So if I was kidnapped and taken to some undisclosed location, would you pay a ransom of questionable size? My cat would. He is saving up hairballs. He says it is all he has. I still think he could sell some cute pictures on the net. Speaking of, would you pay to see those?

I think staring at outdated defense documents adversely affected my mental capacity. I may be running around the streets this evening with a huge tube thinking about defending my right to bear farms. I so want to wander around with tulip bulbs or other seeds. Okay, I'm not sure that is what I want. In fact, I do know what I want. I want to lick an Eclipse (naw, would I do that?) I want to find my muse. Eh, I know where she lives. She just doesn't talk to girls who don't pump iron anymore, so I am going to have to start pumping iron or ironing gas pumps.

Anyway, I have obviously confused the jumble in my head for something interesting. Just laugh. I will when I read it later, except about this next part. This next part is where my wife goes, "Daw!"

Happy Birthday, my darling Jar-bear. Welcome to another year of your life. May it hold true to its promises and may you never forget that at least one hobbit in the world loves you even if she didn't have the stamina to write you a story this year.

Truth is not determined by the volume of the voice. ~Chinese Proverb

Soft words are hard arguments. ~Thomas Fuller

What do they have in common? They all get sticky as they dry. Of course, you have to have a random pen explosion to prove that about ink. As you can well imagine, this never ever happens to me. They also tend to bind people together, sometimes in the most inextricable and inexplicable ways. Family sticks by family, no matter what the issue, for the most part. Glue of the right type can bind anything together, though I don't think a glue has been invented that could bind Ziggy to little guy. And ink has been known to rally a country together in the most intriguing ways through the ages. Behold the power of the press, eh?

Another day of wonder with the defense documents left me feeling defenseless. It is good to know we have catalogs of nuts and bolts and woodworking equipment. As I was busy trying to shoo them off of my desk, I didn't give my mind too much time to ponder how they apply to defense. I did have a brief moment of clarity when I realized a good stake would be a great defense against vampires. In the meantime, I think it is time to go fight the cats for the bed since they seemed none too thrilled when my body insisted I should be up and completely awake at five in the morning. Oy, it has to stop doing that. Sweet dreams.

"No man can be at peace who is untrue to his better self. No man can have lasting peace who is living a lie." ~Marvin J. Ashton

My better self despises money. She really does and all it stands for--the fighting, the greed, the bitterness, the lies, the deceit, but she has a problem. She likes to pay off her bills. She also tends to give away a lot of things for free or cheap (and I mean that in an innocent way), and that is no way to earn the money to pay off bills. Who hasn't read about how much people monopolize my time? Oh really, haven't been reading this journal too well, have we?

So just in case anyone is looking forward to my birthday, start saving your pennies. Yes, that is what I want for my birthday--pennies ("nickels, quarters, dimes, come to us while there's still time"). I want to pay off my bills. I want to be able to put gas in my car more than once a month without feeling extravagant. I don't want more stuff to pile into my room and stare at.

I am turning into that creature from Labyrinth (heck, her and David Bowie might be buried in my room--which means my Boston wife is in there right now looking for him with those 14 Marines). You think I'm joking? Yeah, well, you don't know me that well. No one does. Heck, I'm a mystery to me, too, but I don't take pride in telling the world how well I know me and misleading them. I also don't think I rule the world or can make it perfect. Someone said that to me once, but I think they got a miscontrued Bella-vue from someone else who thinks they are an expert on all things Bella.

I admit that I apparently am feeling a little down today. Amazing how that happens sometimes. Someday I will just get over trying to please the world and move on. Won't that be terrible? What does one do when their favorite female dog breaks it leash? Realize it was never a dog to begin with and miss it. Ah, yes, that is what one does. You'll understand someday when you're older. *wrinkles up nose* But, perhaps, I have no idea what I am talking about. Anyway, I have other windows to feed. Ta-ta!

