Wednesday, December 28, 2005

My Mother fed us GARBAGE!

And we loved every bite of it! In fact we begged for it!

An old family favorite, which I (Nor my dad or brother.) have had for years is Sandwiches de Basura or, Sandwiches of Garbage in English. They are beyond yummy.

Well except for the beets.

But the proof of my mother's love for me is that she cooks the beets on the side and lets those who want beets (Everyone but me.) add them on their own. I don't know why I have never liked beets, but I don't. And, I have recently found out, they make your pee come out red! How cool gross is that?

Back when my father was much younger and still living in Honduras, there was a woman who had a cart, from which she sold chicken sandwiches. She called them Sandwiches de Pollo, (Chicken Sandwiches.) but her customers started calling them Sandwiches de Basura because they had everything in them. The name caught on and an aunt of mine was able to get the recipe.

Anyway, I have translated the very old and worn recipe for those who might want to try this culinary delight. Be forewarned, there is a lot of chopping and the end result is messy to eat. But SO worth it!

Sandwiches de Basura
Serves 8.

3 pounds of chicken
2 stalks of celery (Halved)
4 sprigs of parsley
3/4 of an onion (Quartered)
1/2 of a green pepper
5 tomatoes (Firm, peeled and quartered)
2 tsp. salt
pepper (To taste)
6 cloves of garlic
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
poultry seasoning
1 Tbsp. of Catsup
2 beets (Bleah)
2 potatoes
2 carrots
1/4 cabbage (Cut like cole slaw)
1/2 can of tomato paste
1/2 Tbsp. of oil
1/2 pound of butter
French rolls

-Cut up chicken. (Raw) Add to pot with 4 cups of water.
-Add celery, parsley, onion, green pepper, tomatoes, salt, pepper, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, paprika and poultry seasoning. Cook til tender, then add Catsup. (Or Ketchup, whatever.)
-Cook beets, (Or not.) potatoes, carrots and cabbage. Cube and mix well.
-Remove chicken to a plate, skin and de-bone.
-Heat 1/2 can of tomato paste in 1/2 Tbsp. of oil until dark red.
-Remove celery, some onion, parsley and green pepper from broth.
-Take 3 1/2 cups of the broth from the chicken (With the tomatoes and the rest of the onion in it.), and puree it in a blender. Add to the tomato paste and heat. If lumpy, puree again. Add butter and bring to a boil, then reduce to simmer for 30 minutes.
-Wash lettuce (I like Romaine lettuce for this.) and tear large enough pieces for bread.
-Cut French rolls in half, (Lengthwise, you are making sandwiches.) butter, mustard and heat. (Or toast.)
-Fill bread with chicken, veggies, sauce and a leaf of lettuce.


Random fact: I'm supposed to be packing right now.

Monday, December 26, 2005

Nativity Anonymous

I love my mother dearly, but she seems to either be A) Addicted to Nativity sets, or 2) senile and forgetting that she has one (Several) so she buys another one. (Several) I have found at least seven in the house so far. And that isn't including the origami one that I made for her many years ago. She asked me to make them stand again. I'm working on it, but my brother and I are planning an intervention.


I have my own collection.

Friday, December 23, 2005

I'm Dreaming of a Wet Christmas

Greetings from Salem, OR! The weather here is in the 50's and cloudy/rainy. Phoenix will be in the upper 70's all week, and sunny. (What the heck am I still doing living in a place where you can wear shorts to Christmas shop?)

I have endured the hardships of traveling during the busiest time of year to be with my family for the holidays. I have endured setbacks, missed flights, minor disasters, frustration, sleep deprivation and invasive probing (At the airport. I'm not that kind of boy.) to be with my mother, father and brother.

"Why?" you may ask. (No really, you may. Go ahead.)

Because these people get me!

Now, granted, they most likely do so because they have had a direct hand in the formation of the psyche that fills this seat and pours out these blogs to you. My brother and I can communicate in random movie/comedy quotes which no one else can comprehend as any type of discernible mode of discourse. We riff off of each other and let people try to keep up. (And keep from wetting themselves laughing.)

I love not only the jokes, but the reminiscing about times long since gone and things almost forgotten. I love that I can discuss religion and politics and just about anything, with people who might not always agree with my point of view, but will accept my opinions with open minds.

