Joannafesto: The Lifestyle

In an effort to become more like media mogul Oprah Windfrey, to maybe get some free stuff thrown my way, I have decided to brand "Joannafesto" as a whole lifestyle. So, without further adue, here is a list of products endorsed by "Joannafesto" (also known as me):

1. Gizeh Birkenstocks: Especially now that they are available in a snappy leopard print.

2. Miracle Worker Face Cream by Philosophy. Better than even "Hope in a Jar". Take that Oprah!

3. Touche e'clat by Yves Saint Laurent: Don't leave home without it.

4. Anti-Monkey Butt Powder: Finally a product that does what it says it is going to do.

5. Sensodyne Toothpaste: I have a lot of bridgework and this stuff works.

6. Glide Dental Floss: Because, as I found-out YEARS too late, flossing is more important than brushing.

7. Gold Bond Foot Cream: Better even than the fancy French stuff, and I really like fancy French stuff.

8. Hampton Inns: I can't get enough of fluffy bed and the wafflemakers.

9. Publix: The best grocery store chain EVER. Sure, it is a little over-priced, but I really like the faux lightening storm sound effects that play right before the produce sprinklers go off. It makes me SO happy!

10. Cotton/Lycra Blends: Who ever through of putting lycra in blue jeans was a genius. Finally, pants I can sit in!

Well, that is the first top ten. So get shopping and tell them "Joannafesto" sent you! And don't forget that the "Stop the Music" poll ends soon. Remember to vote!

Chris Brown: Don't Buy It

Ugh! Chris Brown boo-hoo-hooing at the BET awards was pretty much to be expected, I suppose. It was a cunningly clever move of Brown to appear for his first major event after beating-up Rihanna in a Michael Jackson tribute. No audience was going to boo that off of stage. Leave it to this creep to use Michael Jackson's untimely death to try to resurrect the untimely demise of his own career. The breaking down during the "Man in the Mirror" part of the routine was over-wrought, but people seemed to be buying it. Oh, I am sure Chris Brown had some authentic tears -- tears of joy that the audience didn't boo his sorry ass off the stage. Was the audience singing the song because of Michael Jackson, or because of Chris Brown's remorseful posturing? If it was because of the later I have a little problem with people being so hot to forgive this world-class creep. Chris Brown SERIOUSLY BEAT Rihanna. Did people not see the pictures of what he did to her? He beat her face bloody. It was shocking. Nothing Chris Brown has said or done indicates that he is sorry for what he did to Rihanna. He seems sorry that his career is in the toilet because of this incident -- because he got caught. Of course the only person who can know whether or not he is truly sorry and truly changed is Chris Brown. However, he committed a serious crime against Rihanna and it disturbs me that people seem so willing to forgive him. Domestic violence is a crime. People who commit acts of domestic violence rarely change -- I suppose they can, but they don't. Once in a blue moon you get someone who sincerely changes, but that is the exception and not the rule. Everyone gets their panties in a bunch over the example Hollywood sets for young people -- what sort of example is being set by everyone being so hot to forgive this guy? Is he being forgiven because he is cute, young and talented? Is all that it takes is one clever publicity stunt and Chris Brown gets his career back? I hope not. What this creep did to Rihanna was a serious crime. Let's treat it as such. There are a whole lot of talented, cute people out there who don't beat women -- let's pay attention to them.

My Cell Phone is Pink

People were so excited about the new i-phone this week that lines started forming at Apple stores at o'dark-thirty in the morning. All day people were standing in line hoping to get a NEW cell phone. They weren't giving them away, either. People still had to pay for the things.

There were a couple of things I would like to know: 1. What sort of jobs do people have where they can get up at o'dark thirty and stand in line all day during the week to get a cell phone? 2. If you can do so much over a cell phone, why can't you just buy this cell phone over a cell phone?

My cell phone is pink. That probably scores me about a 100% on the dork-o-meter, but one of the best things about getting old is that I really don't have to give a crap about being cool anymore. People who try to be cool over the age of about 35 are just sort of sad in a pathetic John Gosselin-Ed-Hardy-t-shirt-wearing sort of way. I am not saying you can't be current, but trying to be cool is just so painfully unfortunate. We have a neighbor, who I am certain is younger than me, but of a certain age who still D.J.'s once a week at a local club (in-NOT-Atlanta, Georgia) and drives a red mustang. He's could be the poster douche lord for mid-life crisis. He and his wife have these fights because he is always flirting with women in the neighborhood. The guy is a total putz, I'm sure he dyes his hair, yet he looks at ME like those guys in high school who thought they were so hot -- like I should want him. Not in you dreams, dude. Every neighborhood has at least one of these guys, and if yours doesn't, you need to get one because they are just loads of fun and guarantee a really great police presence in your neighborhood at least once or twice a week. Where was I?