That is probably inspired by reading an article about endangered foxes that are about the size of Queen Ziggy when fully grown. It's amazing how little we realize that our existence affects the world around us until we watch it go into a tailspin. Apparently, the foxes were fine until mankind decided to add some new friends to their world and then dumped poisons to kill off one of their defenders. We're amazing, aren't we?

My four fabulous pounds of fuzzy affection is sitting next to me cleaning herself at the moment. She seems quite proud of her accomplishments. I am proud of mine this week as well. Despite my body's desire to remind me that it hates me, I feel I have accomplished quite a bit. My ongoing list of things to do hasn't really been depleted, but I have made a dent in a few of them. Me finishing off things on my list would probably cause some sort of tear in the surface of time.

As long as I can turn some of my trash into treasure though, things should improve. Anyone want to buy a hookah made from cat hair? Didn't think so. That's not in my repertoire, so no worries. I have basically been making quilts and cards. It keeps me happy, and it makes a dent in those piles of stuff I rant and rave about. Besides that, it makes other people happy as well. That is my sincerest hope, anyway. So now that I have mentioned a couple of my random talents, you can offer me lots of money to turn your trash into treasure, too (it's just a thought). For now, however, this hobbit must go and do battle with words elsewhere before her muse disappears behind the sun and doesn't return for a while.

In my sincerest moments, I can't help but wonder if the fault line is in my heart or created by the distance between myself and the world around me. Ever feel you don't belong? Ever know it? Ever feel it echoed in the way people tell you without telling you. If a hobbit speaks wisdom in a whisper and no one bothers to listen, anymore, is there any point in her speaking.

So here I sit again in almost quiet contemplation. The world spins and flows around me. The heart of the earth weeps upward, pouring forth its boiling blood to cleanse us all again. We don't see it though. We don't see what washes over us. We don't see what is right before our eyes. We don't see when someone is asking to be left alone. We don't see when someone needs to rest. We see our own needs. We see our own desires. We make demands and we are never happy with what we are given, even if it is a sacrifice we don't understand. And every one of us has been given a great gift--a gift above all others, but do we truly feel thankful for it. No, we want more. We want power and dominion over each other. Bella weeps and the world can't see it. Perhaps, tonight, I am more the wounded poet than I ever was.

Before I get into my fabulous tirade (hey, you know alliteration alludes to rants), I should mention some of the finer points of my day. The first would be the fact that I woke up this morning and it was past 5am. In fact, it was even after six. That is definitely a sign of a Monday starting well. From there, I had an uneventful morning, despite the fact that I was in the coolest building on campus. Lunch was also about as eventful as your average class can be. We shared a few jokes and discussed the importance of keys, both literal and figurative. It was on the way back to work that my amusement reached new highs. One of my friends decided to ask me if I had a wig. Apparently, he gets to dress up like a lady for class. I find this image very amusing. He hasn't called for the wig yet, but the very idea amuses me enough. Then, I had more fabulous commentary on my trash-usage skills. I really should start selling some of these treasures--so much more valuable because they were made by a web diva.

Now is the time for the wise to step back before the rant begins. The idiots who think they know me best (and don't really understand what I am saying, anyway), may proceed.

Fabulous Facades! Have I used that one before? We keep building up these false fronts. We act like we are so perfect. We pretend we care about something or someone besides ourselves. We claim to believe when our hearts have no faith and our minds are empty slates. We claim to listen when we have gone deaf to the outside world. And some days, I stare into the mirror and wonder if I should pass judgment on the world around me or just avoid those with their daggers unsheathed (no matter how subtle they are about it)?

We're not at war with each other. Yet I feel like I am in a battle. On one hand, people are fighting me for popularity that I am not trying to gain. On another, they are are intent on showing me up (when I have done nothing exceptional). On the third hand, they must get their daggers in about how I am worth less than them. As anyone who has met me can assure you, I have only two hands. I am also tired of fighting. You wouldn't believe the things I have fought for. I am not fighting for foolishness, anymore. If you want my friendship, that is wonderful, but don't expect me to pay for yours. I give what I can when I can. Constantly second guessing me is not going to get you what you want. It's just going to send me back into my cave to paint murals in animal blood and tar upon the walls.

