer’s Voice</strong>: And it’s MOUTH for the win!<br />
<br />
<strong>My Guts</strong>: (grumbling<em>) Just wait ‘till he hears what the Butt is going to say about this...</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The end.</b><br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-75021541426583861792014-03-09T18:06:00.003-07:002014-03-09T18:06:24.534-07:00Some Truths are as Plain as the Writing on the T-shirt<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
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<b>A two-act mini-play </b></div>
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<strong><br /></strong></div>
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<strong>In this episode, Dad visits a veteran’s support group for the first time.</strong></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<strong>Act 1:</strong></div>
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<strong>Scene<em>:</em></strong><em> Small conference room with circle of 7 to 8 plastic chairs, coffee machine, positive affirmation posters. Three men already seated. Dad enters and takes a seat followed by introductions.</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
(<em> Older man with beard explains why he comes to the group, concluding</em>)</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<strong>Older man:</strong> … after 20 years as a nurse it just got to me. All the dying, and blood, and killing; it got to the point where I had to retire early. I just couldn’t take it anymore.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<em>Dad looks at older man’s face, and then looks at man’s t-shirt. T-shirt reads in large print:<b> I will kill you.</b> Dad looks back at man’s face.</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<strong>Dad:</strong> You know, your mouth is saying one thing but your shirt is saying something else. As a veteran of war, I think your shirt is offensive.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<strong>Act 2:</strong></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
Scene: <em>Home. Dad talking on phone. I’m washing hands in the kitchen.</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<strong>Dad</strong>: …okay than, I’ll give him a call.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<em>(Dad hangs up phone, clearly looks like he wants to say something.)</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<strong>Me:</strong> Yeah, so what was that?</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">
<strong>Dad</strong>: I went to a Veteran’s group and the other guys called the therapist to tell him I don’t fit in.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-70586215389856772262014-03-04T16:21:00.002-08:002014-03-04T17:47:29.360-08:00No Kids Allowed<br />
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When I
decided I wanted to write a column I made the mistake of asking on Facebook if
anyone would read a column about a single, childless woman in her 30’s. It was
a mistake only because I offered a lousy, base description of what this blog
would be all about.<br />
<br />
One
concern I received from my semi-public Facebook announcement was that I, as a
swinging single, might be inclined to speak negatively on marriage or raising
children. Sure, I could proudly state that I am secure being alone; that I
don’t need a man rescue me; and bearing children in an overpopulated world is an
act of ego and not of love. I’ve come across plenty of commentaries criticizing
“breeders,” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“stage moms,” and the single
parents who work long hours while others are left to raise their latch-key
kids. In reality I don’t know shit about parenting or marriage and hope to
avoid both for the immediate future. But the topic of family always creeps up;
even in the minds of the most devoutly single.<br />
<br />
Recently I was having lunch in downtown Bakersfield
with a favored (and rather attractive) friend. His relationship stats are nearly identical
to mine: 30-something; divorced; no children. After several years in a
relationship he shared his experience of being fresh on the dating market.<br />
<br />
“Since
word got out that I’m single, I’m being hit on by nothing but baby mommas,” he
told me. “Seriously, it’s been all baby mommas.<br />
<br />
It’s not that he doesn’t
like kids. He loves his nephews and is delighted to have another on the way.