Oh, yes -- My cell phone is pink and I am a dork. My big requirement for a cell phone is that it works. I wanted a different color than my husband's because I don't want to accidently pick-up his cell and get called for something of national importance when I am in the drive-thru at Chick-fil-a. He'd never go NEAR a pink phone. It took me forever to even attempt to carry a cell phone because when I am shopping I like to be shopping, when I am driving, I like to be driving. You get the picture. The cell phone derails my train of thought and some days that train has serious issues pulling into the 'ol depot. Nothing like standing in Lowe's after having hung-up and thinking: Why am I here? Sooner or later it's the universal question we must all ask ourselves -- but when I am at Lowe's for fire ant killer it is just not the time. My New Year's Resolution one year was to remember to carry the cell phone. This went about as well as all my other resolutions. Seriously, I have heart problems, but I just can't seem to remember the damn thing. I know I NEED to carry it. I just have issues with it.

Now my husband is deployed and I am TRYING to remember to carry the cell phone because who knows WHEN he might call. I sort of resent being tethered to the thing, but other people seem to love theirs. How many times have I seen people in the grocery store, phone in hand: "Do you want French cut green beens or regular green beans? Del Monte or the store brand? Oh, look, they are buy-one-get-one-free! Should I get more than one?" What the hell do these people do when they have to make a REAL decision in life BY THEMSELVES? It's green beans. Pick a can. It makes me crazy in part because I am one of those people always answering questions that people on the cell phone are actually asking the person on the other end of the line. Then, when somebody in the store really DOES ask me a question, I find myself asking: "Are you talking to me?". I swear this phrase is probably now used in the grocery store more than in the New Jersey mafia. It has become the grocery store equivalent of: "Can you hear me now?".

My other two requirements for a cell phone are that it holds a charge AND, this is the most important, I can figure-out how to use it with a minimum of effort. I first worked on computers in the late 80's and occasionally over think current technology -- I think it is more difficult than it actually is. The truth of the matter is if I can set-up a blog on my own a drunk monkey can do it. However, I lack the patience for figuring out just what the little pictures on the cell phone mean. NOTHING comes with written instructions of any value any more. They just expect you to start pushing buttons like the aforementioned drunk monkey and see what happens. I lived in the age when pressing the wrong button on a computer could crash the thing FOREVER. I developed a reasonable respect for computers and learned to refrain from just willy-nilly pushing keys. The DMPB (drunk monkey pushing buttons) school of learning makes me nervous. I fear calling Lapland by accident and getting charged for it. Bottom line: I would not get a new phone unless I HAD to because I would have to learn how to use it. Yes, I am that lazy. However, bazillions of people were standing in line for hours to get this NEW cell phone. Since they already make phones that vibrate, I can't imagine what a cell phone could possibly do that could be SO much better.

This week our land line crapped-out at a most inconvinient time, so I was grateful to have a cell phone. I just don't get why people are so throughly obsessed with cell phones. To me they are a necessary evil -- like tampons or something. Nice to have, and maybe you do need it, but what is the big deal? Did it come in pink?

Poll: Stop the Music?

I have said some pretty outrageous things on this blog, but so far people seem to be "getting me". I have established a decent readership, my friends read this and hopefully have a little fun with it. That is pretty much the point -- outside of establishing myself as an A-list celebrity, landing my own reality show and creating the framework in which I single-handedly create world peace. Nobody really complained too much. Oh sure, an errant bellydancer once called me an ass, but no big whoop. (I still don't quite get what her point was.) Then yesterday I got such a shocker: Somebody doesn't like my music!!! That is correct, according to one of my FORMER readers: Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, Lena Horne, Billie Holiday, Eartha Kitt, Edith Piaff, Ella Fitzgerald, Chuck Berry, etc. -- YOU SUCK!!!

