Appropriate Metaphor

Dear Cary, NC:


You suck like the ocean through a jagged, swirling hole in a reef at high tide. Verily, you suck like a newly collapsed star burnt out in grand fashion, stealing light and energy from the surrounding areas. You INDEED suck like a through and through bullet wound to the chest. I’m sad to my soul you’re part of NC.

Was it not for people I care for and love within your limits I would have you daisy-cuttered into oblivion, raze what’s left, tilled with salt made from the tears of angels, concreted over, and made a parking lot for Durham/Morrisville for the rest of eternity. You are an utter waste of space.


Because I have to pay a bogus red light camera ticket in what has to be THE most shameless, pathetic, lazy, bureaucratic attempt at fundraising for your already privileged school systems: the arbitrarily shortened red light cycle. I wouldn’t mind so much that I got a red-light ticket, HAD I EARNED IT.

However, when I came through the same intersection again the next day the cycle was reasonable and safe. This practice is questionable at best and when I read that all funds were going to the schools and no points levied I realised that a municipality had chosen money over the safety of the driver and for that, I will never again hold you in any esteem other than that of which I hold Georgetown: a collective of spoiled, prancing and idealistic bureaucrats who have very little knowledge or regard of physics and its affects on the mass tonnage of cars.

Please choose a cycle and stick with it.

Ebb and Flow


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I have been writing in Lilium Inter Spinas in various forms and hosts for six years. I love this blog. It has been a great outlet for all sorts of emotions (mostly anger and bitchiness) since I started it living in south county and by myself for the first time ever.

But I can’t identify with her anymore. We’ve grown apart. She is a repository for a lot of negative emotion and verbiage but it was all necessary for me at the time. I regret none of what has been typed here.

So I think LIS, as it is, has come to an end. The Story and writer continue, of course. Just a little more learned and thoughtful.

In Serious Need of Fluff

What with the job situation looking dire, water STILL periodically pouring from my bathroom ceiling from an inept property owner, dog with a skin-sloughing bite from a stay at the vet, my two weeks of working “severance” from said job, and I am sure there is something else I’ve missed…

I will be running away to meet up with my man in Small Town South for a week. Barring unforeseen interviews. Don’t get me wrong I love the hell out of him, but if someone calls I’m going. I really have a dire need to pay my bills. He understands; as I am sure he does NOT have a dire need to pay my bills.

There hasn’t been a quality shoe post on LIS in some time, I feel the need to So this extraneous post is solely (heh, I said sole) about making me feel better.

John and I have had many shoe conversations.

For instance this is what is wrong with shoe fashion this season:
It’s ok. If you are going for geriatric, goth stripper still living in the 80s. *sigh* Too much going on, stud AND contrast stitching, AND platform, AND old man slipper, AND OH MY GOD MY HEAD.

I was going to put up an example of what was going right this season but it seems that all the couture shoe designers have the same 80s era induced insanity. Every heel is platform and if it isn’t platform then it’s a GOD AWFUL SLOUCH ANKLE FUCKING BOOT. Sometimes? It’s both. I have awesome ankles, I am not wearing these cankle-covering gladiator-slaying monstrosities.

So much for making me feel better, I can’t even find a cute pair of shoes to drool over.

Just. Shoot me.

Wait. I do feel better.

The Word on The VMAs

I don’t watch awards shows. I find that the best parts worth viewing are usually on the news later that evening. I can go about my business and still catch the best parts after the fact. Seeing as how there is rarely this much backlash, it proves to be a true statement.

Lady Gaga – She is so elaborately odd, so deliciously out there, I find her entertaining. Unfortunately, this just means I cannot take her seriously as an artist. Not that I take artists seriously. This is probably why John and I have such differing opionions on Hollywood.

Pink – I love Pink. She’s tough girl and girly. Her videos have bright and shiney colors that keep my attention! And probably about as real as artists get. Which on a “normal person” scale is like Sandra Bullock, but with better costumes. If you watch nothing else, you must see her “So What” video.

Kanye – Ehhh. Simply? Bad form. The height of attention-whoring. Tackiness personified. But? REALLY GOOD AT PUBLICITY. Here’s the thing: unless you are doing bad things to kids (and even then…), there really is no such thing as bad publicity. Anything that gets people talking will ensure that your name never disappears from the ledgers of fame. Or infamy. But the latter is probably the longer-lived option.

At any rate, I am dubious that his apology is completely sincere as 1. he hasn’t learned from his Courvosier-drenched mistakes, 2. publicity is publicity is publicity is publicity. He’s just dragging it out because that lackluster, autotuned POS he produced didn’t carry him long enough between fixes.