Anyway, I guess the point is that it's about time I act like an adult and change the things I don't like. This doesn't mean getting rid of my cat because he likes to claw me at five in the morning or throwing out my vast collection of reminders that people love me and my sheep and hedgehog addictions though I do see a yard sale in my future. This does, however, mean that I am going to have to stop being nice and just flat-out tell people when they're crossed a line with me. I already started doing that recently due to a little problem I have with holding my tongue when I am not feeling like a totally healthy hobbit (speaking of facades--how many people really noticed I wasn't feeling well, I wonder).

Changing things I don't like also doesn't mean, I want remade in your image. That's another one of my problems. I don't always stand up to people who assume I share their exact ideals. For instance, have I mentioned I am not a hardcore Republican? Yeah, that's right, I won't ever be checking one of those straight party ticket boxes. Frankly, I don't need you to convert me on that one either. I don't like crap comedy (and I am not referring to romantic comedies--I am referring to the hour and a half long sex jokes that seem so popular). I can find a better way to waste an hour and a half (lots of buildings around town have ceiling tiles for me to count).

And now I feel compelled to review for the idiots who can't read or hear but want to "help" me:
1. Don't tell other people what you think I said. Send them to me. I will interpret for them. I don't care who you are or think you are, you are not qualified.
2. Don't ask me randomly to join you for something because someone else bailed on you. If you can make plans with other people in advance, I want to be shown the same level of forethought.
3. If you aren't going to bother listening, don't ask me to speak.
4. Don't assume I have free time. I do have a life outside of you.
5. Don't ask me to do something and then treat me like the most unreliable person on the planet. I tend to be rather reliable (when I am not, it is usually because something came up or I wasn't given the right materials to start with).
6. Don't try to run my life. From what I have seen, most of you don't have that great of a grasp on your own. (Mainly because you have your heads buried in your own rears).
7. Don't tell me how I should feel.
8. Don't lecture me on things and assume you're winning when I go silent. I am probably reverting back to grade school where they reminded us not to say anythinmg if we have nothing nice to say.
9. Don't assume you know more than me because you think your life is so groovy. Just because I don't pipe up with random crap doesn't mean I need help, it usually means I have faith that you are wise enough to figure something out yourself. Extend me the same courtesy.
10. Think before you pass judgment on things around you. Do you have any right? Were you there enough to offer advice?

The first fiche that I beheld this morning was about men and women's underwear and nightwear. It makes my heart warm and fuzzy to know that such things are important enough for the government to have publications on them. I should also mention that these are documents put out by the Department of Defense which gives the term "under-armor" a whole new level of validation. It makes me feel wonderful knowing that I am wearing such valuable, governmental concerns on my person. You know me. That was a just an excuse to get my underwear out there on the web for all to see. *wink* (Feel free to slip me some money for the great joy that has brought you.)

From there, I had no where to go but up. Okay, so the microfiche room is downstairs, so I actually went down. I had to claim myself some new and more exciting fiche. In the meantime, I discovered that fiche don't really help you pick up guys. Some guys just follow you into the microfiche room to try and figure out what exactly the drawing power of fiche is. I am not sure he figured it out, but I'll be sure to ask him later, after he has had time to mull it over.

The rest of the day has been rather uneventful. The major highlight being that I am progressing well in my quilt production company. I just need to find the means to pick up a few more essential materials so I can finish them. Yes, some things are not randomly stashed away in my piles of materials in case of need. I'll work it all out though. That's what hobbits do best when they aren't snuggling up to a good book and getting some sleep.