There is a great joy for single people which comes with their siblings bearing
offspring. We love to spend time with our tiniest relatives and more than that,
we love feeling relieved of the pressure to produce grandchildren for our aging
parents.<br />
<br />
“I
don’t think I’m going to have kids,” he said. His slight shrug reflected a figurative
weight that had been lifted from his shoulders. <br />
<br />
I
agreed that I had come to the same conclusion and together we exalted in our
freedom to avoid reproduction without guilt. As I took a drink from my glass of beer I felt steeped in confidence that I could continue to enjoy alcoholic
drinks for the foreseeable future. And that, dear readers, is when biological
instinct dropped a tiny seed of remorse into my psyche. My enthusiasm tempered and
I lowered my glass to look across the table at my friend.<br />
<br />
“I want
to clarify, I do think I would make a great mom,” I told him. <br />
<br />
We
looked at each other and I could tell that in his head he was now assessing his
own potential for parenting. After a thoughtful moment of introspection he concluded:<br />
<br />
“I
think I’d be a really great dad.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com3Bakersfield, CA, USA35.3732921 -119.0187124999999934.958707600000004 -119.6641595 35.7878766 -118.37326549999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-69730366979516272572014-03-03T08:38:00.001-08:002014-03-21T20:50:51.271-07:00Eve's Exile<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
sheriff’s deputy headed for the front door of the house. He was going to get a
statement from them. The arrival of law enforcement had made it more than
evident it was my time to exit and so I left opposite, towards the garage at
the east end of the lawn. On the way to my car I walked next to the rear of a
white mini-van sitting in the driveway and stopped. It looked so out-of-place there.
Inside the locked doors and tinted windows it must have smelled like stale
McDonald French fries, and sweaty kids’ sneakers, superficially masked by the
perfume of an oppressive vanilla air freshener. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A
burning sensation began to spread upwards from my fingertips. How could I not
think of it as <i>my</i> parking spot? It
had been my spot for more than 5 years, even though my sedan was now parked on
the street nearby. Another few steps nearer and I was just inches away from
this bulky soccer-mom van; the thing that brought her into my life; into my
home; and now, sat heavy and stoic in my goddamned driveway. With car keys grasped firmly in my tingling
hand, the silvery tip of a key reflected cleanly against a white glossy finish.
I held it there, almost touching; imagining my hand making a graceful circular
motion etched deeply in paint.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “I could leave them a message,” I thought
quickly. The mere idea brought an unexpected jolt excitement. “Oh, how about a curse
word—fuck!” Maybe “fuck.” It felt really good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
pictured the word “fuck” sloppily carved above the tail gate. “Bitch,” quickly
flashed into my head but was shaken off before my mind had time to entertain
the thought. I was angry, insulted, but short of feeling vindictive. My arm
felt its own weight and dropped to my side as I turned to walk to my driver
door. I knew I was defeated and it was at these times I needed dignity the
most.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">From
the yard across street came a woman’s voice. Like an approaching train, the
sound escalated rapidly in range and volume. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Did
you key that car?” she said. Her tone was full yet slightly forced in an
attempt at sounding authoritative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No,
I didn’t,” I replied. My own voice had to be drawn out of me and it fell flat like
a languishing wind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Did you <i>scratch</i>
that car?” she repeated, still a little louder. The woman was stout. She had short
blonde hair and was wearing causal yet motherly jeans and a dark sweatshirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No,
I didn’t do anything,” I stopped short of my car door and waited to indicate my
willingness to remain present during her informal inquiry. “Go ahead! Take a
look.” I gestured towards the van.
“There’s not a mark on it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
<i>saw</i> you standing by that car and
looking around,” she said. She was now standing in my ex’s driveway and gave a
small section of the van a good glance-over. “I don’t know who lives here but I
didn’t want anybody’s car to be keyed.” Now she approached me, a little more
relaxed but cautious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
understand. Thank you,” I said earnestly. “I was considering it. I really was.
