Ok I really need to start scheduling my time a bit better.

But here I find myself with just a pocket of time, a golden opportunity to spin a yarn.  I'm most happy to spin that yarn for you, friends.

When we last left off, we were already riding the rides in the blistering heat in Orlando.  But what about the good stuff that happened before all that, like checking into the hotel?

No.  Scratch that.  It was a motel.  There's a lesson to be learned here, folks.  Don't ever, EVER stay in a motel that you picked out of the free brochure you got at the little store (ie, shack) on the turnpike. 

You hear me??  Ever.

My mother chose our accommodations just that way.  All we knew was that it was located in Orlando, not so far from Universal Studios, and we knew the name.  So we're driving along, kinda tired, ready to check into our suite... (no, I'm serious- the room we booked was supposed to be a suite) and it's hard to spot.  Really hard. 

"OH!!  HEY!!  That's it right there, and it's nice!!"  Sister shouts from our luxury van.  

Quick sidenote here, friends.  If you are part of a large family and ever plan on taking the sort of vacation that requires a vehicle- might I suggest the super large, super comfy seven passenger van available at your local Enterprise dealership?  In fact, whatever your transportation needs, Enterprise has you covered.  *Insert big cheesey smile here*   (yeah!  Kinda like that one!)

Enterprise if you're reading this- I gave you a shameless plug there- I say our next vehicle is free, what do you think?  No?  Ok, back to the story.

All eyes are directed to the right side of the road... a really lovely, hearty building- 10 stories up looms in the distance.  It's magnificent, truly.  All right, Mom!!  You rock!

"No, that's not it- that's the Travel Lodge Suites hotel.  We're staying in the motel."  Mom says in a sort of sing-song cheer.  We drive on a few more miles.

"Hey, I think that's it on the left."  She says, straining her eyes to read the sign.  "Travel Lodge Suites motel.  Yes, that's it, make a left here."

Slowly, just like in the most cliche horror flick, our eyes swing to the left.

"Oh hell no."

A small, kinda shabby looking building stands in the shadows (where it belongs).  We pull into one of the parking spots and wait while Dad checks us in.  He returns with a key and a TV remote control.

Ok, this might not be so bad, at least there's a TV. 

"The only suite they have available is the handicapped room, guys.  And since no one made a reservation for it, we can have it." 

Oh boy!  It must be my lucky day.  High-five guys, we got the handicapped room!

Interestingly enough, the ONLY handicapped parking space available in the motel is not in front of our door, rather 5 doors down from it.  And even more interesting, the front door is not wheelchair accessible... but the bathroom door is.  How do you manage that?  I mean, what's supposed to happen once you check in- do you wheel Grandma up to the door frame and then kind of push her out?!  Make her crawl to the bed, or lie on the floor until you fold the wheel chair up and carry it in? 

Is it like a cruel joke??  "Haha Grandma, you have to sleep outside!  We would wheel you in, but look!  The door isn't wheelchair accessible.  Sweet dreams, granny." 

You can't make this stuff up.  We open the door and feast our eyes upon... the suite?

2 twin sized beds, a TV, a bathroom... seems pretty normal to me.  What makes this a suite, you ask?

The couch.  The couch (I'm being much too generous- it was more like a loveseat) folds out into this broken, squeaky sleeper, that Brother and Little One will be using for the weekend.  After Dad fixes it, of course.

So for the most part, you wouldn't know that the room was handicapped at all.  No real space for a wheelchair to fit... until you open the door to the bathroom.

Here's the fun part, guys.  The bathroom doesn't have a shower, per se.  It does, however, have a single large drain in the center of the floor and lots of handles to grab onto so one doesn't lose their balance.  And a spigot hanging in the far left corner for when you do want to shower.  Little One and Brother got a kick out of this. 

Most, if not all of us were more than willing to sleep in the van.  I would have fought for the right to do it, too.  But thems the breaks.  

The real show-stopper for the night was the luggage rack.  Brother didn't know what it was, but he was horrified when Mom put her suitcase on top of it. 

Since it was a handicapped room, he assumed- like most 10-yr-old boys would I guess- that the stand must be used for holding prosthetic limbs when they weren't in use.