I was fearful that today, being Wednesday, would have nothing more exciting to mention than passing the hump. Luckily for me I got to view the early edition of ROTC in the Trees. Sadly, they were on the ground doing something involving a lot of swearing and rope mismanagement by the time I wandered through the set. I have been assured in the past that these particular trees get a full cover of camouflage Homo sapien leaves from time to time, so the image did make its way into my mind.

This was not overshadowed by a later bathroom moment. I know people love when I speak of my bathroom encounters. It's so scandalous and dirty (especially where public bathrooms are concerned). I found myself being entertained by an American Idol moment. Someone came in humming to herself rather loudly. She was on key as far as the tune deaf can tell and seemed quite content to continue her song. I am no Simon, so I shall give the stranger in the bathroom kudos for blatant happiness. It can be so hard to find that point of light in our sick world. She deserves a gold star for finding hers and going with it.

I spent most of the day looking at funny names and giggling to myself. Anyone who hasn't heard me giggle over strange names has missed out on moments of sheer delight. I have quite the fetching giggle. It's all the rage this season in the world of the library. It's also all the rage right here on my couch. Sadly, my afternoon didn't amuse me as much as the morning. I tried to drop in on a friend, but she was already engaged for the evening. Ah well, I'll have to send some love her way at some later date. Speaking of sending love, I have some projects in need of the critical eyes and brain of one fabulous hobbit. Leave me some love, darlings, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can (maybe the next blue moon).

So I was chatting with my sister-in-law last night about everything from beautiful babies to how close I now am to being related to the entire state of West Virginia. My family tree doesn't loop back in on itself yet, but I am hopeful that I will blend in with stereotype soon. Among the fabulous people who I can now claim as a relative by technicalities is Don Knotts. Don Knotts is cool, just in case you have never heard me mention that subject. I am sure I have mentioned it though(not that it needs said). Sadly, I have too much on my mind to entertain you more, but if you make a large donation to my appreciation fund, perhaps, I will be able to find that time for you.

Yes, you've heard it all before. Little hobbits are still trying to figure out how to make enough money to heal cars and cats. I seriously think something is wrong with my fuzzy prince. He has taken to torturing my roommate. Maybe I should clean more. He could be trying to tell me any number of things. Cats are weird like that after all. The issue is squeezing in the time to create something that the world will pay for. The world is so used to getting it for free (take for instance, the free peek into the world of a crazy cat lady that you get in this fabulous journal). Amazing how I find time to update when I barely have time to scrape together pennies. Of course, it occurs to this hobbit that we are told to help ourselves (a result of the fact that most people are too selfish to try to help other people), so I seem less than helpful or responsive to your alleged needs, it is probably because I am trying to square away my own problems for a change. I believe I've made that statement before as well, but for some reason I am more determined.

A woman can be bent and twisted, squeezed through to become a myriad of things. She can be every color in the rainbow and every color in between. We all have this power (not saying that men don't, but I am not a man and don't feel like speaking for them). So you take Bella and squeeze her through a substance of a different density and see what comes out the other side. You can do this experiment a million times, slowly refining her into what she should most ideally become--a rainbow with the perfect hues.

I am not sure why I am thinking of rainbows. It just seemed to fit with my mood today. I am still trying to figure out which of my vibrant colors I should focus energy into creating. You can look at my main page to see a list of some of my colors. If you can't figure out that riddle, there really is no hope for you.

Not that there is much hope for me. My muse has gone into hiding again. It always amazes me how confused my muse gets when people seem angry at me and I have no idea why. Nothing makes a conversation more uncomfortable than an implied accusation, particularly one that I know I don't deserve. This goes back to my oft-repeated counsel for people to ask me--not each other or this journal. Any online journal worth the read should only hint at the tumultuous inner core of its writer. This journal is but vapors of my inferno--merely the red of my rainbow.