But I changed my mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well
good,” she said. Her tone now reset to congenial. “You can get into trouble for
that. I don’t want to see you to go to jail.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
thanked her again for her consideration, affirmed that her actions were noble
and that she was indeed a model neighbor.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">How
many times have I almost done what is unarguably the <b>wrong thing</b> to do? Thousands, I would imagine. Time and time again,
a few seconds of fantasy have satisfied the angry itch without any of the guilt
or consequence of the real thing. With at least one crisis averted for the day,
I got into my car, flipped a “U” and headed south towards Bakersfield. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com2Bakersfield, CA, USA35.3732921 -119.0187124999999934.958707600000004 -119.6641595 35.7878766 -118.37326549999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-63073453177302394842009-08-13T23:16:00.000-07:002009-08-13T23:21:51.877-07:00I love THIS man!and will always be true to him; even if he doesn't believe me.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SoUCStpj0mI/AAAAAAAAAHY/ks7AQZJKN6s/s1600-h/baby1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SoUCStpj0mI/AAAAAAAAAHY/ks7AQZJKN6s/s400/baby1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369700651223994978" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-9921927828487629962009-08-12T20:37:00.000-07:002009-08-12T20:39:50.391-07:00Fat guys should always hold the drugs too.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SoOLAKsdWaI/AAAAAAAAAHI/fYKwQwZriMc/s1600-h/500.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 80px; height: 80px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SoOLAKsdWaI/AAAAAAAAAHI/fYKwQwZriMc/s320/500.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369288015742851490" /></a><br />Associated Press<br /><br />HOUSTON - An obese inmate in Texas has been charged after officials learned he had a gun hidden in his rolls of fat.<br /><br />George Vera, 25, was charged with possession of a firearm in a correctional facility after he told a guard at the Harris County Jail about the unloaded 9mm pistol.<br /><br />The Houston Chronicle reported Thursday that Vera was originally arrested on charges of selling illegal copies of compact discs.<br /><br />The 500-pound man was searched during his arrest and again at a city jail and the county jail, but officers never found the weapon.<br /><br />Vera admitted having the gun during a shower break at the county jail.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-5307715158049417062009-08-03T23:29:00.000-07:002009-08-03T23:43:16.826-07:00Eagle Lake Hike<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SnfX5Wtim6I/AAAAAAAAAG4/4_LljTbHGc0/s1600-h/ankle+012.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SnfX5Wtim6I/AAAAAAAAAG4/4_LljTbHGc0/s320/ankle+012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365994861384342434" /></a><br /><br />Danny and I hiked from the Mineral King station, up Mosquito Lake trail to Eagle Lake on Monday. So lovely and the water was the prettiest clear blue. We got up to more than 10,000 ft.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-92167865278787886982009-07-31T14:25:00.000-07:002009-07-31T14:29:13.102-07:00Danny's Birthday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SnNiII5iz0I/AAAAAAAAAGo/34qSkzw1OCY/s1600-h/ankle+004.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 270px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SnNiII5iz0I/AAAAAAAAAGo/34qSkzw1OCY/s320/ankle+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364739473095708482" /></a><br />Today is Danny's 32nd birthday. To honor the occasion I made him a cake. This is crazy domestic status, but it turned out kinda cute.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-46736320155759597492009-07-28T19:22:00.000-07:002009-07-29T20:54:33.961-07:00Russian Roulette is Intended for Movies OnlyI have to wonder if people who die in a game of Russian Roulette have even seen the famous scene from the movie The Deer Hunter. I know I hadn't until very recently when my curiosity was peaked by the "accidental" death of a Visalia teen. <br />It was Monday (July 27) when 17-year-old Akiou See died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, according to an article in the Visalia Times-Delta. Police investigators said the shooting appeared to be accidental, prompted by "a game of Russian roulette." <br />Now I would debate whether or not the shooting should be classified as "accidental," since the victim knew he was firing a loaded gun a his head, but there is no such official cause of death as "extraordinarily poor judgement."<br /><br />Visalia police reported there have been two additional deaths attributed to a game of Russian roulette in the past five years. <br />I am fascinated by this game and the people who would attempt to play it. I sure there are Russian roulette survivors, but that wouldn't be your regular Friday night story to be shared with strangers at the bar.So all I know about it is the occasional news story.