Thursday, March 31, 2005
In my family cussing is a special language all its own. In fact, it's more of an art form than a language. Cursing is used to express all emotions, whether good or bad. If my grandparents and parents ever edited their expletives when we were kids, I was too young to remember and I remember a lot.
I didn't realize that other families weren't as colorful as mine until my friend Judy came with me to visit my grandparents when we were about 15 or 16 years old. When we got there, we went into the kitchen to kiss my grandmother.
When my grandfather realized we were there, he came into the kitchen, put his arm lovingly around my grandmother and asked, "What's for dinner you tub of sh**?"
Unperturbed, she replied, "Go back and sit down you old fart. I'm cooking a roast and I'll call you when it's ready."
I was looking in the pots so I didn't notice the shocked look on Judy's face until I turned around. She was looking from Grandma to Grandpa to me expecting God knows what to happen. When she realized this was obviously the natural flow of conversation between my grandparents, she laughed so hard I thought she was going to pass out. To this day whenever I see her, Judy talks about my grandparents' version of sweet talk.
Back to the Pope. When Terry and Dan were in the square waiting for the Pope to pass by in his Pope-mobile, Terry got her camera ready to take a picture. Right as the Pope was in range for her to take the perfect picture, her camera malfunctioned. As she told the story to us upon her return, I immediately started laughing.
"What?" she said.
I said, "I'm picturing the Pope being right in front of you, you trying to snap a picture and going 'F**k! Gotdamn cheapass piece of sh**!' and you looking up straight into the shocked eyes of the Pope!"
Unbelievably, that didn't happen and she got a lovely photo of the back of his head.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
It was done by my blogging friend, Seven, from New Orleans and I think it's fabulous! He can do you, too, and for a very reasonable fee.
His blog is also very entertaining. If you aren't ready for a redesign, yet, you should still check it out. It's wild!
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?
(For those of you who don't know, in Fahrenheit 451, the books were being burned so people had to memorize a book.)
I would want to be Pet Semetary by Stephen King so I could go around scaring the crap out of people. They would run like hell and I would chase after them shouting my book word for word and I would have separate voices for each character.
Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Rhett Butler, of course.
The last book you bought is:
America (by Jon Stewart and the cast of the Daily Show)
The last book you read:
Cat's Cradle (Kurt Vonnegut)
What are you currently reading?
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone
America (see above)
Someone also gave me Angels & Demons (Dan Brown) which I haven't yet worked into the mix
Five books you would take to a deserted island:
- The Stand (Stephen King)
- Valley of the Dolls (Jacqueline Susan) or The Other Side of Midnight (Sidney Sheldon) or Scruples (Judith Krantz)
- A Wrinkle in Time (Madeleine L'Engle)
- Centennial (James Michener)
- The Hobbit (J. R. R. Tolkien)
Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?Jen - Because she went to college and everything.
Lorna - She is a bookstore regular and I'm interested to know what her answers would be.
Lauren - She is one of my younger blogging friends and I'm curious to see her answers as well.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Being the good Samaritan I am, I stopped to help them get the box onto their basket. As I was helping them put the box in the basket, the man was asking me something in Spanish. I don't speak Spanish. We were wrestling with the heavy box and he was chattering away and I was desperately trying to figure out what he was trying to tell me because the damn box was heavy.
We finally got the box onto their basket and he looked at me and pointed to the display burner and pot. He pointed specifically to the burner and then to the box. Oh! He wanted to know if the burner was included in the box or if it was only the pot. Got it.
"Yes, yes, yes," I said pointing to the box in his basket and then to the display. "The burner is included."
He couldn't understand me but I could tell he knew what I meant. He thanked me and he and his wife walked away with their pot and burner. I was proud of my good deed and told mom and Bonnie about what I had done when I caught up with them.
As we finished our shopping and were walking to the checkout area, I again saw the old couple. My pride in myself quickly faded when I noticed what was in their basket. It was a big box alright but it was a big box with the pot and no burner. The reason I was having so much trouble helping them get the box with the burner in their basket was because they didn't want the one with the burner. They just wanted the pot.