Each night we were in this room, I led a special bedtime prayer.  It went a little something like this:

"This place is a dump,
 yes, this place is the pits
I pray to you, Lord
that I wake up in the Ritz."

Slowly but surely, the gap between posts widens to a huge chasm... and I am left standing alone on one side, trying to figure out how the hell to get across without falling into the pit of burning lava beneath me.

Ok, yeah- I admit, that was a bit dramatic.  And I was so hoping that this weekend would leave me valued journaling time, but alas, it was not meant to be.

Not to worry though!!  I've been jotting down personal reminders and notes about which stories I want to tell you, because yes... there are a few of them.  Like what, you say?  Well!  The continuing story of Orlando and how we got lost everywhere (but more importantly, how we were all riding in a major luxury vehicle), the handicapped hotel room we stayed in (even though not one of us is handicapped) and the story about why you should never work for Wal-Mart (complete with the 3 signs I received that told me Wal-Mart was not the place for a college girl like me).

In fact, *checks her watch* maybe I'll call it a night and write first thing in the morning.  That'll be a good start to the week- a monday story.

Start your week with a healthy dose of logic, that's what I always say

Sweet dreams until then my darlings,
- Ms. L

Just a quick note, friends.  I have not abandoned my journal again, fear not!!  It has been a while, I agree- and I am nothing if not sincerely sorry for the gaps between posts. 

However, I have been job hunting.  Part-time job hunting as it were.  I have so much to tell you about the rest of my Orlando trip, and now about this tedious process of securing income as well! 

Both sagas will come in due time, I assure you, my dearest readers and most valued friends.

Until then, I have to go- I have dishes to wash and an interview to prepare for.

Fond hopes and wishes for a most brilliant Sunday-
Ms. L

So I did come back from my mini-vacation on Monday.  And I would have written sooner, but it took 4 days just to rehydrate.

Orlando is a death trap for anyone adversely affected by heat.  Universal Studios in and of itself was cool, but that's just because any legit theme park (that means NO traveling carnivals with suspicious looking outlaws who run the rusty attractions) looks cool.

A theme park is supposed to be a place that's physically appealing, physically exhausting, expensive as all hell, and memorable.  It is NOT supposed to be a shoddy attempt at fun set up in a Wal-Mart parking lot for the duration of 3 weeks.  There should be no paraplegic guys named Bubba who operate the Yo-Yo. 

And if there's an "educational" trailer set up in the back that houses a zombie-faced, practically-comatose man cleverly (if not endearingly) named Stoney who is unfeelingly put on display to teach you the consequences of hard drug-use...

... then you're not at a theme park so much as you are at the carnival I visited as a 10 year old child.

Stoney scared the hell out of me then, and he haunts me now.  I think it had something to do with the chicken wire that surrounded the entire trailer and the Mission Statement that the carnival was in no way responsible for anything Stoney might do to me during my tour of his pathetic existance.

No, what we went to was the real deal as far as theme parks go.

But you know, people have a tendency to forget the hardships of a place as innocuous as Islands of Adventure or even the timeless Magic Kingdom.

I'm talking about the endless walking to the entrance of the park.  Then, the endless walking to the actual attraction, then the 90-to-120 minute wait in line for the attraction, and finally the 3-5 minute attraction itself that frankly leaves you just a little disenchanted.

And these people try to trick you, too.  Example: Spiderman 3D.  My family and I went on that one together.  We were actually excited because it was the first attraction we would be going on, and the wait was supposed to be only 30 minutes.  Unusual, but it also had something to do with the park just opening.

Naturally, 45 minutes into the wait and we couldn't even see the physical ride yet, just more lines.  Clever little bastards, too.  They have 5 rooms that you have to walk through before you get to the ride... and you cannot see a new room until you've literally walked through the last one. 

So it leaves you guessing.  Is this or isn't this the last room?  Am I even close to the ride yet?  Why can't I feel my legs?

All appropriate questions when waiting on-line at a theme park.

Be warned, all that time in line forces you to actually talk to the people you're with, and conversation will ensue.

Take this little exchange between my mother and me.

"Jess, you promise this ride isn't fast or jerky?"

"Mom, the last time I was here I was 12, but as I remember, you wear 3D glasses, and it's mostly virtual reality."