<br />In March of this year an 18-year-old in San Juan, Texas was placed on life support after a reportedly drinking, taking pills and engaging in a game of Russian roulette with an older cousin. Accoridng to an article published in The Monitor newspaper, police qouted the cousin who didn't get the bullet in the head as saying the pair "just did it because they wanted to."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-52888514703587394452009-07-27T22:25:00.000-07:002009-07-29T18:38:20.677-07:00Recession Hits City Street Gangs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sm6Qz9pIJhI/AAAAAAAAAGY/POfeqDJWeM8/s1600-h/gang.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 97px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sm6Qz9pIJhI/AAAAAAAAAGY/POfeqDJWeM8/s400/gang.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363383428639630866" /></a><br />Porterville street gangs are feeling the pinch of tight economic times, evident by recent reports of simple assaults allegedly committed by gang members utilizing rocks and sticks. <br />In past years, gang members employed the use of sawed-off shotguns, pistols, knives and baseball bats to commit assault and battery on rival gang members, robbery victims and random neighbors. <br />Three men were arrested in the Porterville area on July 25 on suspension of assaulting a local resident with sticks, according to the Visalia Times-Delta. <br />Arrested were Tony Lucas, 24; Steven Gutierrez, 24; and Richard Gutierrez, 22. Steven and Richard Gutierrez were booked on suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon, while Lucas was booked on suspicion of that crime as well as making terrorist threats and burglary of an inhabited building. <br />I will give Lucas the benefit of the doubt and assume he was at least trying to steal a real weapon.<br />One week prior, the Times-Delta reported an "admitted" gang member arrested for allegedly throwing a rock at another man swimming in the Tule River in the east Porterville area.<br />Where are the gangsta images of guns, drugs and loose women? If not a lifestyle inspired by Tony Montana, at least give me some lowered cars and a switch-blade. <br />Sticks and rocks...really?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-63053491545135464362009-07-27T15:01:00.000-07:002009-07-27T15:59:52.788-07:00Why Religion and Politics Don't MixIt seems that many "Christian" opponents of same-sex marriage insist that they are fighting a moral issue and not a religious issue. <br />Let us look at the Porterville City Council and examine exactly who is so inflamed at the idea of gay and lesbian marriages. Initially all five councilmen voted in favor of backing Prop. 8 in the fall of 2008. <br />Now in spring of '09, another resolution comes before the Board for consideration. When it comes to opposing SB 54, which would allow the State of California to recognize all legal marriages obtained in other U.S. states, there are only two council members committed to a policy of discrimination. <br />Councilmen Brian Ward and Cameron Hamilton not only share in their opposition to same-sex marriage, but are members of churches that openly denounce such unions.<br />Abovethehate.com, an on-line organization in support of efforts of The Church of Christ of Latter Day Saints to pass Prop. 8, gathered signatures to "express our deep gratitude to you and the entire LDS community" for contributing to CA and AZ marriage initiatives, and also "to express our outrage at the vile and indecent attacks directed" at us. <br />Among the signers is the Rev. Mark Pitcher of Porterville Church of the Nazarene; the church Hamilton attends. Of course, we all know that Ward is a devoted member of the LDS crowd. He even donated $100 of his own money to an anti-gay PAC, according to data filed with the California Secretary of State's office. It could be a coincidence that these happen to be the two men who want so intently to take away the rights of homosexuals, but I very much doubt it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-19741935985275235812009-07-27T10:21:00.000-07:002009-07-27T22:50:32.728-07:00Same-sex supporters kick butt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sm6Rc0SxMxI/AAAAAAAAAGg/ULzximKFqaY/s1600-h/n1213182_42395463_433.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sm6Rc0SxMxI/AAAAAAAAAGg/ULzximKFqaY/s200/n1213182_42395463_433.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363384130504569618" /></a><br />Porterville City Council members Cameron Hamilton and Brian Ward were unable to pass a resolution in opposition of SB 54, which would recognize same-sex marriages performed legally in other states. <br />The men and women who attended last week's Council meeting, as well as those who wrote letters, emails and phone calls, are directly responsible for pressuring local leaders to rethink their position of publicly supporting discrimination. <br />This is awesome. I can't wait to get this bracelet off so I can let the City know its residents will not accept the use of religion to validate prejudice and ignorance towards local families and neighbors.