I pictured them watching me walk away, cussing me in Spanish, putting the big heavy ass box with the burner back on the floor and then running to the checkout with their stainless steel pot before the crazy white woman could force them to put other things they didn't want into their basket.
"Run! Here she comes with ham and a five pound can of tuna!"
Sunday, March 27, 2005
We spent a lot of time with family this weekend and in my case, that's a good thing. The picture above is my sister Bonnie, me, my cousin David, his wife Flora and my sister Terry. My brother and his family stayed in Arkansas this year.
The picture was taken last night at Antone's where we saw The Cam Pyle Band which was wonderful, as usual. We were joined by my sister's husband Dan and his two brothers Mike and Steve and by my friend Kelly's husband Clay.
The last song of the evening was something by Metallica and there were two guys (in their 30's at least) standing right up by the stage doing the head banging thing. We laughed so hard watching them and watching their friends watching them that we were crying.
Long live rock and roll!
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Did I forget to mention that my dad is a professional clown and has been since my 4th birthday party because my parents didn't want to pay for a real clown and then all the parents wanted him to be a clown for their kids' parties and that he is also a magician and a ventroliquist and was somewhat of a local celebrity doing pantomine and being the master of ceremonies for lots of local functions along with working at the Texaco Refinery in Port Arthur for about 40 years before retiring but he is still a clown and we're afraid he'll drop dead at some kid's birthday party because he just won't quit and that will traumatize the kid for life?
I thought I mentioned that.
Today was our annual family crawfish boil at my mom's house. Every year, the Saturday before Easter, we have a big crawfish boil. It was wonderful. I'll post more pictures later.
We're going to Antone's tonight to see the Cam Pyle band. They are another one of our favorites out of Baton Rouge. They play a lot of 80's and dance music with a little Bob Dylan (Like a Rolling Stone) and Neil Diamond (Sweet Caroline) thrown in. They also play Stairway to Freebird. Love it!
- I'm a terrible lover. I've actually given a woman an anti-climax.-- Scott Roeben
- I'm still going on bad dates when by now I should be in a bad marriage.-- Laura Kightlinger
- My classmates would copulate with anything that moved but I never saw any reason to limit myself.-- Emo Philips
- You can't put a price tag on love but you can on all its accessories.-- Melanie Clark
- To attract men I wear a special perfume. It's called New Car Interior.-- Rita Rudner
- If men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament.-- Florynce Kennedy
- A guy knows he's in love when he loses interest in his car for a couple of days.-- Tim Allen
- I've been on so many blind dates I should get a free dog.-- Wendy Liebman
- The big difference between sex for money & sex for free is that sex for money usually costs a lot less.-- Brendan Francis
- I can't remember the last time we made love. She says, "Well I can - and that's why we're not."-- Rodney Dangerfield (& wife)
- Male sexual response is far brisker & more automatic. It is triggered easily by things like putting a quarter in a vending machine.-- Dr. Alex Comfort
- Studies have found a number of mechanical devices increase sexual arousal, particularly in women. Chief among these is the Mercedes-Benz 380SL convertible.-- P.J. O'Rourke
- Politics is the second oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close resemblance to the first.-- Ronald Reagan
- Shopping is better than sex because if you're not satisfied after shopping, you can exchange it for something you really like.-- Adrienne Gusoff
- When a man and woman are trying to have sex, he will often climax before she is ready. Sometimes before she is, technically, in the room.-- Dave Barry
- The pleasure is momentary, the position ridiculous and the expense damnable. (His Lordship commenting on sex)-- Lord Chesterfield
- I date this girl for two years and then the nagging starts:"I wanna know your name !"-- Mike Binder
- I'm a Double Bagger. My husband puts a bag over my face to make love. Then he puts one on his in case mine falls off.-- Joan Rivers
- If the authorities warn you of the dangers sex, there is an important lesson to be learned: Do not have sex with the authorities.-- Matt Groening
- My wife is a sex object. Every time I ask for sex, she objects.-- Les Dawson
- There's nothing inherently dirty about sex, but if you try real hard and use your imagination, you can overcome that.-- Lewis Grizzard
- Sex is like art. Most of it is pretty bad, and the good stuff is out of your price range.-- Scott Roeben
- I'd like to meet the person who invented sex. First of all, just to say "THANKS !!!" But more importantly, to see what they're working on now.-- George Carlin
Friday, March 25, 2005
But I outsmarted the sneaky bastard. To keep my posts from becoming Blogger burgers, I create all of my posts in Word or in a new e-mail window and then copy and paste to the Blogger editing box. Now Blogger can munch away, I always have a backup.
