So, ages later, she picks up the keyboard once more... Or mouse... Or CPU tower... Or monitor... Or whatever possible thing she could possibly pick up, although really none fit, since she is using a laptop and everything is internal. Hm.... Why is it that idiomatic expressions, even when totally warped to fit the situation, still never convey what you wish they would? :(

Anyhow, life goes on, at least a semblance of life. Right now, I'm sitting on my bed in Oxford, England, nicely bored out of my mind, typing nonsense and recalling the long list of nothing that I have to do tomorrow. It may sound dull, but it feels like I can breathe again... I highly recommend doing nothing for all people in my situation. It works wonders for the complexion, digestion, mentality, and sexuality... hee hee.

Well, no more artsy-fartsy boyfriend. More like fartsy ex-boyfriend who is a major f***ing loser who wouldn't know his oil filter from his a**hole if he had a mirror and a latex glove. But, who cares anyway? We hate him -- me and you and everyone else who has any shred of decency left in their souls. Especially Tart, to whom this blog is dedicated. She's been bugging me for weeks and possibly even months, to post another one as a sort of purging of my hurt and hatred, and though this isn't going to be the revelation that she may have been hoping for, at least I have gotten back on the horse, so to speak. So Amy, thank you for all you have done for me and with me over the past 6 months or so. You have been my red-haired buddy and my sweet-tart friend. LOVE!!!

So, has anyone seen the movie "We Were Soldiers"? Tart, Druzba and I went to the theatre tonight to take a gander at this, another war movie in a long line of war movies (all trying to be "Saving Private Ryan", and all released in the aftermath of Sept. 11th but after waiting just long enough to make us patriotic instead of hysterical). Anyway, it was a decent flick -- nothing too impressive, although blood did hit the camera lens more than once, which always makes for a better war movie. The most enjoyable thing about it, though, has to be the Vietnamese colonel, or at least the way American filmmakers portrayed him.

How little credit can we give this guy? He somehow managed to burrow an entire army into a mountain: feat number one. Then he craftily lures the dumb American tough guys within a mile of his home base and brutally attacks them: feat number two. And through the more than 2 hours of film, he defends the mountain, advances on the Americans, and comes within a hair's breadth of slaughtering them despite their impressive helicopters, artillery and remote missile launchings. And yet, how do we show him?

"Quick, Colonel! The American helicopter soldiers are coming!"
"Yes, get ready."

That's it. No "What are their coordinates? How many troops?" Just helicopter soldiers are on the way.
Wait, there's more... way more.

Americans: "We need illumination at 150 Alpha Bravo Charlie company platoon leader command post LZ 5."
Vietnamese: "We will flank them: go!"
Americans: "Reinforcements are necessary in location LZ Delta Charlie Tango 163 East 45th Parallel."
Vietnamese: "Let us catch them by their belt buckle!"

Is this all we think they know about commanding ground troops? Belt buckles? And we LOST this war?
Ok... and did you notice the discrepancies in their cartography techniques? While the Americans, who just entered this area a day ago, have detailed topographical maps complete with tiny American and Vietnamese flags to locate the position of troops, the Vietnamese, who have been living in the mountain long enough to build the elaborate tunnel system with electric wiring, have a rough piece of parchment with X's and O's drawn on it, and little arrows, all resembling a football play FAR more than actual troop maneuvers. The map? A rough, oval drawing that is the mountain, and a dotted line which MIGHT be the Creek Bed they keep referring to. Interesting. Again: and we LOST this war?

I think we might need to review our take on prejudice in movie making. Just a tad.

So, I have about 3 readers of this blog, including Druzba, Tart and Jessie (friends and relatives, all), so this is probably either old hat, or you're surfing the web, looking for Jennifer Aniston sites and somehow JamBar came up as a result, and therefore you are so far from being interested in my personal life that you are contemplating picking your nose rather than reading this... BUT in case you are interested, here's a thought: DO NOT, no matter how you may be cajoled, implored or otherwise coerced, take your car to the Prompto in Portland, Maine. Don't get me wrong. I love Prompto. Being a girl with an artsy-fartsy boyfriend (thus negating the possibility that either of us could even FIND the oil filter, let alone change it), Prompto is a God-send full of greasy, underpaid men who are willing to spend 8 hours of their lives in a pit in the floor looking up at oil-dripping vehicles. But the one in Portland is evil.