Speaking of color, I did have some extra color in my world today. I was a very good girl, so I got to start the morning off with some books. I got to review their records for accuracy, and then as a special reward, I got to stamp label and pocket them. Okay, maybe that second part was my Spring Break prize since all of our students are enjoying foreign soils. It is a nice break from all the fiching. You'd think with an older brother who enjoys fishing as much as mine does (most of his clothes are a testament to this fact) that I would never tire of the fun of fiche shuffling, but sometimes a hobbit needs a break. Someday, I may even explore this phenomenon known as a vacation, but I wouldn't hold my breath. Anyway, back to trying to awaken my muse. Maybe, some ice cream...since it has gotten so warm again....

I made a new friend today. Her name is large Marge. She is a cross between a sheep and a pillow, so guess who is sleeping in my bed. Yeah, that's right. Ziggy and I now have someone new to fight over. Since we got the cat massager we haven't had a new friend to share though we always share Rodney, even with his wife.

Aside from Marge, the day hasn't been too dreadfully exciting. I did get stabbed with a needle, but everyone knows that is fun and exciting. I have tiny little blood dots inside my elbow. I feel so cool. Is that a big "Z". It wants me to chase it.

So, I got the news that today is National Proposal Day. So if you are feeling frisky, send me a proposal, and I'll respond as soon as I finish reading all the ones that make it to my inbox before yours. In honor of the day, I am thinking of writing a book entitled Why Divas Marry Women. I just need a couple of you to give me some encouragement. Go ahead, sending me some encouragement can't hurt.

So my title addresses my own proposal for the day. It has come to my attention that I worry too much. I am a big worry wart on the face of the worry witch. That's not a pleasant place to be. Every time she has a stuffy head, one must worry about being blown away.

So I propose not to worry anymore about those people who want to blame me for their unhappiness. I propose not to offer you my time if you proved it meant nothing to you despite your claims. I propose to live each day (as many or few as I have left) for my own happiness. If you happen to fall into that now and again, feel privileged. I resolve to not waste my time on things that will prove insignificant. I resolve to love all that I am (yes, even the crazy poet). If you don't like it then I advise you to go back to your fairytale world where everyone is clamoring to be by your side. I know who wants to be by my side when they make the effort to be there. Right now, I have my Rodney on one side and Lil' Guy on the other, and with a word, Ziggy will come running. Maybe I'll surprise her and go to her. What can bring more happiness than bringing joy to someone who truly cares for you?

The stars make no noise. ~Irish Proverb

Unknowingly, we plow the dust of stars, blown about us by the wind, and drink the universe in a glass of rain. ~Ihab Hassan

In order to cultivate our sense of humor, we must thrive on change. We must learn to accept life and to accept ourselves with a shrug and a smile because it's all we've got. ~Harvey Mindess

Between dreaming about overprotective maternal sea cows and men not worth mentioning, I believe my brain has finally struck a leak. What is worse is that I distinctly remember thinking about the fact that some people believe sea cows are the basis for mermaids. Just imagine, ladies, beauty has come a long way. I am waiting for it to revert back. That will amuse me. Most things have amused me today, however, so I may have accidentally swallowed some fish according to one of the e-mails I got yesterday morning. The other was about how healthy it is to flush your toilet--YUM!

Today brought with it a wonderful welcome to spring. I looked up from my manic typing of really long numbers to see snow flakes floating down from the sky. Almost as amusing and just as logical as the fact that yesterday was the official first day of spring and the official first day back from spring break. That applies only to the fabulous students of our university, as I was still working away last week.

TOP TEN WAYS FICHE ARE LIKE PEOPLE

10. In most cases, it takes a lot of them to add up to much.
9. You can put them all in the same drawer, but you can't make them like each other.
8. They can be positive.
7. They can be negative.
6. People tend to dislike them because they don't understand them.
5. They need loving, too.
4. They can come in different sizes and colors (and shapes if they meet me).
3. No two fiche will give you the same story (if they have been being maintained properly).
2. Good fiche like good people are hard to find.
1. Fiche have feelings, too.