I am very fortunate to have a very loving and caring family. Granted, we have our quirks, as any group of people will, but I know that I will always have my safe place here, no matter what happens in the "real world." I feel blessed that my parents raised me with integrity, respect, compassion, morals and common sense. I feel further blessed in knowing that I am not alone in my expectations of what people can be, given half the chance.

I can't remember the last time that I have been able to spend time with my mom, dad and brother, just the four of us, but it has been too long. I love the recharge that I get from being with them. This, to me, is what Christmas is all about. Spending time laughing, smiling, joking and being with the ones you love.

I wish you all the very happiest of holidays, may they be warm, joyous times.


Random fact: I am off to decorate the first live tree I have seen since the 80's.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Pretty Little Lies

I was talking with dome co-workers the other day and I made some joke about the fact that my hair is no longer fully covering my head. Most chuckled, but one said that I shouldn’t say such mean things about myself. I told her that I was not being mean, just being honest about the fact that I am losing my hair.

But that interaction got me thinking.

It seems to me that we spend a great deal of time telling ourselves lies about the things that we don’t like about ourselves. Things like I’m not that overweight/hygienically challenged/socially inept. Or whatever your own personal hang up might be. We seem to think that if we convince ourselves that we aren’t really that way that it will be true. If I buy clothes to try to hide my extra pounds, they won’t exist. If you wear that push up bra, you will have bigger boobs. That comb over will make you less bald. And, in my opinion, it seems silly that we try to fool ourselves like this.

None of these things will change the truth of who we are.

In fact, if anyone should be immune to our chicanery, it should be our very self. We should not be able to lie to ourselves so effectively. It seems far healthier to take a realistic look at ourselves and to accept who we are. This doesn’t mean that we can’t change things about ourselves. But how can you make a realistic change when your self image is based on a lie? If one makes an honest inventory of one’s self, and is willing to look at the truth of themselves, without reasoning, excusing or rationalizing, then one has the basis to make an honest change.

I know the aspects of myself that are not in line with what the media or popular opinion would have one believe is acceptable. I know that I am overweight and that I have a messed up eating routine. I know that my form of organization is clutter. I know that I have a tendency to run late. However, by acknowledging these characteristics about myself I am able to work with them instead of against them.

When you are able to accept what others perceive as weaknesses as part of who you are and can become comfortable with those things, then they no longer become obstacles to your life. When you can work with your nature rather than against it, your life will be more fulfilling and less stressful.

If you want to change something that doesn’t work for you it is more easily done when you have a realistic idea of what you want to change. And if it is something that can be changed.

Or, at least, that is my philosophy on things.


Random fact: It's not easy being Barbie.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Batten Down the Hatches!


The Prevacid samples seem to be handling the "suicide" hot wings just fine.


Random Fact: I need not suffer in silence while I can still moan, whimper, and complain.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Using the whole fist there, doc?

Okay, so I don’t like going to the doctor. I never really have. I’m not afraid or anything, I’ve just never been a big fan of going to the doctor, nor of taking medication. Which is weird as my father is a doctor, my mom is a nurse and my uncle is also a doctor. I also work with doctors and nurses every night. I have always felt that I have better things to do and have never really needed to go. Until recently, that is. I started having digestive issues about a month and a half ago. And it has been more than just heartburn from eating spicy food. So I decided to swallow my pride (It’s not spicy.) and went to my doctor.

I have had this doctor for just under a year, and this was the second time I have seen him. The first time was for a nasty cold. Now, I really like this doctor, he’s a very nice guy, so I don’t hold any animosity towards him for what I was subjected to today. I know (I hope.) that he was acting in my best interests. For the possibilities of acid reflux or ulcers, he ordered an upper GI. In order to rule out gall bladder trouble he ordered an abdominal ultrasound. I was lucky enough to schedule these tests one right after he other in order to get the results more quickly. Yeah, lucky me.

As prep for the tests, I had to refrain from eating or drinking anything for six hours prior to the tests. I scheduled the tests for the morning so that wasn’t a problem. But I have never woken up so thirsty. I swished water around my mouth and brushed my teeth and off I went.