Take that, you evil Blogger eater of the semi-brilliant, semi-funny, semi-poignant excrement which flows from my semi-alert brain. Hah!
Thursday, March 24, 2005
The guy who did the bad graphic is not in the unemployment line. He is enjoying his big bonus for getting people to tune in for a second night. I am sure even the advertisers are all sending him checks for his brilliant
I'm so naive.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
It doesn’t seem like performing the songs again should be the solution. American Idol voting has always been based on that one performance. You don’t get another shot. If you sucked, you sucked. We’ve all seen some of our favorites voted off early based on one mediocre rendition of their particular song choice.
One of my co-workers put it this way:
When I read the info on the Washington Post's site, I got the impression that encore performances would be a replay of last night’s performances, but that they would have Ryan hosting live. But when I went to the AI site, I realized there will be live performances, not just a replay from last night. I believe the performances from last night should be the ONLY criteria in the vote tonight. Of course, you can always base your vote on previous performances even if your pick doesn’t do as well as last night. I don't think anything new should be added to the mix.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Vetticini (not her real name) advised our little office e-mail circle today that May 7th is National Masturbation Day.
Here is my question: Would that mean that a person should do it more on May 7th or take a holiday from doing it?
Once again, Fat Dope, has the answer.
I was also advised by another male friend that, it is important to keep the spirit of the holiday alive year round. Very well put. I'll need more batteries.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Jen and Dest and I were lounging in our chairs as the warm breeze gently blew all of our anxiety out into the Gulf of Mexico. We waved at Jimmy Buffett as he strolled on the beach and lamented the fact that we didn't spend more time with him due to our rapidly approaching publishing deadlines for our next fabulous novels.
Then, they called us into the staff meeting to discuss the new health insurance. This place sure knows how to ruin a good buzz.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
The saxaphone player actually had two big magillas hold him upside down while he played his sax. I don't even remember what song it was and I don't see how that is physically possible with the blood rushing to your head and the compressed lung capacity and everything but, by God, it was amazing.
Also got to spend some time with my friend John which always makes it a great evening. Goodnight John. It was fun.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
- Anytime four New Yorkers get into a cab together without arguing, a bank robbery has just taken place.
- For three days after death, hair and fingernails continue to grow but phone calls taper off.
- Happiness is your dentist telling you it won't hurt and then having him catch his hand in the drill.
- I know a man who gave up smoking, drinking, sex, and rich food. He was healthy right up to the day he killed himself.
- I was so naive as a kid I used to sneak behind the barn and do nothing.
- If life was fair, Elvis would be alive and all the impersonators would be dead.
- If variety is the spice of life, marriage is the big can of leftover Spam.
- New York is an exciting town where something is happening all the time, most unsolved.
- When turkeys mate they think of swans.
- Paper cuts (F**k!)
- Stubbing my pinky toe hard (S**t!)
- Printing a long document, pulling it out of the printer and I've run out of ink (DAMMIT!!!)
- Banging my head hard on the corner of something (G**DAMMIT!!!!!)
- Turning on a light and the bulb goes pop (I stand there in the dark like an idiot cussing like Fred Flintstone) (Sunovab**ch!!)
- Touching my neck with the curling iron (G**damn Motherf**ing Son-of-a-b**ch!!!! AAAGGGHHH!!!!, etc., etc., etc. -- this one goes on for a while.)
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
- Gyms (and the people in them) stink.
- I don't like waiting for Ms. Butt-Like-A-Rock to do 300 leg presses on the one leg press machine.
- I don't care how thoroughly people wipe down a machine, it doesn't erase the fact that someone's disgusting body fluids were just all over it.
- I don't like the stink-eye I get when I accidentally take someone's favorite mat or special spot in the aerobics class.
- Putting mirrors in the aerobics class is just mean.