"In times of hurt and discouragement, it may be consoling. . . for all of us to recall that no one can do anything permanently to us that will last for eternity. Only we ourselves can affect our eternal progression." ~Marvin J. Ashton (Ensign, May 1984, p. 10.)

Life is like a really complicated recipe. Most of the neophyte living melt things together in the hopes that it will turn into something delicious like a cookie. Life for others takes a little more work than breaking open the rectangle of cookie squares and hurling them at a cookie sheet. Okay, so your average person plops them down on the cookie sheet, but you certainly canned practice your curve ball that way. Spring is allegedly coming, and we know that turns the all-American hobbit heart to baseball.

My heart, actually, is willing to turn just about anyway right now to forget that people are born to disappoint me. That's not because I have too high of expectations, mind you. I am a cynic so my expectations can be pretty low, but I tend to want more for people than they want for themselves. They just don't realize it and assume I am just being, well, that word I often hint at but rarely say. It may be hiding in the older and funner renditions of this journal--before I turned into a bit of a prude and started being punished for trying to do the right thing. Eighty-five year old me, reading this journal to remember the exciting drama of being a soap opera diva of the online sort, knows what I am talking about (you better not be dying your hair because it went gray, btw, I'm still against that), so the rest of you can move on.

Talking to myself can be quite the fun hobby. It's not nearly as exciting as talking to my mother. She likes to ask random police officers if they think her daughter is cute. I have nothing against police officers. They are men in suits, and men in suits can be quite appealing, but after you slam into someone's car due to snow (and what sounds like someone parking a car where there couldn't possibly be a parking space), you should be worried about other things than becoming a grandmother. Besides, in small towns, eventually we're all related. I don't want my future children to be featured in some horrible move like Wrong Turn. Enough said on that one.

Anyway, I don't seem to have much motivation right now. Not sure what prompts this to happen. I only looked at the fiche for a half hour before I moved on to glorious and fabulous names. I got another huge pile of pages to wade through even. I will never run out. That is what they keep telling me. Gee, I hope they're right. I also got to look at some more fabulous books. I still worry about some of the titles that will soon grace our shelves. Some things really shouldn't need to be taught, and other things shouldn't be written about. Seems like they'll publish anything these days. Gives you hope that you'll someday see something by me in print, doesn't it?

Pretty in Pink features a song called "Bring on the Dancing Horses". The song kind of grows on one, especially if one is a little girl. I feel as if it has somehow been misinterpreted by the people in my world. They ask me for something, make me feel bad for denying them, bully me into agreeing anyway, and then they leave me hanging. I realize that the many things I have going in my life mean little to anyone but me. However, they are important to me (whether they be Stargate, cleaning, writing, sleeping, or sitting around in my room in a toga while Ziggy fans me and feeds me grapes). Have we really come "so far" in our society that we can feel justified in insulting people? Have we come so far that only what we want is important with no thought to the feelings of others? Why did I not get this memo? Why do I still accommodate those around me?

I'm not saying I am better than anyone else. Obviously, I am not, and they won't let me forget it. Don't worry. I spent eleven years of my life waiting to get away from small minds, and then I realized it wasn't ever going to happen. Now I am just waiting for people to realize that insulting, berating, blaming, and shunning me does them no good. You can do what you like, darlings, but I am under no obligation to follow along. So take your own blame, clean your own messes, and if I feel inclined, I'll give you a shoulder to cry on. If I don't find my shoulder right there when you need it, I guess you'll have to remember that one can never know a hobbit (unless, perhaps, one is brave enough to marry her--haha! Two women know me then--the rest of you are just wishing.)

Not much to report in the fabulous Thursday moments. I spent more time with work, which means beautiful books and fantastic fiche. *snore* Sorry. You'll have to wake up now and find a more comfortable place to sleep.