First up was the abdominal ultrasound. Now, it’s just my opinion, but, if you are going to smear jelly all over my chest and stomach and then prod me with electrical equipment, you should at least talk to me. Especially if your first words to me are “Take off your shirt and lie back on the table.” Maybe I’m just old fashioned. Anybody who knows me will tell you that I am A) Not quiet; and 2) Not shy about talking to people or asking questions. If you are rubbing warm jelly into my stomach, I’m going to have a few questions. I was laying to where I could see the monitor. I wanted to know what parts of my innards I was looking at. I might have to identify them later. And, since they aren’t in color, like in my anatomy texts, I needed help.

So, I got to see my gall bladder and my kidneys and the blood flow through the whole area. Kind of cool. No baby, though. I told the guy if he found one that we’d be rich. He didn’t even crack a smile. Oh well. He finished up and walked out, leaving me there with a puddle of sticky jelly dripping down my side. I’ll bet he doesn’t call. I towel off as best as I can and pull my shirt back on. If you haven’t ever had an ultrasound, you can’t just towel the jelly off; you really need something to wash it off. But there was no sink.

Next stop was for the upper GI. I am lead into a small dressing room by a rather tall medical assistant, who tells me to sit down, then looms over me and asks, “Have you ever been scoped before?” Of course I reply, “Miss, we just met. I don’t even know your name? At least buy me a drink first.” She laughed. Praise be! A human! Next she asked if I knew why the doctor had ordered these tests. My response? “Because I have insurance to cover them.” I am now two for two and feeling less apprehensive about the impending examinations. She tells me that I am going to have to drink some fluid, they will take some pictures and we’ll see what we find.

My next instructions are to take off my pants and shirt, place them in a bag, then put on a gown, with the opening towards the back, then have a seat on the bench outside. No problem. Clothes folded, into bag, robe on…oookay, robe not covering anything back there. Out the door and onto the bench. I can only imagine what I must look like in my fedora, gown and casual boots. I did duck back in for a second gown to cover the backside. (Those benches are cold!)

Luckily I didn’t have too long to wait before I was whisked into a room that looked like it belonged in the engine area of the Enterprise. The tech was a strikingly cute brunette, who smiled. Two humans in a row, I am already doing better than the last stop! The doctor introduced himself to me and had me stand on a platform with my back against a panel. I am told that they are going to take some shots while I am standing, then lay the table back.

Whee, I can hardly wait.

They close a panel in front of me and I am handed a medicine cup full of crystals and another half full of water. “Toss the crystals in the back of your mouth, then wash them down with the water. It’ll make you want to burp, but don’t.” They weren’t kidding. Then I get to have my first drink of barium solution. Okay, if you read back, you’ll notice that I was told that I was going to be given some fluid. This was not fluid in the same way that a brick is not a good thing to drop on your toes. It was what happens to chalk when it gets melted with cherry flavor and cold mud. I drank it as fast as I could so that I wouldn’t throw it up. Or belch, because there was certainly a bit of gurgling going on in my stomach.

They started taking pictures and asking me to hold my breath. Then the table starts to lean back. I am asked to rock side to side to coat my stomach with the barium, then to roll over a couple of times. Did I mention that the cover is still closed? It is like trying to roll over in one of those waist up phone booths, if it was lying on its side. And sized to fit. After two spins I am asked to roll onto my stomach and rock side to side again. And, joy of joys, I get to drink a second cup of barium! At least this was through a bendy straw. A few more revolutions and rocking on back and stomach and I am coated well enough for the rest of the procedure.

I am also slightly motion sick and ready to barf barium onto the tile. Luckily I am not claustrophobic.

If you have ever worn a skirt, you can imagine what has happened to the gowns I am wearing. They have hiked up and I thank my mother for making sure I know how to wash a pair of underwear. I am also glad I have opted for the full coverage boxers. In my most polite voice, I opine “You guys just do this to see if people will do anything you ask them to, don’t you?”

I have changed my opinion, the cute tech is certainly a minion of Satan, recording my thrashings on the table for some get together where they watch these films and giggle till they cough up brimstone. The doctor redeems himself by telling me that there are no ulcers anywhere to be found. However, I apparently do have acid reflux disease. So now I get to learn about that and figure out what changes I am going to have to make to my diet. If you can call the crap I eat a diet.