- Step class was specifically designed to humiliate and embarrass me.
If someone would create a gym that was designed like a huge playground, I would join. All of the equipment (swings, merry-go-rounds, slides, monkey bars, see-saws) would be at least 50 yards from each other and you would have to run to each one (holding hands with your best friend if you like) hollering, "Hey, guys! Wait up!". The boys would chase the girls and there would be tether ball and kickball and dodge ball. Maybe, sometimes someone would bring a baton and teach us all how to twirl.
Please tell me someone has already thought of this and tell me where I can sign up.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
I made the mistake of watching the Discovery Science Channel tonight. I can easily freak myself out by projecting my mind backward pondering the beginnings of the universe. I believe God made everything and I believe the world is full of all sorts of people with their own interpretations of God or the lack thereof. That's all I'm saying about God because that subject is way too big for this simple blog.
The program I watched was speculating about supermassive black holes. The scientists on the show believe that every galaxy was formed by gas that imploded and created these supermassive black holes which created a spiraling vortex which eventually created quasars and stars and planets and eventually, voila, you got a galaxy. Nice theory but where did the gas come from? How many galaxies are there? How big is infinity? See what I mean?
At the end of the program, we were informed that our nearest galaxy, Andromeda, is moving toward the Milky Way at 250,000 miles per hour. That woke me up. They said that in about 3 billion years, our galaxies will actually collide. Three billion years. Three billion years. I can't quit saying it. Three billion years. Andromeda is 2.2 million light years away from us right now. What the hell is a light year anyway? (I looked it up: 1 light-year is equivalent to 9.46053e12 km, 5,880,000,000,000 miles or 63,240 AU.) The picture above is the view from the cheap seats on some other galaxy as they watch Andromeda and the Milky Way collide.
Then, as I usually do, when it all becomes too much and I start biting my fingernails and begin to develop a nasty rash, I throw my brain into reverse. What is really the smallest element of matter? If the universe goes on beyond comprehension, wouldn't it also go in beyond comprehension?
Dammit! Twenty-three minutes ago, all I cared about was whether or not Bo Bice would be my next American Idol.
I guess I put too strong of a Marie Laveau on her ass after her middle of the night bodily function update call. Oopsy.
Monday, March 14, 2005
She and her husband, Dan, were in New Orleans and I wasn't. I'm sure the fact that I wasn't with them was the real purpose of the call. It was one of those nana-nana-boo-boo calls. I'm here and you're not. Smart-ass.
I could hear all those wonderful Bourbon Street sounds in the background. People shouting, "I'm gonna kick your ass!", bands playing Play That Funky Music White Boy, the clickity-clickity-click of the tap dancing street performers and drunks hollering, "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" (I couldn't actually hear all of that but I could feel it deep down in my New Orleans yearning bones.)
I simply said, "Good for you," and she hung up. I can't wait until the next time I'm in Vegas or New Orleans without her and I call her at 2:00 a.m. to tell her I have something stuck in my teeth.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
At some point during the evening, my friend Kelly and I had an alcohol induced moment of genius. We're considering a patent on piercings that would lift all things that we need to have lifted. Our grand plan involves sagging skin, drooping boobs and safety pins of various sizes and strengths.
However, in an unexpected moment of clarity we decided there might be problems at airport security checkpoints. If we had to remove all the cleverly hidden safety pins used in our piercings, it would be quite shocking and disturbing to all involved including not only airport security personnel but also our travel partners as well as ourselves.
Our grand scheme needs a little work.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
*Pic* Mitch Hedberg
- I don't have a girlfriend. But I do know a woman who'd be mad at me for saying that.
- I used to do drugs. I still do drugs. But I used to, too.
- The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I'll never be as good as a wall.
- I got an ant farm. Them fellas didn't grow shit.
- I haven't slept for ten days, because that would be too long.
- Last week I helped my friend stay put. It's a lot easier than helping someone move. I just went over to his house and made sure that he did not start to load shit into a truck.
- I got my hair highlighted, because I felt some strands were more important than others.
- I had a stick of Carefree gum, but it didn't work. I felt pretty good while I was blowing that bubble, but as soon as the gum lost its flavor, I was back to pondering my mortality.