I've noticed a trend where even in casual conversations, people's voices seem to be more screech than speech. Have you noticed it? One second you are happily listening to the soft little voices in your head, and the next you are unintentionally listening to a conversation from across the room. It is not that you want to hear about Josie's second third cousin twice-removed and his recently removed kidney. It is more that Josie is talking to the person standing a foot from her face as if they are on the opposite side of a crowded bar. Just an observation. Sadly, I still haven;t hit my groove for fun observations, but I am hoping to find it soon. Maybe it is hiding under a sheep. Let's go look, shall we?

"You are good. But it is not enough just to be good. You must be good for something. You must contribute good to the world. The world must be a better place for your presence. And the good that is in you must be spread to others" ~Gordon B. Hinckley

We all know that children have it easy. We didn't know it when we were kids because it always seemed like people were bossing us around, but now we know what we missed out on. We didn't know about words like stress. We knew what it was like to be loved unconditionally. Dinner appeared on the table through the magic of mom, and when we wanted to play, we didn't have to worry that one of our peers would look down on us for going out to dig around in the mud.

I need to find some kids to take lessons from. (That is not an invitation for you to invite me to babysit for you.) I need to take some time off from a world full of deadlines and imagined obligations. I need a break from undependable people who expect me to be dependable. I need a few more moments with people who really see me, as opposed to those who just want to be seen by me. Trust me, I see you. I care about you. I am just tired of making accommodations for your insecurities while you can't even make some for my health.

So how do I do that? My youthful cats recommend more naps and less running wildly. My muse tells me to write out my own utopia. My utopia would probably be more exciting then most. Even my dull moments are more exciting than most people's exciting moments. It could be the insanity (remember, I am a crazy cat lady) or some almost amusing cosmic joke. I am sure it looks more amusing from the outside (I am sure the platypi of the universe understand). So cheers and greetings and salutations to the platypi. If you're ever fleeing Australia, you can visit me. Just watch out for the fuzzy beasts.

I suppose the news must be amusing to some people. Reports of violence, hate, depression, and idiocy bring the world light and life, don't they? The best story I heard today was a mixture of The Rugrats and Mission Impossible. A little kid wanted to play with the toys in one of those toy machines with the claw that must be obeyed by plastic aliens, so he squeezed himself in there and was happily playing. He was rescued by firefighters, who have the sexiest job (more info I acquired randomly), who pried the machine apart to release him from his happy playland. If I was that kid, I would have been rather depressed to leave all my new cheap friends behind. Some men in the world still struggle with their cheap friends ;).

I also heard the most disturbing culinary news. Somewhere in this fabulous country of excess and gluttony, a genius hatched a brainchild that I am not even sure I could stomach. This brainchild involves your average, greasy, cholesterol-ridden fast food burger and scrumptious, sugary, sweet Krispy Kreme donuts. Mix two donuts and one burger and get a concoction even a hobbit's stomach probably couldn't handle. Ah, but what a fantastic way to go, eh? Too bad you won't die while eating it. Instead you have to wait for your arteries to fully harden and bring you to your knees--probably right as you are about to win a marathon. You know people who eat foods like that on a regular basis are health conscious and marathon-obsessed.

So, in my own world, most of the excitement centered around continuing proof that it is not the indigenous West Virginians who earn us stereotypes. A friend who normally hails from another state was so excited by the thought of seeing her brother this evening that she had a little accident. No, not that kind of accident. She managed to dump water and send a whole bucket of peanuts spilling to the floor. from now on, when I want her attention, I know the name to mention. The ultimate result of the bucket dumping was that another friend came over to make peanut butter (I Love Lucy wine-stomping style) while she welcomed us to her place of employment.

By this time, I was certain that we had scared the life out of our fabulous waiter. He did return, however, but the manager decided to rescue him from us by moving us to another section of the restaurant. Can you imagine? We went willingly and tried to behave ourselves for our waitress. I believe we did a fairly good job, even when our friend's charming brother reappeared in our presence. No, no more peanuts were dumped (though you know they were tossed wildly at random people we knew who were traveling through). The evening ended with my return to my hobbithole. A hobbit hole is a very peaceful place unless Ziggy has been without her Pamprin. She beat up large Marge, cussed Rodney out repeatedly, threatened me for grabbing her and snuggling her, and basically made it hard for me to bond with Mr. Sandman. How cruel, eh?