I am now done and able to get dressed and go home, where I will be showering off the left over ultrasound jelly. I am also instructed to drink a lot of water throughout the day. I am sure that if I don’t the barium I ingested will turn into radioactive cement in my stomach. I needn’t have worried, it came out rather quickly. (If you are currently eating, or are about to eat, don’t read the next line.) Barium comes out the color of Gulden’s mustard.

Needless to say, I can’t wait to see what the doctor has in mind for the next time I visit.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find out who to call to audition for my Nexium commercial.


Random fact: Do you know what do with used enemas? Bury ‘em! (Say it out loud.)

Friday, December 09, 2005

Too Stoopid to Breed

I rarely watch the news on TV. Firstly, I have a hard time watching the mannequin people who are reporting the news, in between their so polite laughter at their feeble attempts at humor. Then, there is the tripe that passes for “news” in the first place, add to that their scripted follow up questions to the so-called stories and perhaps you can begin to feel my dislike for television news.

Tonight, however, I had the TV on in the background while I was going through some papers and a story came on that made me stop to listen out of sheer stupidity of some people. Luckily, it was the middle of the night and there was no other news, apparently. Well other than the Southwest Airlines plane that skidded off the runway and killed a young boy.

In the story that boggled my mind, however, it happed to pass that a set of parents, I’ll call them Mr. and Mrs. Dumbschit, apparently left their 7 year old son sleeping in their minivan upon returning home. They left him in the parking lot of their apartment complex. Asleep. Parked in a fire lane!

Now, while they were inside minding their own business, a tow truck, which was contracted through the apartment complex, came by. The driver saw a minivan, unattended in a fire lane. He hooked the minivan up to his truck and left with it to go to impound the vehicle. On his way, he stopped at a mall. It was here that he noticed that there was a 7-year-old boy asleep in the minivan. He immediately called 911.

Our stalwart police forces sprang into action and returned the child to his parents. Of course, charges were pressed. For reckless endangerment. On the tow truck driver!

Let me repeat that; the tow truck driver was charged for reckless endangerment. Because, of course he left his child, sleeping in a vehicle, which was illegally parked, and apparently out of his ability to keep watch, while his minivan was hooked up to a tow truck and hauled away. Oh. Wait. That wasn’t him. It was the child’s parents.

As I stated earlier, luckily this news item was replayed over and over and I could assure myself that I was awake and had, indeed, heard the story correctly.

I remember one night I left my laundry in the back of my (At the time.) Geo Tracker. The back window was unzipped and someone stole a bag of my clean clothes. I remember feeling like a moron for having done that. And I hadn’t even had to carry around and care for those clothes for seven years.

It completely escapes my imagination how someone could, in this day and age, leave their child, unattended, in a parked car. Let alone parked somewhere it was sure to call attention. For example, oh I don’t know, a fire lane! And, let’s not forget, that they DID NOT NOTICE that their minivan was hooked up to a tow truck and hauled away.

So, once again, my TV has proved to me how stupid people are. How Mr. And Mrs. Dumbschit escaped, what, to my mind, is gross negligence, is beyond me. How this could fall entirely on the shoulders of the tow truck driver is another mystery. But it is the Springfield PD that has chosen where the fault fell in this, are clearly working with frozen brain cells. Granted, it did get down to almost 50 degrees here last night. This is the equivalent of below freezing to the rest of the country. (Well, except for California and Florida.)

I have the utmost respect for police officers. I am a regular contributor to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund. I am certain there must be some sort of logical reason that the tow truck driver was charged, but the official statement is that the parents will not be charged.

I have tried to find a link to this story, but all I have is the video link. Click the story about "Tow truck driver faces charges after towing van with child inside."

And all I can hope is that the Dumbschits follow the example of other stupid people and have several more children. The next time they lose one, they might not find it quite this easily.


Random fact: Some days, I want to move into a cabin in the mountains. Some days I want to live on an island in the Caribbean. (I have one picked out already.) And still other days, I just don’t want to leave the house

Monday, December 05, 2005

It Came From The Internet

For quite a while, I was keeping a folder of junk e-mail with titles that made me laugh for one reason or another. One of them became a post all to itself, but here is a list of quickies. Be warned, there are many naughty words contained herein. Also, many typos, which I have left intact.

cleavage 7 curses
--Much more interesting than Plan Nine From Outer Space

Me proud to pull that thing out
--Tarzan and the lion with a thorn in its paw?