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-81228687990266412792009-07-20T15:39:00.000-07:002009-07-24T14:25:42.379-07:00In Support of Same Sex MarriageWhile I waste my days browsing all sorts of on-line atrocities, I thought of something productive I've been meaning to do. The Porterville City Council previously passed a resolution backing Prop. 8 because, I would imagine, the idea of two dudes kissing makes them feel very uncomfortable or after carefully studying the Bible they found that homosexual acts only threatened marriage in that once a character presented in the Bible went gay, he no longer found his wife to be as interesting as other fellas.<br /><br />This week the City Council is expected to pass a resolution in opposition of Senate Bill 54, to allow gay couples married in other states to retain their legal rights when in the State of California.<br /><br />So I put together a rather lengthy letter and emailed it to each councilman. I also sent one to the City Manager's Office and asked it be submitted into the record as public comment for the meeting, as I cannot be in attendance.<br /><br />No need to read it all, but here it is:<br /><br />To: The members of the Porterville City Council<br />Re: Item No. 15 on the July 21, 2009 Council Agenda, considering a resolution in opposition of Senate Bill 54.<br /><br />As a resident of the City of Porterville, I strongly urge our City leaders to consider the resolution before you now, as well as the Council's previous vote in support of Prop. 8, to be unconstitutional and a blatant violation of the 14th Amendment. Section 1 of Amendment 14 states, "No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny any to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection under the laws." This amendment clearly states that equal rights and due process is a right of every citizen regardless of race, religion or gender.<br /><br />This is the same argument made 42 years ago in the U.S. Supreme Court decision in Loving v. Virginia which struck down interracial marriage bans in 16 states. In June 1958, Mildred Jeter, a black woman, and Richard Loving, a white man, were married in Wahington, D.C. pursuant to its laws. Shortly after their marriage, the Lovings returned to their home state of Virginia and established their marital abode in Caroline County. In Oct. of that year, a grand jury issued an indictment charging the Lovings with violating Virginia's ban on interracial marriages.<br /><br />Today, nearly have a century later, we find ourselves again divided with couple’s seeking equality in the face of many who find these same loving couples to be morally repugnant. The Council has already gone so far as to support the denial of rights for same sex couples in California. It seems to only add insult to injury that any government body would support stripping couples of legal rights fought for and earned in other states.<br /><br />In the City of Porterville resolution to support Prop 8, maintaining the “role of a traditional family,” as “the best situation for a child is to be raised by a married mother and father,” is baseless. At best it is a religious definition of family and has no place in legislative debate. I can find no reasonable argument against the scenario that same sex marriage would strengthen the institution of marriage by allowing more families to experience a household built around two loving and committed adults. Only infidelity and divorce can damage the sanctity of marriage.<br /><br />The author of a 2003 Op-Ed piece in the New York Times said it best when he concluded, “we are not animals whose lives are bounded by our flesh and by our gender. We're moral creatures with souls, endowed with the ability to make covenants, such as the one Ruth made with Naomi: "Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried."<br /><br />The conservative course, according to author David Brooks, is not stop same sex couples from entering into marriage, but to insist on it. Only when two people claim to love each other and do not want to sanctify their love with marriage and fidelity, should they be considered immoral. “It's going to be up to conservatives to make the important, moral case for marriage, including gay marriage,” Brooks writes. “Not making it means drifting further into the culture of contingency, which, when it comes to intimate and sacred relations, is an abomination.”<br /><br />As same sex couples remain very much in the minority in our community, there is no ability to generate the financial support needed to mount a legal challenge to the City’s official support for gender discrimination. So, free of the threat of litigation, I ask that each Council member dissect the issue once more and separate citizen’s rights from religion, freedoms from fear, and dare to find the essence of “traditional” values alive and well in Porterville’s gay and lesbian families.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-4502865797327957582009-07-17T22:00:00.001-07:002009-07-17T22:00:55.929-07:00Words of Inspiration"The door is like a window to the home."