My attempts to get people to donate to the fund for hobbit happiness haven't gone so well (though Pres. Waldron did come up with a catchy store idea for me--Bella's Nativity: Swaddling Clothes Designed and Produced by Hand). I did successfully talk someone into buying a candy bar from my work mommy this morning though. How can I go wrong when such a fabulous product is begging to be bought? In other news, I am participating in the Relay for Life again this year, so if you want to donate, please contact me and let me know. You can even donate online.

I also got reminded today that April is National Poetry month or something equally as exciting. I was reminded by being informed that I am an Ambassador of Poetry. She who has no ambassador is an ambassador. That is, well, absolutely fabulous, isn't it? But what does it all mean?

"So, what is a Poetry Ambassador? It is a person whose love of poetry is so great that they want to spread the joy of poetry to anyone who is interested. A Poetry Ambassador is also someone who is looked up to and admired for his or her poetic knowledge and insight. In fact, sharing your love of poetry with others is the only obligation to this distinctive honor. We hope you will join The International Library of Poetry and consider donating some of your time or money to the many worthy causes that support poetry in our culture. Again, you choose your own way to spread your love of poetry."

I had to fill out a special form to get my certificate. I am waiting to see how much they may charge me for that special piece of paper, but, in the meantime, perhaps, I should spread my love of poetry to you by slipping something poetically beautiful into this journal. I must ponder on this. I need just the write topic to make my poetry muse whisper in my ear and caress my brain with interconnected words that sound, ironically, just like poetry. I can dramatically read anything as a poem, but to make a poem you'll read as a poem takes a bit more work on my part. Funny how that is.

the recipient is half-asleep and under the influence of chicken wings. I come to this conclusion through honest trial and error. I am not the best practical joker. In fact, even I don't find some of my jokes funny, but yesterday I was feeling brave enough to put some capital into humoring myself. Luckily, the clearance aisle yielded a Darth Vader mask at a price even I could afford. So I took it home and taped it to my roomie's mirror in the hopes that he would be slightly confused after spending a night carousing with geeks and wings. This morning, he informed me that he was indeed in the right frame of mind and felt obligated to wear the mask around the house for a while. Probably a good thing I wasn't roaming or my own laughter may have been my downfall.

So, after telling a fabulous story involving Where the Wild Things Are, a friend and I decided on the best pick-me-up of the day. It helps if you have read the book. It also helps if you remember the funny white pajamas and fuzzy tail of the boy in the book. Now you must have contact with men. Most importantly you must have a good imagination. Picture the very next one you see wearing that particular outfit. Trust me, it'll be good. However, I don't recommend doing this during a date. They may not take the laughter as a good sign--just a warning. I also don't recommend this when talking to the missionaries. The imagery is hysterical, but you tend to feel a little bad for laughing at them.

Right now I am awake. It is 11:26 pm. I have not seen much of this hour lately. I wonder how often I have missed myself at this hour. I am watching Melissa Etheridge appreciate the fabulous Dolly Parton as they sing each other's songs. Yes, hobbit mommy, I am watching one of your personal heroes. Later, I plan to write Santa a letter telling him what he should send you for Christmas. No worries, I've got your back.

Tonight's activity proved to be a bust. Among other things, it was apparently canceled. Only five of us showed up, and one of those five had been called into work at the last minute. Amazing how that works--eh? My wife, daughter-in-law, co-hobbit and I sat around eating hideously gross chips, drinking soda and water (you know I was all over that water like fur on a cat). I live the soda to those who can handle the carbonated fuzz it leaves on your teeth. We spent four hours discussing the world as we see it. I think we figured out how to fix it, but we'll need lots of help. Who is ready to change the way we treat each other?