About the music: I grew up in the sixties in a town called Decatur, Illinois. Decatur was/is known for being the "Soy Bean Capital of the World". I got up every morning and my folks tuned the Danish Modern radio into the local radio station "WSOY". I have fond memories of eating "Captain Crunch" and listening to songs by Herman and the Hermits, the Tijuana Brass and The New Vaudeville Band. I remember skipping off to school, staring down at my new go-go boots and singing "These Boots are Made for Walking" (Probably right before falling directly on my ass -- coordination never having been my strong suit). So when I was surfing through some other blogs I stumbled upon a FREE MUSIC player. I just knew my blog needed this. I imagined that "Joannafesto" could become even greater and I ventured to create a whole gestalt -- a "Joannafesto Experience" of sorts. I added the songs of my youth and WSOY to my playlist, and then as inspiration struck me. Just to mix things up, I put the playlist on shuffle. No one complained and a couple of you even ENCOURAGED me. Then yesterday somebody posted on my article regarding the destruction of the Gulf of Mexico by BP that I needed to rid my blog of the music or I WOULD LOSE A READER. This person prefers his OWN music.

Once I picked myself up off the floor from my shock of these disparaging comments, I thoughtfully considered them. The truth of the matter is that I have been thinking of ditching the music for quite awhile. My friends are a sneaky, subversive lot and I know a lot of you are "sneak reading" this at work. I realize the music makes it harder to sneak-a-peek at work if you forget to turn-off the volume on your computer and Chuck Berry starts to wail when you are supposed to be doing the quarterly reports. I was considering removing the music as it was, pardon the pun, played-out. Then someone threatened me with a loss of readership-- primarily his -- if I did not stop the music. This would bring my entire readership down from three people to two (not including me, of course), so representationally if I didn't get rid of the music I risked losing 1/3 of my readership. BUT, alas and alack, I grew-up in the sixties and have this whole rebel-with-out-a-clue thing that clicks off and on when someone tries to MAKE me do something. Thus, I prepared to dig in my heels and NEVER STOP THE MUSIC on "Joannafesto". Then I realized that if I did EITHER THING -- keep or lose the music -- I would be letting ONE reader have entirely too much control over my blog. So in the spirit of democracy I am putting this issue to a vote. I can't promise I will do what ANYBODY tells me to do -- but I might. So cast your vote NOW or forever hold your peace (Or at least locate the volume controls on your computer. There is also a button on the pink box at the bottom of my blog with double vertical lines. If you press it, it shuts off the music.).

Toddlers and Tiaras: The Ten and (Way) Up Division

Just when I thought pacifier chomping, gravely voiced, possible spawn-of-Satan MaKenzie had locked-up the title for "crazy" on T.V.'s "Toddlers and Tiaras" those pageant wackos managed to raise the proverbial "bar-on-crazy" sky high. Once again, from the annals of "I-can't-make-this-shit-up" enter one pageant coach: Brandi.

Brandi left pageants a few years ago and really missed them, so she decided to make a comeback. At first we are lead to believe that her comeback is in the form of coaching another little girl, Lauren. Slowly, as if to keep the viewers from serious head injury, "Toddlers and Tiaras" reveals that Brandi is also a contestant. This would not be so unusual if Brandi were not a thirty-one year old woman. That is correct: This week there was a thirty-one year old woman in the ten and up division of the kiddie pageant. Then, before you can say "enabler", Brandi's mother enters: She is a pill-popping, Valium-pushing hairdresser who does Brandi's hair. Everyone kept an eye on Brandi's mom too, because according to little Lauren, Brandi's mom has been known to "slip-a-mickey", aka "Valium" to stressed-out bystanders!

Brandi and little Lauren even performed a talent routine together. Brandi dressed as "Glinda the Good Witch of the North", Lauren was "Dorothy" and we all went with them to Oz. Little Lauren's mother -- Debbie -- didn't seem to find any of this the least bit abnormal. Debbie, Brandi, Brandi's mom and little Lauren were all just one big happy, happy, happy family. Not one of the adults had "both oars in the water", yet little Lauren managed to seem surprisingly normal. (Or maybe I have just been watching to many of these kind of shows...)

Brandi won her age division -- ten and up (way, way up). It's a little sad, yet somehow fortunate that Brandi was the only person in her division. I have a feeling this may happen a lot. Little Lauren also won something or other. They ALL thanked Jesus for how the pageant turned-out. The REALLY good news is, I think in Brandi, I may have found THE soul mate for the "Little Miss Perfect"'s Mr. Michael Galanes. I can just see them floating away on "citrus colored rainbows..".