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-86820569841764751792009-07-17T20:57:00.001-07:002009-07-17T21:18:37.007-07:00Drinking and Driving isn't funny...What is funny is that I get to pee into a cup over a toilet installed on a raised floor where three of the walls are mirrored and woman named Mrs. Oliveras watches me pee from every angle. <br /> <br />Actually that's not funny at all. <br />I believe I had an overly emotional reaction to another woman seeing my lady parts. To combat these negative feelings I am overdosing on Triscuits, cheese, chocolate and Diet Pepsi. The excessive amount of sodium will cause me to retain water and tomorrow I will awake with swollen fingers.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-16519217215591737622009-07-17T18:53:00.000-07:002009-07-18T19:26:43.575-07:00Top Ten Things to Do While on House Arrest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SmE1Rft8AVI/AAAAAAAAAFY/5loinIFrHDM/s1600-h/top10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 153px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/SmE1Rft8AVI/AAAAAAAAAFY/5loinIFrHDM/s400/top10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359623606235824466" /></a><br />1. Spend a whole evening just removing unwanted body hair.<br />2. Catch up on correspondence with people you don't really like but you keep in touch with because they keep making the effort to keep in contact with you. It's just too bad telling them to go away would make you feel like a real asshole.<br />3. Call 1-800 numbers and talk dirty to the customer service rep.<br />4. Eat whatever you want while telling yourself that you can loose the weight again before you're off the ankle bracelet. <br />5. Look out your window and wait for teenage boys in skinny jeans to walk by. Try to entice them into your home with promises of liquor and video games. Either rape them or beat them up. They will never wear skinny jeans again. <br />6. Study the Bible.<br />7. Finally check out that celebrity sex tape you've been curious to see.<br />8. Use your telescope to look at the stars at night and accidentally see the creepy neighbor commit a murder. Make sure there's a storm is coming so your electricity can go out and stop you from calling for help.<br />9. Start a blog.<br />10. Explore bestiality. Make sure only to try this with your own pets or you will have to spend more time on the monitor.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-3072201989158718712009-07-15T08:03:00.000-07:002009-07-15T09:54:36.971-07:00Dick makes the most of house arrest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl34wWFdHzI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/-BB10f24Su8/s1600-h/house-arrest.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 112px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl34wWFdHzI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/-BB10f24Su8/s400/house-arrest.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358712641086627634" /></a><br /><br />Andy Dick is one of my guilty pleasures and with time on his side (misdemeanor convictions of drug possession and battery), he negotiated a deal for his own Web talk show. The mini-casts are only about five minutes and can be pretty funny. The tiny set with bare concrete walls and a black curtain acting as a backstage area are constant reminders of Dick's legal restraints. All of which help to provide me with some true comic relief.<br /><br />Click on the link below to see "House Arrest with Andy Dick" <br /><a href="http://www.atom.com/funny_videos/house_arrest_203_carolla/">House Arrest with Andy Dick: Adam Carolla</a><br /><br />Shared via <a href="http://addthis.com">AddThis</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-91221203120526685442009-07-14T22:45:00.000-07:002009-07-28T23:03:34.317-07:00My pride and joy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl4j_JW2NUI/AAAAAAAAAFA/ySa-_vQjnLI/s1600-h/race.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 314px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl4j_JW2NUI/AAAAAAAAAFA/ySa-_vQjnLI/s400/race.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358760174367946050" /></a><br /><br />One could rightfully assume that, if I earned a stint on house arrest, it's likely that all has not been right in my little world. During it all, Danny (the darker of the two in the photo)has been my rock. In the last year and a half, when things were most challenging - basically (pause) he didn't leave me. He may have broken up with me once but quickly changed his mind. It could of been four or five times, but who remembers such minute details? Danny is caring, honest and super mega-sexy-cute.<br /><br />In spite of all of his wonderful qualities what cannot be overlooked is his recent departure for a Canadian vacation on the <span style="font-weight: bold;">SAME DAY</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>I went on the monitor! That's right. My rock rolled his way across the northern border for a 10-day <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bromantic</span></span></span> trip at Whistler Mountain Bike Park. Apparently it's a world famous destination point but I have doubts there's even such a thing as a "famous" mountain bike park.