"So you don't move?"

"Obviously you move, or it wouldn't be a ride."

"You don't move fast then?"

"Well, the height requirement is only 36 inches, so I'm guessing no."

----------

And she's satisfied with that.  Of course the only possible outcome from this experience is that we get on the ride, it's a lot more jerky-spinny-roller coaster-y than I remember, and my mother is convinced I did that on purpose, just to spite her.

I did specify that the last time I was here I wore my hair in braids, was in a Girl Scout troop and still ate from a Kid's Menu, but does that mean anything?  No.  I'm expected to have the memory of an elephant just the same.

But how on earth can anyone go to a theme park when they come off The Cat in the Hat ride feeling queezy and jelly-legged?

You'll have to talk to my mother about that one.  For now though, I'm going to cut this... short?- BELIEVE you me I have some incredible journal-ammo.  To completely use it all now would be so anticlimactic and very very unfriendly to the eyes.

I don't want to be the cause of headache. 

Hello loves.

Just a quick note to let you all know that I'm going away to Orlando for the weekend, for a mini-vacation with my family.

I know you're all insanely jealous of me, and as I wait 2, maybe 3 hours in the 105 degree heat for a 5 minute ride, I will take great comfort in knowing that Bravenet is humming with all kinds of people wishing they could trade places with me.

My father will probably do this formally himself, but I'll head you up.  He's a bit overwhelmed by the tags, and being from an era of crystal radios and Mission Orange sodas... well you understand.  I mean, TV wasn't even invented until he was 12 or 13... clearly we can't expect the poor guy to fully understand the ins and outs of a community journal yet.  I taught him how to post... he's learning how to tag, so he's a bit slow with all of that.  He loves that people are visiting though. 

The other thing is he's a terribly slow typer, so that little paragraph you saw, probably took him 15 minutes, maybe 20.  That's an estimate, but I bet you anything it's close.  Anyway!  That's the long way around saying, he's really busy lately but will probably post a lot more regularly when school starts (Aug 8th) .  That's when he'll pretty much have the house to himself.  So there ya are.  Just wanted to let you all know about that.

I will see you on Monday!

Xx,
Ms. L

Something I never thought would happen in a million years has happened:

My father has gotten a journal!
Click here: Consider This...

Can you believe that?!  I never would have guessed he'd be interested... but it was funny how it happened.

I had recently told my mother that I thought she might enjoy a journal- if for nothing else than to vent a bit about how I poked fun of her kitchen decor and made light of our family quirks.  She also happens to be an excellent elementary school teacher- kindergarten specifically, and I thought her insights would be a very intriguing addition to the bravejournal community.

My mother seemed interested, but she's a bit of a private lady and so I initiated it by setting a journal up for her.  I'm not going to give you the address yet, because she may or may not use it.  If she ever does though, you know I'll tell you!

Anyway!  After watching a night of particularly bad reality television (namely, Bridezillas), my dad began a normal, verbal rant of the quality of television in his day, and how reality shows bite... before long that branched into stupid TV commercials and rap music. 

Finally he turned to me and said "I think I need a blog, I have some things to say."

I thought he was kidding.  I swear... but sure enough... he wasn't joking at all.  So there you have it.  It's called Consider This... and it should be really good when it gets underway.  My dad has a good talent for writing, he's funny and he knows how to present an argument. 

Go on and check it out, my friends.  Spread the love! 

Until next time,
- Ms. L

Ok so- it's the weirdest thing.  Happy weekend, by the way, my friends.

I hate soap operas.  Nothing against them really, but the whole daytime TV genre just never hooked me, ya know? 

Once in a while I would watch the Daytime Emmy Awards to see if Susan Lucci finally nabbed one.  Other than that, the entire gala was lost on me because I had no idea what was going on.  Almost no one looked familiar and maybe one or two actors I had seen, but only because I was flipping through the channels on an afternoon I was home sick from school.

My mother used to be a fan of General Hospital, and while she definitely didn't watch it religiously- she could tell you what was going on. 

Sonny forever!!!  (Lol- Actually, I have no clue who Sonny is, I just remember my mother talking about him.)