- I want to be a race car passenger: just a guy who bugs the driver. "Say man, can I turn on the radio? You should slow down. Why do we gotta keep going in circles? Can I put my feet out the window? Boy, you really like Tide."
- I got in an argument with a girlfriend inside of a tent. That's a bad place for an argument, because I tried to walk out, and had to slam the flap.
- I type a 101 words a minute. But it's in my own language.
- I think Bigfoot is blurry, that's the problem. It's not the photographer's fault. Bigfoot is blurry. And that's extra scary to me, because there's a large, out-of-focus monster roaming the countryside. Run. He's fuzzy. Get outta here.
- My sister wanted to be an actress, but she never made it. She does live in a trailer. She made it half way. She's an actress, she just never gets called to the set.
- I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Our office has a casual dress code so, in the spring, out come the flip flops. I'm not opposed to flip flops in theory; but in reality, they are the noisiest goddammed shoes on the planet.
Today, I was sitting in my office and the first flip flops of the season passed by. I heard them coming from a distance more as a sense of impending doom than an actual sound. Louder and louder they came until they were outside my office and then, finally, gratefully, away down the hall.
All day long: flip, flip, flip this way and flop, flop, flop that way and that was only one woman. Can you imagine what it's like at the height of the season with five or six heifers stampeding up and down the halls?
As God is my witness, one day this summer, I'm going to grab one of those flip flop wearing hussies, throw her down and slap the crap out of her with her noisy ass shoes.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
It reminded me of my grandparents. They never voted in any election because they had such opposite views on everything, that they knew their votes would cancel each other out. So, they just stayed home and argued about the results. They were married for almost 70 years. I guess a little healthy conflict doesn't hurt after all.
Monday, March 07, 2005
So, there I was in the jury room on this capital murder case. Yep, the biggie. There would be no separating myself mentally or emotionally from this case. My only hope was to piss off the attorneys so much that they wouldn't want me. Usually, just saying you work in a law firm is enough to get stricken as a prospective juror because both sides think you will be biased depending on whether you do defense or plaintiff work. I was fully prepared to tell the attorneys during jury selection that not only was I biased as hell, but I was also an extremely volatile and unreasonable person. It was going to take some fancy footwork and fine acting skills but I was ready.
The attorneys came into the courtroom and began to tell us about the case. An auctioneer was followed home from an auction, shot in the driveway of his home and robbed. I remembered reading about it in the newspaper and seeing it on television. Great. That would surely get me off of this jury because I knew it would be a question the attorneys would ask the panel. Problem was, when they asked the question, everyone on the panel had either read about the murder or had seen it on the news. Damn.
The next thing the defense attorney did was quite odd. He said, "I'm going to bring the defendant out for everyone to meet. Then, I'm going to ask you if you can be unbiased in this case." Here was my big break, a simple yes or no question and I was out of there. Then, they brought out the defendant. This guy was a good six and a half feet tall and by far the scariest looking man I had ever seen. He actually glared at us one by one, daring us to convict him with his eyes.
The attorney went to each juror and asked, "Can you be unbiased in this case? Will you give this man a fair trial?" Some said yes and some said no. When he got to me, I said, "Yes. I will be unbiased," all the while knowing that I was going to send that guy so far up the river, he'd never find his way back. I know that's horrible and I know God will have a long talk with me (after my no doubt lengthy stay in purgatory) for pre-convicting this man, before hearing any testimony, based only on his appearance and his hateful eyes.
I got picked on the jury and we were taken into the jury room to wait for the case to start. We had sat there about ten minutes when the bailiff came in and said the defendant made a plea bargain and we were free to go. Someone asked what the plea was and the bailiff told us the defendant pled to 99 years with no possibility of parole. That was his plea bargain. That was the deal he made, 99 years. I have a feeling he was pretty damn guilty.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
I don't see using my true identity on my blog as being any scarier than walking around and living in the world in general. I pay people, almost always total strangers, with checks which have way too much personal information on them day in and day out. If someone is going to steal my identity, I don't think it's going to be because I used my real name on my blog. If I'm wrong about that, you'll read about it here.