Never Friend Your Relatives on Facebook

Why, why, why, why, why is it that one's relatives give one the most cause for concern on "Facebook"???? Once again, I have had to block a relative off my "Facebook" page for obnoxious political blabbering. Thank goodness my mother doesn't know how to use a computer. I blame talk radio -- Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh in particular for this unfortunate state of affairs. These two oppressed rich white guys have turned pontificating and reinforcing other people's opinions with their inaccurate political bias into careers. I would like to see both of them get caught soliciting sex in a men's room. Preferably from each other. When, when, when, when, when did all of this political posturing become a socially acceptable form of conversation???? Didn't mom tell them it was rude to discuss religion and politics? Even if they DID get this message relatives think somehow THEY are excluded from this social behavior it comes to you and your "Facebook" page. They believe they are exempt because after all you are family. I guess it makes it okay to subject you to their political opinions because, they think you won't get pissed-off with them and block their ass on "Facebook". The very same people who post their political and religious ideological viewpoints at every whip snitch are the very same people who get pissed when you say something that offends them. From here on out, my goal is to simply offend EVERYBODY. Since these people care so much what my political and religious opinions are, I shall be voicing them freely. That's right people: I have been holding back. Stay tuned.

Small People, Big Douche Bag

Dear Dumb Fucks:

You would think a company with the name "British" in its title would at least find somebody with a decent command of the English language to be its spokesperson. Perhaps BP simply has no freakin' clue as to how heavily armed the South is. Southerners as a whole are patient and polite people, but speaking for myself, I have just about had enough of BP's bullshit. This week I started seeing ads on T.V. explaining how BP really does give a crap about the disaster they have wrecked upon our nation. (A nation, by the way, made-up of mostly "small people" who got really sick of the "big people"--like BP-- screwing us back in the old country). BP can run the biggest damn PR campaign in the universe, but until they shut the bazillion gallons of oil belching into the Gulf of Mexico (and as a Florida girl I like to think of it as MY Gulf of Mexico) on an hourly basis I feel they should focus on fixing the fucking problem. I don't want to hear about how we need to get our nation off of its "addiction to oil" by a bunch of bullshit politicians trying to get a soundbite out of this situation. We have a saying in the South: "When you are up to your ass in alligators, it is hard to remember your initial objective was to drain the swamp." All the finger-pointing in the world is not going to shut-off that nightmare of oil spewing into what is a very delicate Eco-system. At certain times of the year, hotels and residences on the Gulf coast have to turn their lights off, or face hefty fines because hatching sea turtles may mistake the light for the moon and head inland instead of out to sea. Just how'dya' think they are going to fair with all this CRAP spewing in the water? Until BP shuts-off the oil, cleans and pays for the mess they have created, I REALLY don't want to know how much they CARE. As my mother used to say: "Actions speak louder than words." I already have a pretty good idea how much BP "cares" by the INACTION it took during the first few weeks of this crisis, where BP was primarily focused on finding someone else to blame for the ecological and economic crisis BP created.

Very truly yours,
One of the "small people"

Kardashians for Dummies

The "E!" network is rapidly becoming the 24-hour-a-day channel featuring the Kardashians. The Kardashian phenomena is something I REALLY don't get. I have never actually managed to sit through and entire half-hour of their show because I have never been that bored. Usually I can come-up with something more interesting and mentally stimulating to do -- like trimming my toenails. The truly disturbing thing is how much I know about these Kardashians, who I am not even REMOTELY curious about. They aren't even interesting in a "Sarah-Palin-is-she-for-real?" kind of way. I try very hard to know as little about them as possible, yet they seem to be very dominant in the nation's collective psyche. By which I mean the Kardashians are on T.V. all the freakin' time. Therefore, with the recent immigration issues having come to the forefront our nation's politics, I feel that new immigrants may be at a disadvantage if they fail to understand the significance of this American family. So I have taken it upon myself as a public service to decipher the Kardashian family phenomena to those MORE fortunate than myself.

From what I gather, it all started because one of the Kardashians -- Kim -- who is really very pretty has a really big ass. Nobody in Hollywood has a big ass any more. Despite this horrible handicap, little Kim-with-the-big-ass was considered quite a beauty. This really pissed-off her sisters who also had big asses, but were NOT considered great beauties. That has to sort of stick in your craw. Someone decided that this would make a good T.V. show. It was not me. Now the other sisters run around trying EVERYTHING to be just as pretty as Kim, but it is not going so well for them. Too bad that all the celebrity magic in the world cannot make up for the genetic toss of the dice that is natural selection. In order to improve their gene pool, and hopefully the looks of their off-spring, the big-assed, but not so pretty Kardashians get drunk and date rich athletes. And by "date" I mean sleep with. It is not as easy to date rich athletes as it looks, and the girls are prone to resorting to all kinds of desperate measures to get their attention, except for Kim. I think the Kardashians may belong to some sort of peculiar religious cult, because despite the predilection for sleeping around, they do not believe in using birth control. It also seems that for the Kardashians, marriage actually hinders the process of conception. I am not aware of any physical or metaphysical reasons for this, it has just my observation. Bruce Jenner -- an Olympic decathlon gold medalist married Kris Kardashian, who intended to improve the Kardashian gene pool, or at least so her average, but big-assed daughters, could have a shot at meeting more athletes. I think Kris Kardashian may have as many children as those Dugger people, but I don't really watch that show either so I don't have numbers. There are so many of them and they tend to breed rapidly.