Fwd: Wanna hear a joke?
--This one was for penis enlargement pills. Irony at it’s best!

Be Acquainted With Your Further Half
--How much further now? tight..Panties.
--Sung to the tune of “Knights in White Satin”

These girls want more than one cock
--And there are so few women with just the one.

Use your dick as a club
--Who’s the leader of the club that’s made for you and me? D-I-C. K-E-Y…

Give..her Multiple..Orgasms..
--You can see the strain involved just from this line.

Life is Short, Get a Big Tool!
--The H2 is great for over compensators.

Here Is Found The Fountain Of ROCK-HARD
--Just past the Fountain of Youth, hang a left.

Blondes get Large Cock
--Somehow I remember this game differently in my school playground.

Watch Little chicks that Like Big dicks
--Farmer Dick is awfully tall, but he has the best feed.

--He may have lost the house and the kids, but at least Dick got to keep the car.

Don't never not use double-negatives.
--Okay, but these triple negatives are just as bad.

Lose inches in the shower!
--All I lose in the shower is hair.

--If my aim gets so bad that I am running into walls, I want a refund!

Are You Gay And Don't Know it?
--That would explain a lot…

I'll love you more if you stop going bald.
--Sadly, this wasn’t junk mail, but a break up letter.

--Now my feet hang over the end of the bed.

Friend, Your dog can be smarter!
--If he gets any smarter, he’s going to figure out I am an idiot!

--They use the same kind of noose.

Meet Sara from whoremart
--Wow, there’s a Mart for almost everything!

--Umm…Sorry, brain got stuck. WTF?

--Ahh, the Bush twin’s official website.

--They don’t mean the stomach.

Men - Get Larger Where it Counts
--86% of all women say it’s your bank account balance.

Raping Animal Lovers Go To The Extreme!!!
--As if raping animals wasn’t extreme enough.

--So, penis enlargement makes you abusive?


--Yippee! The winning number was 69!

--It beats trying to get your arms to do it. Make sure to towel the bench off.

--As opposed to the straight lesbians?

Stay Rock Hard ALL Night Long Plus Add Inches
--Well, okay, but only if I can add inches, too.

--And she couldn’t do anything! No tag-backs!

Want a good opprotunity!!!
--I’d better look that up before I say yes.

--Must sell! Taxidermist going out of business!

--I don’t have that kind of time! Could I do a couple of 2 hour/12.5 pound sessions?

--Just ask the guy two spots up!

Hung like a h _ _ s _. FILL IN THE BLANKS
--House? Heist? Hoist?

--Jaws was make believe.

Feeling Old? We Can Help!
--Just ask my mom. We make her feel old all the time!

Animals In Action!!!!!!!
--You should see my demon cats for the hour long chase around the house every morning.

--She didn’t really want to. And you could tell.

--The Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson story.

--Sometimes it just seems like it.

--She didn’t want to, either. At least that’s what the restraining order says.


Random Fact: I've been doing this blog for just about a month now. Wow.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Smells Like Kindergarten Spirit

I was at Office Max the other day. Because I love the place. It is as good as shopping for shoes gets. And if you know me, you’ll know how good that is. I own a lot of shoes. More than many women I know. Don’t ask why, I don’t know. I just like shoes. And, no, I’m not gay.

But, back to Office Max.

So there I am, with the new pen I am going to try out, waiting patiently for my turn to check out and looking around the little tubs of things they litter on the counter, like booby traps, waiting to spring on you while you are most vulnerable and least suspicious. I notice they have holiday pens. Scented holiday pens. Two varieties, pine and peppermint scented. Okay, that’s kind of a cute gimmick, but as I am discussing the pens with the young ladies behind the counter, I begin to reminisce (As I have been doing more often of late.) and my brain takes me back to those scented Sanford markers . Now Sanford also makes a permanent marker , which is the only marker I know of in a metal tube versus a plastic one. The reason that they make it a metal encased marker, I believe, is that mere plastic could not hold the distinct odor of these markers. You may have smelled these. You draw a line with one and the smell lingers for two days. If you write out an entire poster with one, you will be left a shadow of your former mental capacity. Once you come out of the coma, that is.