Anyway!!  One day not so long ago (maybe 6 months?) I was flipping through the channels, and I came across this show on NBC, 2pm Eastern time.  There was an attractive spanish lady lying in a hospital bed talking to her devoutly Catholic mother about how she might be pregnant with her own child and with another woman's.

Say what?!

Naturally, that's something you want to understand the process of.  I certainly couldn't figure it out, and I'm not dumb by any stretch of the imagination.  So I kept watching, waiting to see how this was possible.  Now of course I was, at this time, naive to the ways of the daytime world, and didn't realize that it would take days... no weeks, to get an answer.

For those of you unfamiliar like I was- the reason Soap Operas go on for years and YEARS (All My Children has been running for about 30 years now) is because the writers can recycle a single script for WEEKS.  They take the same dialogue and just change it up a little bit, and theoretically, you'll be watching the same episode for days on end.

They're clever though- they hook you by adding just a little something new to the end of each one, and you'll sit there watching, just as I did.

It took a month before I figured out a few things about this show, Passions.  First off, it's only a baby in the world of soaps- having debuted 6 years ago- it has not even come close to having the following that Days of Our Lives or As the World Turns enjoys. 

And yet- there was still so much I was behind on!!  I had no clue what they were talking about, but thanks to the repetitive nature of the series, I was able to figure it out sooner than I thought.

(Oh, and by the way-Theresa, that lady in the hospital bed... had gotten pregnant by her boyfriend but was also acting as a surrogate mother for another woman, and had been implanted with the embryos- for those of you as curious about that medical anomalie as I was.)

Anyhow- this show was and is ridiculous.  The acting is bad, the writing is bad, the major things that happen are completely unbelievable, and yet ever since that day I watch Passions  Monday through Friday without fail.  If I'm not home, I tape it.

Even when I'm watching it I laugh at how absurd the entire thing is.  Honestly, it has been at least half a year and I don't think the show has even made that much progress since I first tuned in.

Maybe these writers aren't that bad after all- I mean, they have me watching, and countless others, too.

And yeah, I laugh at the actors but anyone who is an aspiring actor knows they would give their right arm for a role on a soap. 

*sigh*  If any of you out there watch Passions, then shout to me.

This will make no sense to anyone who doesn't, but that's ok- Passions people, come on now- you want Theresa with Ethan and you want Gwen on her ass in the cold, am I right? 

My mother has decided the kitchen needs some new decor.  A theme, she says.  All good kitchens have a theme.  Now, I don't know if you've noticed... but kitchens can be one of two things.  They can be tasteful and appetizing, or they can be gaudy and ridiculous.

She has a bag from Beall's Outlet and I have a prayer.  Dear God... please let this bag contain nothing tacky.  Nothing that makes you wince and promise yourself you'll never let that happen to your kitchen.  If you do this for me, I'll...

My prayer has ended early.  There's no need to go further with the bargains and the pleas.  She has already reached in and pulled out a little ceramic rooster.  Ok, that's pretty harmless.  A sigh of relief, a reassuring smile and I turn away from her, content to let her finish out her dreams of interior design. 

Imagine my surprise when I come back into the kitchen a mere ten minutes later to find the countertop covered in not one, not two, not a few, but many ceramic roosters.  Realistic looking, kind of creepy, a taxidermist's dream, roosters.  They're everywhere.  On the shelves, on the counters, even on the wall.

"On the wall?"  I hear you ask.  "Let's not exaggerate, Ms. Logic- that's just crazy talk."  But is it, my friends? 

In this barnyard bag of country things, there are about a dozen small picture frames.  Each picture frame is a handsome, basic black.  Inside each picture frame is a rooster.  12 pictures of roosters.  No, not even.  12 pictures of a single rooster.  Yes, that's right.  I kid you not.  The very same rooster.

The only difference in the photos is whether this one, extremely photogenic rooster is facing the left, or the right.

Stop laughing, I'm serious.

Now where to put the entire portfolio of an aspiring model rooster in one's kitchen?  Hmmmm?

Oh!  Here's an idea.  How about side by side in 4 rows of 3 on one wall?  Genius, yeah?  I know you're all beating yourselves up for not thinking of it first.  Maybe you're even putting on your shoes right now, determined to go out in the darkness and find these same trinkets my mother discovered.