I think there is a hidden agenda here: The huge demand for constant celebrity news and the dearth of shows like "TMZ", "Access Hollywood", "E.T." etc., not to mention the entertainment segments on "news" shows create a huge demand for material. What better, more economical way to fill it than with the prolific Kardashian clan? Have a celebrity cancel on you and need to fill a time slot? There is probably a Kardashian floating around somewhere just waiting to fill your dead time. She'll probably be right in your town, too. It's a cable T.V. network executive's dream. What the Kardashians lack in quality they make-up for in quantity. Like the giant oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, Kardashians just keep spewing forth -- whether we want them to or not.

Don't Drink the Kool-Aid!

People do like to get worked into a frenzy over political issues. I used to be one of them. One of the curses/blessings about being middle-aged is that everything in your life about the middle. I think the thickening of the mid-section that comes with age and menopause is may very well be a biological metaphor -- albeit a cruel one. Since everyone seems to care so much about MY political opinions, which is usually just a ploy so they can pontificate on their own opinions, here is a list of a few things I believe:

1. I am pro-choice. I believe a woman's ability to control her reproductive system is not an issue that should involve the state. If someone is against abortion, then by all means they should not have an abortion. Until science can issue a definitive statement on when the "soul" enters human body, the decision to continue a pregnancy or terminate a pregnancy is between a WOMAN and her doctor. When men can carry children and their bodies bear the physical strain of giving birth, they can have a say. Until then, men run just about everything else, so they can shut-the-fuck-up about MY BODY. (Please don't try to engage me in a discussion about this issue, because my opinion is pretty much set in stone on this one. Discussing it gives me a damn headache, and since I no longer have a uterus, I only have a philosophical stake in the issue and not a personal one. If you would like to disagree with me, you are free to do so, but not one this blog. I HATE discussing this subject.)

2. I love gay people. If you are gay and want to get married, have at it.

3. I support our military. O.K., if you have been following me nodding your head yes, this one may have you doing a Scooby-Doo and going: "Hurruh?" I have issues about U.S. involvement in Iraq, but Saddam Hussein was an evil, evil man who killed lots of innocent people. Until the U.S. is no longer dependent on oil, it behooves the U.S. control the oil in that region. Imperialistic? Maybe. Morally wrong? Could be. Politically advantageous to the Western way of life? Yup.

I completely support our military in the war in Afghanistan. I will always and forever be pissed-off about what happened on 9/11/2001. To fail to understand the intent of jihad in fundamentalist Islam is dangerous indeed.

4. I do not believe Barrack Obama is the second-coming or the anti-Christ.

5. I think that BP is mostly responsible for the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico and as a Florida girl, I am just sick about it.

5. I HATE talk radio. It is divisive, full of lies and misinformation and resolves nothing -- even when I agree with it.

6. I love a good conspiracy theory, but I don't believe in them.

Now that ought to upset just about everybody.

Have a nice day!

Beauty IS a Beast: Toddlers and Tiaras Returns!

After a brief break in the broadcasts of two of my favorite reality televisions series "Toddlers and Tiaras" and "Little Miss Perfect", which I tend to think of as the same thing, "Toddlers and Tiaras" returned this evening for a fresh new season. This disturbing foray into the peculiar parallel universe (train wreck) that is the child beauty pageant world did not disappoint. It was almost worth the wait.