But, as I mentioned previously, Sanford makes the aforementioned children’s scented markers. (No, they don’t smell like children. That would be weird.) (And only priests would buy them.) (Or Michael Jackson perhaps.) I have many fond memories of coloring or drawing with these markers. Of course, you would use some colors more than others, depending on your preference for scent. I was partial to the grape (purple) and root beer (brown) (Which has now become cinnamon.) scents.

So as I am talking with the crack register staff at hand, it occurs to me that it is no wonder we have kids sniffing things to get high. We started them on it! And the more I thought about it, the more I realize how narrowly I escaped being a huffer! Between the Sanford markers, Play Doh , finger paints, rubber cement and lord knows what other school supplies that have been erased from my memory, is it any wonder that I can remember anything from my childhood days at all? I am amazed that I emerged with my brain functioning intact! (Some might argue this opinion.) Although this might explain some of my more bizarre thought patterns.

I am surprised that these items are virtually unchanged from my childhood of thirty-some years past! What with kids wearing helmets for everything and playgrounds being so softened, sanitized and safe that no wonder child really wants to play on them! Any kind of “Danger” (Real, or paranoid parent perceived.) has been so removed from childhood, that I am amazed that we still have these junior mind eraser starter kits in almost every store.

I am already concerned enough about the cognitive abilities of kids as it is. It seems like imagination is less and less a part of their worlds and the only escapism they might find is in the alluring fumes of their school supplies. Who knew the art teacher was the first dealer they’d encounter?

But then, as I said, I have reached my current place in life without ever trying drugs, and with my neurons intact, so maybe the effects aren’t as bad as all that. As a matter of fact, just to prove a point, I drew my parents a Christmas card with the scented Sanford markers that inspired this rambling. And I am just fine.

I like Spaghetti Ohs. They taste like happy. Wow, I have a lot of toes.


Random fact: Yes, you read correctly, I have never tried any kind of illegal drug. Mom and Papi, you did good.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Holy Shite, it's December!

I am accustomed to the date changing in the middle of my work shift; it's one of the hazards of working overnights. But when the hell did it become December? I still remember having to remember to write 2005 instead of 2004. It was just last month, I swear it! But now, midnight has come and gone and it's just about a month til I have to learn the year all over again! That's just not right. I think someone must have cashed in the daylight savings time that has been accruing for years. It is the only logical explanation for the fact that the last year has passed in the span of a couple of months. I know it can't have been 12 months since last Christmas, because I would have lost all the weight I have been planning to lose by this year.

It's frightening to think that this quick passage of time is what the remainder of my life will be like. I have always been a procrastinator, but now I may not even have time to do that any more! It seems like just a few weeks ago that I was celebrating my 36th birthday. At this rate I’ll be 40 by the time I’m 38! (No wonder my mom celebrates the same birthday several years in a row.)

Part of the problem, I am sure, is what I call our “microwave society.” We are so busy trying to get things done faster, we don’t even have time to enjoy what is going on. I love hot tea. But I detest microwaved water. I like my things to have taken some time and effort to have been accomplished. I love to cook, and to my mind (Or at least my taste buds), food cooked and prepared from scratch tastes much better than when is has been nuked. Even the frozen dinners you cook in a skillet are a shadowy reflection of food actually prepared. Of course, when you only have 30 minutes for lunch, some sacrifice must be made.

We no longer write letters. Well, most of us, it is far more practical to write an e-mail and have it delivered within minutes. Imagine the post office didn’t exist and you were to trying to propose the idea of a post office in these times, people would look at you like you were insane!

You - “No, really, we’d have men in trucks and they would come to your house and take your note to someone else’s house. For only 37 cents.”

Your friend - “How long would it take?”

You - “A few days, up to a week, depends on how busy they are.”

Your friend - “Are you on crack right now?”

I bought a crock pot on sale the other day. It was less than half price. I am sure it was so cheap because no one knew what the hell it was. And when they saw “slow cooker” on the box, they probably freaked and went to get an instant double espresso.

And that’s another thing! Between Espresso, energy drinks, Jolt Cola, crack cocaine and crystal meth, how are we supposed to be patient enough to wait for anything anyway? Hell there is even caffeinated gum! Just how fast does a person need to chew anyway?

So, in case I miss you next week, Happy New Year!


Random fact: On this date in 1913, the first drive-in automobile service station opened, in Pittsburgh.