I do understand why people who expound controversial opinions or speak horribly about their jobs or husbands or girlfriends would want to remain anonymous. And, for obvious reasons, I think children and teenagers who might fall prey to sickos should remain anonymous and definitely not reveal their location. That also goes for parents who post about their small children because it would be very easy for someone to pose as a friend of the family based on information they read in your blog and run off with your babies.
But, again, in the big scheme of things, I hate to tell you folks, using a pseudonym on your blog is no real protection. I would compare it to walking into the Louisiana swamp dressed like a gator. Them bad gators aren't going to be fooled by your disguise and you're still going to get bitten in the ass.
I like to think that most stalkers are busy with actors and actresses and authors and true celebrities who don't have the luxury of being able to hide their comings and goings from the nasties who lurk out there in the dark corners of society.
They're way to busy for the likes of us. I hope.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
A scout troop consists of twelve little kids dressed like schmucks following a big schmuck dressed like a kid.
Give me golf clubs, fresh air and a beautiful partner, and you can keep the clubs and the fresh air.
I don't deserve this award, but I have arthritis and I don't deserve that either.
I don't want to tell you how much insurance I carry with the Prudential, but all I can say is: when I go, they go too.
My wife Mary and I have been married for forty-seven years and not once have we had an argument serious enough to consider divorce; murder, yes, but divorce, never.
I went to a meeting for premature ejaculators. I left early.
A cannibal is a guy who goes into a restaurant and orders the waiter.
For those of you too young to know, Jack Benny was also known as being notoriously cheap:
"I took my girl to dinner, and she laughed so hard at one of my jokes that she dropped her tray." ~ Jack Benny
(at a charity dinner) "I had my choice tonight of buying a hundred-dollar ticket or being up here on the dais . . . So, good evening, ladies and gentlemen."
~ Jack Benny
We saw Tab Benoit at Antone's last night. He's another cutie and he plays cajun, swamp pop (look it up) and blues. He's an incredible guitarist and a natural comedian. When he occasionally talks to the audience with his adorable cajun accent, he is hilarious. If he's ever your area, check him out. You will not be disappointed.
Tonight's agenda: either laying on the couch or Chris LeBlanc at Antone's. I haven't made up my mind. I'm leaning toward laying on the couch.
My latest guilty pleasure is the Butterfinger Crisp. My brother works for M&M Mars which makes wonderful, wonderful, marvelous candies and snack foods. Hence, the guilt.
When he worked for Pepsi, we caught hell if he saw us with a Dr. Pepper or, God forbid, a Coke. Next he worked for Budweiser. No problem there.
Now he works for M&M, so it's easier to stay loyal than when he worked for Pepsi but, oh my God, this Butterfinger Crisp thing is just the devil in disguise. I love you Stu-bee but heaven help me, I can't resist the delicious Butterfinger taste without those hard crumbly parts that either stick in your teeth or fall all over the place.
I promise to make it up to you. How about a beautiful shirt from Margaritaville in Las Vegas for your birthday, Sunday? Oh, wait. I already did that. Happy Birthday, brother man!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
I don't understand the point in this little act of insincerity. Is it supposed to give me a warm, fuzzy feeling because the teller is forced to say my name, twice no less? I actually find it a little creepy. I don't personally know the teller who is fifty feet away from me behind the tinted windows and bulletproof glass. If friendly personal contact mattered to me, I'd go inside.
I don't care if they call me Buttface the Smelly Girl as long as they do my transaction quickly and accurately.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
But, when I closed my eyes to go back to sleep, the numbers disappeared before I closed my eyes. However, I was so sleepy, I wasn't sure if the numbers went away or not. So, I opened my eyes again and the numbers were there but when I closed them again, they went away right before I closed them. Or did they? I did that three or four more times blinking and unblinking to the rhythm of the stupid blinking of the stupid clock display which blinks when the power goes off. Evidently, the power had gone off during the night for some reason.
On top of making myself dizzy from all the blinking, the time was actually 6:00 a.m. rather than 4:30 a.m. and I not only had to get out of bed right then, I had to rush.
Stupid power outage. Stupid clock. Stupid 6:00 a.m.