Enter one four-year old girl named MaKenzie. Clearly MaKenzie had long ago seized control of her household and was moving-on to take over the pageant world. It was obvious her parents were afraid of her. Hell, even I was a little afraid of her. As one little pageant girl put it: "I didn't like MaKenzie; she tried to bite me." I suspect there is a lot of metaphorical back-biting in the pageant world, but I got the feeling MaKenzie's biting was pretty much the real deal. With a gravely voice that sounded like she'd been smoking a pack-a-day for the past twenty years, MaKenzie clenched a pacifier ("ni-ni" she called it) between her teeth and growled commands at everybody. If ni-ni went missing, there was hell to pay for everybody concerned. MaKenzie treated ni-ni with the same kind of regard a crackhead has for a pipe. It was truly a sight to behold. Pageant people refer to such behavior from pageant girls as being a "diva" or a "firecracker". Some, like me, would call it being a brat. MaKenzie was pretty much the poster child for corporal punishment. If she hadn't been a four-year-old, I would have said: "Someone phone hell. Satan is missing a soul."

Do You Know Where Your Husband Lives?: Census 2010, Part 2

I try to be a law-abiding citizen. Seriously, I do. I have never gotten into trouble with the law over anything greater than a parking ticket which, I might add, I only got because I loaned my car to one of the attorneys I worked for and SHE got the ticket. Lest I sound like some cheerful, goody-goody nice sort, if you have read this blog at all, you may have noticed I have kind of a bitchy streak. You may have also taken note that I do not suffer fools gladly and suffer institutionalized foolishness is even less gladly. The cruel irony that the Bulldog (my husband) is in the highly institutionalized military has not escaped my notice, and has occasionally worked my last nerve. Being well-versed in the ways of bureaucrats, I try avoid them at all costs. At the very least, I try not to be blind-sided. If I have to deal with one, I take a deep sign, and put myself in my invisible, bureaucrat-proof psychic bubble-of-protection where not even the most well-seasoned form-wielding nonsense peddler can rattle me. I also carry a rabbit's foot, just in case. When I went searching for an illustration to go with this essay, I discovered that even Buckingham Palace has to answer those stupid Census Bureau questions. So, if they can make the Queen do it, I guess they can pretty much make me, too.

Saturday, after a rare day of socializing, I noticed the message light was blinking on the answering machine. It was the Census Bureau. They had a few questions they needed to ask me. Son-of-bitch. Now what did they want? O.K., so I initially had a FEW problems filling out the form which required that I kind of scribble things out, and write things in, but I had finally determined, under careful consideration and a long distance consultation with the Bulldog that TWO people live here. One. Two. O.K., so maybe the Bulldog WAS out-of-state on April 1, 2010, but his OFFICIAL home-of-record according to the ARMY is here. In my world, the U.S. Army ALWAYS trumps the Census Bureau -- it just does. Besides, that is what Bulldog said to put down. He owns the house we live in HERE not THERE. Therefore, he didn't get counted THERE, because he was counted HERE.

Of course the census taker I talk to is a serious, suspicious sort. She should have been employed by the FBI. She KNEW I was lying my ass off about where my husband was on April 1. Only moments into our conversation, knowing I totally suck at lying, I blurted out:

"Well... he wasn't HERE, he was THERE." Son-of-a-bitch, I thought. She had me on the ropes. Please don't send me to federal prison.

"Where was he?" she asked.

"The Army. He is in the Army." I think this statement should pretty much explain everything, but noooo....Miss Nosey Pants wanted to know an address for THERE.

"Can I get an address for THERE?" Probably, since Bulldog has to submit a gazillion forms to the army to get paid for being THERE, but seriously, was this any of her business? HE LIVES HERE, DAMN IT!!! I SWEAR HE DOES!!! Man, those people at the Census Bureau can split some hairs. Then I started thinking: Ethnicity. What if she asks me the Bulldog's ethnicity? Please don't ask me any ethnicity questions because on the form I said the Bulldog is Caucasian, when he is a whole lot Spanaird.

Suddenly, the part of my brain that used to work at a law firm started spewing something in "Bureaucratanese":

"I don't understand why the census bureau is putting an additional burden on the families of our servicemen and women requiring them to provide additional information during a time of war that civilians are not required to provide." I said. Hell, I don't know where the Bulldog is half the time, why does the census bureau need to know?

Weird thing was, Bulldog was present for this entire conversation, but the census taker refused to talk to him because he hadn't filed-out the form. Oh, yeah, it was MY ass they were after.

After several more minutes of this exchange, the census taker gave-up and moved on to the next question. When I hung-up I said to the Bulldog:

"I thought when I sent that form in that was the end of this census crap."

"Uh, no. I heard they are doing that a lot this year. You know they are even following-up some of this with personal visits."

Son-of-a-bitch. I just know those people are going to come knocking at the door. Who know where my husband will be by then.