Not so fast though, for you shan't be finding any rooster collectibles today, my darlings. Relax, put down the car keys, and take a deep breath.  You see, every rooster figurine ever created is in my kitchen.  So you'd just be wasting your time. 

I know- it's almost too much to take.  Put down the whiskey- don't go down this path of misery over one woman's tasteless pursuits.  You too can find your own thematic elements for your kitchen.

Anyway, back to the story.  So you'd think we had about covered it, yeah?  Roosters on every conceivable surface and a Rooster Hall Of Fame on one very unlucky wall. 

Just wait, folks- it gets even better. 

"Now for the Piece de Resistance!" She squeals in an almost girlish delight as she reaches in another, rather large bag I'd entirely missed. 

What I see before me is indeed the pinacle of this garish nightmare.  The Pharaoh of Figurines,  the Prince of Poultry,  the Rajah of Roosters... a HUGE rooster that stands at least three feet tall.  

A rooster so large it had to be put on a shelf far out of reach (unfortunately not out of sight) because if it fell it could crush Little One, and seriously injure any other member of the house.

And she's absolutely in love with it.  He's good though I guess, he watches over the kitchen and scares away unwanted visitors.  And he keeps the cat from jumping up on the counters.  He's the best scarecrow we've ever had; too bad that wasn't his intended occupation.

A day or so later, my mother had finally come to her senses.  The roosters are a bit much, she admitted.  Amen, mama!  Where to start?  That horrific Rooster Wall.  Only, she didn't exactly rectify the problem, so much as alter it a little. 

That's right.  Instead of 4 rows of 3, there are now only 3 rows of 3.  Where are the other three photos, you ask?  They've been put on display in the dining area of our kitchen.  Spread the magic, Mom- why not just put roosters in every room?  That way we'll never have to worry about houseguests of any kind ever again.

And Larry (as he has been affectionately named by Sister) is still watching over us all, scaring us witless in the middle of the night. 

And thus concludes my essay on why my mother will NEVER have a job with Home and Garden Television.  

I woke up this morning feeling rather good.  Ready to take on the day, ready to face the challenges of life.  Then I remembered it was Independence Day, and went back to sleep.  For those of you unfamiliar with this journal, please cast your eyes to the left and look for the link that says "Fourth of July Horror".  Read that, and you will understand my actions.  Fear not, I am as patriotic as Uncle Sam himself.  I just have dignity, that's all.

So my mother and father invited my grandparents over for the day.  Eat, shoot the breeze, sit by the pool.  Yeah, I know.  I cringed too.  A few hours before arriving, my Grandma calls my mom. 

"Do you need any suitcases, maybe a cooler?"  I don't have to be on the other end to know it's her.  The look on Mom's face gives it away every time. 

"No, Ma.  Just bring yourselves over.  We don't need anything."  Especially not Suitcases.  My grandmother is a nice lady, but I've come to realize that when she brings things over, it's not so much a loving gesture, as it is a spring-cleaning day.  Apparently, we are Grandma's answer to Goodwill or AmVets.  I'm STILL trying to figure out where a suitcase comes into play during the 4th of July festivities.

After hanging up, Mother looks at me.

"Do you have a bathing suit for your grandmother?"

"Yeah sure, no problem."  I start off toward the bedroom, before stopping halfway and turning to look at the innocent face of my mom.

"Um, Grandma doesn't know how to swim, Mom." 

"She floats."  Oh, of course!  How silly of me.

1:30: there's a knock on the door.  I open it to see my grandfather carrying a covered pot filled with Gandules and Rice.  Just behind him, my grandmother- a big grin on her face, and a red blouse in hand for me.  And a housecoat in the other for my mom.  Smart lady- she couldn't pawn off the suitcases, but she sure could unpack the contents and sneak them in.  I feel so one-upped.

We say our hello's and exchange hugs and kisses- where are the kiddies?  *Looks out 12 ft window overlooking the pool full of children* Are they swimming?

No, Grandma- they are actually performing a religious ritual of spiritual rebirth by randomly dunking their bikini-clad bodies under thousands of gallons of chlorinated water.

Of course they're swimming!!