<br />During the course of his trip I assume there will be much sweat, dirt, ceremonial passing of gas and frequent use of gay epithets between friends. This man is my pacifier and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">blanky</span></span></span> to my Linus. It's possible (though not <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">guanteed</span></span>) that<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"> I will live until his return; personally I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">perfer</span></span> to be coddled much like a orphaned baby <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">koalo</span></span></span>.<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-87752294681039386972009-07-14T21:52:00.000-07:002009-07-17T20:40:56.394-07:00Leave it to Chanel to find the fashionista in every detainee<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl1jSNiJj9I/AAAAAAAAADw/aYSBbeFWWcU/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 93px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl1jSNiJj9I/AAAAAAAAADw/aYSBbeFWWcU/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358548296162447314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl1iTvrSNWI/AAAAAAAAADo/aUfUZAiRJlE/s1600-h/chanel_spring_2008d.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl1iTvrSNWI/AAAAAAAAADo/aUfUZAiRJlE/s200/chanel_spring_2008d.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358547222995809634" border="0" /></a><br />Too cute!! I almost want one but the mere idea of this fashion accessory being inspired by young celebrities convicted of alcohol and drug crimes makes me almost wanna shoot myself in the head . <input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-19098842866802926092009-07-14T19:30:00.000-07:002009-07-23T22:34:07.458-07:00All in my head, or ears or whatever...When I carried a personal cell phone (nearly all of the last decade) it was a necessity to change the ring tone every few months. A hokey digital tune selected in May, by Sarah's Law, should come and go by September. Most people probably change it more often, but personally I couldn't care less about a ring tone and consider the idea of paying for downloaded songs to be a sign of extreme excess in modern society. The only reason I EVER changed a ring tone was, and always will be, to counter the effect of hearing it ring when there was no ring. For a while I tried the "vibrate only" option but this just led to feeling the it vibrate when the phone was still.<br /><br />Now without further ado - how this relates to house arrest. I've been helping to care for my father for almost two months now. During that time, no matter what I've doing or where inside or outside of the house I might be, ever stops at sound of "Saraaahhh!" It is a chime rings out in accordance with any need and I move . The sound can translate into, "I need you to do my physical therapy," "my toe is somehow painfully entangled in a sheet," or "this fly won't leave me alone; it knows I can't do anything about it."<br /><br />When my dad first returned home from the rehabilitation center, he asked me to leave my door open at night so - if he needed anything - I could hear him from the living room, where he sleeps in a rented hospital bed. Within the first week I awoke in the middle of the night, ears perked, and jumped out of bed. "What dad? What do you need?" I waited a moment and asked again. "Dad, what do you need? Did you call me?" There was only silence.<br />He was fast asleep. I was successfully "Punk'd" by my own senses.<br /><br />This problem has carried over with the Sobrietor alarm. Earlier today I was in the shower ( of course the Sobrietor must have known this) when the siren of random testing blurted out, literally two seconds after I had put conditioner on my hair.<br />Now imagine you carry around the world's loudest alarm clock and some remote entity sets the alarm for (so far) as many as six times a day. Yeah; so now I get to hear that in my head too...<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-88568481596977206872009-07-13T23:48:00.000-07:002009-07-18T19:24:26.817-07:00Joke told to me by another member of the anklet clubThe day I began house arrest I went through a booking and orientation along with about five others entering the DUI monitor program, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">coincidentally</span> all from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Porterville</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Springville</span> area. The husband of a former friend of mine was getting his monitor at the very same time I was there. After a few members of the group gladly shared <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">their</span> story of drug or alcohol offense, my old friend's husband <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">chimed</span> in. "Well," he said. "I was arrested for alcohol <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">prescription</span> drugs.; and they were my own <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">prescriptions</span>!"<br />"So pretty much, you were just drinking and driving, right?"<br />"Oh no, I wasn't driving," he exclaimed. "I had already crashed by the time anyone got there."