I own a brand-spanking new Honda Civic EX, which is the first new car I've ever had in my life, and which is still awaiting my first actual payment. Yet somehow, Prompto managed to leave the oil filter loose, allowing the entire quantity of oil contained in my car to dribble out the bottom, and they overfilled the anti-freeze by about 300%, causing it to burn and emit a lovely smell of roasted engine. Now my check engine light is on, and I have to take it to the dealership to be investigated. Cute, huh?

Of course, you may ALL bring your cars to the Prompto in Farmington. They fixed the filter, refilled the oil, issued a gift certificate and promptly (hee hee) reprimanded the other evil worker. They are cherubs of oil change heaven. Just DON'T, if you value your vehicle, go to Portland. Trust me. Please.

If you haven't looked outside, lately, I need to let you know that you can turn down your thermostat. Due to global warming, ozone depletion, El Nino, or possibly God having a grudge against the ski industry (maybe he resents the high lift-ticket prices -- I know I do), temperatures have been rising and February's wrath has become a tepid bath of melted snow. Which stinks in one respect -- no more snow days off from school -- but does hold some value... perhaps the tourists, who are currently traipsing through our backroads en route to the next snow-capped peak, will find it unsavory and go home. Perhaps they won't appreciate the mud splatters on their pristine SUV's that have never before encountered earth not slathered with tar. Perhaps they won't love the puddles and slush at the edges of their beloved white mountains that they will have to sludge through to get to the slopes. Perhaps -- and this is the ultimate -- they will get their enormous behemoths of gas-guzzling vehicles stuck in the mud (they all have 4WD, but I ask you, when was the last time they had to use it?) and, swearing in their Bostonian accents and stomping their brand-new LLBean GoreTex boots that will never see below zero temperatures or any winter conditions worse than those behind a snowblower, will give up and FRIGGING LEAVE!!!! Please?

How many shoes is too many shoes? (And, in case you are wondering, this question is directed only toward women and fashionable males, since the average guy's answer is pretty obvious.) I, myself, have probably around 40 pairs of shoes, including boots, sneakers, slippers and flip-flops. Yes, I admit this is a bit much. But buying shoes is one of my only vices (BK Whoppers also come to mind) and sometimes deals are just too good to pass up. Like, for instance, today's deal: an $80 pair of New Balance sneakers for $19.99. Sure I just got a pair of sneaks on Monday, but how can a money-conscious female ignore a bargain like that? My boyfriend, however, disagrees. "How many pairs of sneakers do you need?" he asked when I told him of my purchase. And then, with a deep sigh, he answered his own question (correctly, I might add): "All of them." :) Need and want, I informed him, are two very different things. Want usually wins.

Let me guess... You've been watching the Olympics, too. Great. So you know what I'm talking about when I say that Bode Miller is so hot he should have melted the snow he skiied over on his way to earn his second Silver Medal. I know, I know. The Olympic Games are about skill, derring do, courage and strength... But aren't they also about watching really fit, beautiful people impress us with their unparalleled power and zest for life? And does it really hurt if they are incredibly cute too? I don't think so. So what you need to do, is go here and vote for him as the best Olympian. That's your job. Your mission. Go. Now.

Well, I just accomplished my first successful bid on Ebay. Yes, I know most of you are thinking "Dear God, how long has she been living in that cave, exactly?" but I've been just a tad wary of shelling out my hard-earned money for an uncertainty. And, at least according to the way I handled this escapade, I should have been wary. Not of the other person, necessarily, but of myself. Apparently, I don't have a shred of haggling ability or common sense because I placed two bids on identical items and came within 4 hours of ending up with both. I guess I was thinking something like "Well, if one doesn't work out, at least I have a chance with the other" but I didn't stop to consider the possibility that I'd have TWO. College just doesn't prepare you for these kinds of quandaries.

Wow, am I glad to finally be able to join the massive, innovative and hyper-intelligent (yet socially-challenged) community of world wide web loggers. After trying all morning to get my account to work (and I'm talking HOURS) the site has decided to accept my information and not return a "This Page Cannot Be Displayed" error in place of my blog. Thank God! Of course, I doubt God has anything to do with it; web logs are probably not high on His list of priorities right now. Instead, he's most likely hovering over Utah, intent on making this the most controversial Olympics in North American history. Did you SEE that Short Track Speed Skating race? Ugh. What a train wreck. Anyhoo, seeing as how it's quarter to 12, I think I'll head off for now. Zzzz....