While Grandma goes in the bathroom to change into her hip and youthful swim attire, Mom goes outside to warn the kids about the newest addition to the pool.

"Remember, she doesn't swim, so don't go too near her.  And she shouldn't ever be left alone in the pool, in case she should slip or something.  Don't make loud noises, you could startle her.  And most importantly, she does not like to get her face wet at all, so no splashing or jumping in."

Over the course of an hour, we all stood in the water with Grandma and just watched each other. 

It would have made more sense to have her stand in the grass while we took turns hosing her off. 

I can see it now: "Jess, it's your turn to hose Grandma!"

---------

After our swim (and I use the term loosely), it was time for lunch and a rousing conversation with Grandpa that covered everything from the storyline of Beverly Hills Cop  to the bunyan on his left foot. 

"It's pretty big, I have to have an extra wide shoe just to accommodate it!!"  Even more disturbing than the information, is the lilting sense of pride in his voice, almost the way a gardener speaks of her prized azaleas.  It was as if he grew it or something.

"More potato salad, Grandpa?"  Oh yeah, it's time to change the direction of this conversation.

"No thanks- I have to watch my mayonnaise intake, it repeats on me."  I cannot tell you the number of lifetimes I could have endured without ever knowing that.

Slowly but surely, night falls.  Night falls, my grandparents leave (I almost died of shock when they stuck around post-bingo hour) and it was time to play the fireworks game.

Now for the first time in what has to be my whole life, I can actually say that my father's display of pyrotechnics could have been worse.  We finally used the last of the original supply, and actually bought some new bottle rockets this year.  And a few sparklers too.  And a Roman Candle!!  Wow, Dad- you're really getting the hang of it, now.

Naturally, as soon as I say this, one of the bottle rockets takes off in the general direction of my car, narrowly missing the rear left tire.

It was rather calming to know things weren't entirely different.

The sparklers- now here's some interesting facts about these things.  If you buy colored sparklers, they don't actually sparkle... they kind of just burn as a glowing red or green ball before dying out and burning your knuckles.  Oh, and they make this smoke that looks incredibly consistent with that of pot.
 
Little One's lighting sparkler after sparkler and dancing around the smokey driveway in a crazed manner. 

"These things are *cough* so great dad *cough* we have the best fireworks!!"  *cough, sputter, gag*

Ok wait- anyone who says that is not in their right mind-  what in hell are in these things?!

At least it explains why the routine 4th-of-July police cars kept slowing down in front of my house.

*sigh*

------------------
Ahhh, 4th of July.  It's quite amazing, no?  Well, actually... no. 

Today is so important, my friends.  All around the world, pro bono concerts are taking place in an effort to help stop one of today's greatest tragedies.  Helping to raise awareness are top musicians, celebrities, personalities, actors and politicians.  The United States, Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Canada, Japan, Russia and South Africa are all hosting these unprecedented concerts.  Here in the US, you can watch the 8 hour coverage on VH1 and MTV.  Additionally, you may watch the entire event online through broadband or listen on various radio stations.

Africa desperately needs your help.  Every three seconds an African child dies from poverty, disease and/or starvation.  Not only do many of these people live on less than $1 a day, the continent itself is in debt and using what little money it has to pay it off.  That money (and so much more, no doubt) should instead be going to things like health care, shelter and food for the masses.

Instead, babies are going to bed hungry, and parents are dying. 

On July 6th, the G8 convention will be held in Scotland.  8 of the world's leaders will be there to discuss global events and budgeting.  This year, Tony Blair is chairman of the convention, and will be bringing Africa's plight to the forefront.

We need the leaders to erase Africa's debt.  And that isn't even enough.  Further than that, we need them to provide this hurting continent with monetary grants instead of loans.  Africa cannot afford to pay anything back. 

So what can you do?  No one is asking for your money, simply your voice.  Please, please, please- sign the petition that will be presented to the G8 convention.  Let these 8 powerful men know that what's going on in Africa is unacceptable.  Let them know that you refuse to stand idle while 1/6 of the world's population slowly and painfully wastes away.  Let them know that it isn't fair for your birthplace to determine whether you live or die. 

To sign the petition, visit The ONE Campaign

You can make a difference.  You can be the key to saving thousands of lives.