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-18604143781024343312009-07-13T16:49:00.000-07:002009-07-14T21:51:42.280-07:00Instruments of containment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl1gVFLaTnI/AAAAAAAAADg/gBM1RrBtoHk/s1600-h/smallmonitor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl1gVFLaTnI/AAAAAAAAADg/gBM1RrBtoHk/s200/smallmonitor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358545046924316274" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl1gK5_cMrI/AAAAAAAAADY/8OjDYk86p-E/s1600-h/ankle+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yg8TBINpXoM/Sl1gK5_cMrI/AAAAAAAAADY/8OjDYk86p-E/s200/ankle+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358544872122626738" border="0" /></a><br />Meet my friends - the Home Guard 200 and the BI <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Sobrietor</span> . The home guard is my chain and the sobriety radar is the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">accompanying</span> ball. The space age home monitor uses radio frequencies to detect whether or not I'm "in range." I am not allowed to know the actual distance I'm allowed to travel before triggering an alert. The general rule is not to walk out the door for more than five minutes but I would guess I could get away with staying in the front lawn, which is closer to the unit than say, the laudery room. Still I'm not looking to chance it. To date, taking chances has got me arrested - twice!<br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Sobrietor</span> is a form of torture nearly the equivalent of water boarding. About five times a day, what sounds like an alarm clock going off through a megaphone, signals me to attention. Once I pick up the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sobrietor</span> the alarm stops, replaced by a beep every 30 seconds. This goes on for five minutes to let me know that even though I am standing there waiting, the machine is boss and it will test me when it's good and ready. Finally after minutes of breathless <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">anticipation</span>, there is a long loud beep. Now it's time to test.<br />"Colorado, California, Florida." After repeating the names of these three states for voice <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">verification</span>, the machine reviews my performance, deciding if I am even worthy of taking a sobriety test. Was the voice it heard indeed my own or a thinly veiled human attempt to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">deceive</span> it? If I say a word too quick or too slow, too soon or too late or too loud or too soft, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">sobrietor</span> is nice enough to let me know and guide me through the process once more. Did I mention this process happens five times a day; the first alarm sounds every morning between 7 and 8 a.m.?<br />Who the hell drinks at 7 a.m.?<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-70492903485309349262009-07-13T09:32:00.000-07:002009-07-13T18:51:17.377-07:00Why would I ever blog?So here's the whole reason for this blog. Following a DUI conviction in the spring I was sentenced by the lovely Superior Court Judge Juliet <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Boccone</span> to 28 days of hard time, with the options of doing "straight time" or working outside the jail and returning to my own bed at night.<br />I returned to court more recently to ask for more jail time. That's right ladies and gentlemen - MORE time! Just when it looks like I am truly a masochist, there is method to my madness. Turns out, adding another two days to my sentence was the only way I could be eligible for house arrest.<br />Many may or may not know my papa was diagnosed with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Guillain</span> Barre syndrome, which left him totally disabled. In two days he was transformed from normal retiree to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">hardcore quadriplegic. It's not as tragic as it may seem. He will recover, maybe fully after a couple of years. Since Easter he has regained limited movement in his arms and legs, but is still unable to manipulate objects with his hands or feet.<br /><br />So really it's the ideal time to be confined to a house. Misery loves company and neither my father or myself are able to leave this furnished cage. My mother hasn't left the house in like 15 years, with the exception of Sunday mass and a 10-day trip to China a couple years back. How could I even complain? At least I can open the cover of a book to read and oh, what a joy it now seems to handle my own spoon!<br />But still, I will complain. I will be bored, bitchy and sarcastic. And while I wager no one will ever read this, the threat it does cross the path of another pair of eyes adds a bit of excitement to my day.<br /></span><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816049337585486820.post-86491006509576524302009-07-13T06:36:00.000-07:002009-07-13T06:38:05.676-07:00It's not jail, but it is incarcerationWelcome to the one-month tale of house arrest from the perspective of me, Sarah. <input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02962051905378357536noreply@blogger.com0