The Magic of Brownies

Once upon a time, there was a handsome, charming, intelligent soldier who was in Texas for training. He was doted upon by the faire maiden of the story and as such she offered to send him brownies to ease the burden of  roommates and Army efficiency.

And indeed, she looked high and low for a recipe that would yield the results for which she searched.  Many hours passed as she consulted cookbooks and food blogs and finally decided upon one that included “Fudgy” in the title. It was an easy recipe and produced a reasonable amount of brownies.

The handsome SPC enjoyed the brownies and indeed shared them with some of his classmates who (allegedly) were very impressed.

The end.

Well, not really. I sent the brownies, they didn’t look right to me, though they tasted great.  He did enjoy them very much but I wasn’t happy with the look. I wanted to replicate the brownies that a woman I worked with many years before had made. They were dark and sticky with just the right amount of cohesive crumb. In short, something that looked like it had come from a box, but tasted much better.

So, I am testing brownie recipes. Next on the list?

One-Bowl Marscarpone Brownies

Long in the Tooth

“So, for my age and considering it’s been two years since my last visit… tell me straight. How do my gums look?”

“‘For your age’ like, you’re old?”

“Well, no, I love you guys and all, but I just don’t think you understand NOW MUCH I hate the dentist.  It spans even the divide to talking about anything remotely involving teeth-related trauma. It’s the reason I can’t watch MMA. If I know where I am then I can maintain that level of good-osity.” (this would have been a good place to find five dollars, but it continued until my hygenist stopped me)

“They’re exceptional considering we haven’t seen you in two years.”

“Thanks. I needed that.”

There are 30 year olds getting root canals, that is something I would LOVE to avoid at any cost. I just cannot bear the thought of the sound of teeth cracking or steel dentistry tools in my mouth (have to be specific too easy to get sidetracked from not being specific enough).

Gathering how much I dislike the dentist? No? Alrighty, let me paint a picture:

When I was little, probably pre-middle school, I had a baby tooth (MOLAR. Multiple! roots!) pulled without anesthesia because I was so afraid of needles. Add that to my dentist not being the most patient person with a freaked out kid and you have instant recipe for mutual dislike and a life long aversion to the dentist’s chair.

Fast forward, going in a knew a couple things : 1. My wisdom teeth needed at some point to come out and 2. I had *a* cavity two years ago.  (sorry, dad). So when the office said “If there are any problems, we’ll have the doctor call you.” I took that to mean: “Talk soon! Byeeeee!”

So, the damage? One cavity. And my wisdom teeth need to come out. We’re negotiating on anesthesia, but I informed the staff that it is in everyone’s best interests if I NOT hear the roots of my teeth breaking. That in itself is worth the extra cost of general anesthesia.

(Not without my sleepy-time)


New York Times  published an article on a European made breast-feeding doll for girls. Wherein the girls (target age is pre-tween) wear what might as well be a flower-pasty bra that comes with a life-size doll.  The mechanics seem to be simple enough; I assume there are transmitters in them that cause the doll’s mouth to start suckling when it gets close to one pasty or the other.

You heard me.

It hasn’t hit the US yet, but it’s already causing a stir. The general, knee-jerk reaction is one of revulsion, because hey, the target audience is one that largely doesn’t need to be thinking about the ACTUAL mechanics of breastfeeding. Because they are too busy being children.

I don’t mind seeing women feed their babies in public, and I don’t think that the militant slant it can take when the whole cover-not-to-cover discussion comes up is a productive one. Not that I think any kind of militant slants are healthy or productive. Anyway.

Kids may see their mother breast-feeding and use various representations of a baby to imitate. Imitation is perfectly natural, BUT I have an issue with a doll that goes through the actual motions as opposed more harmless imitation.

For the die-hard breast-feed or let your kids starve community trying to defend your position with “representing the breast as a ‘perfectly functional, non-sexual organ'” is an effort in futility. Not to mention being purposefully ignorant of the way the breast is viewed in REALITY and BY MOST PEOPLE. Which is not something that is likely to change.

While acknowledging that breastfeeding is a natural (and the optimal feed source for infants) function, the whole doll sucking on a six year old makes me feel icky. I repeat: the doll, not breastfeeding, makes me feel icky.

Repetition is necessary because breastfeeding (BF) is one of those hot-button issues like co-sleeping v. cry-it-out methods (yes, I’m aware, don’t have a heart attack) debate that makes certain parts of the maternal community go all frothy at the mouth, quickly.

On Ignorance…

This isn’t about any major ignorance, unless you’re a dog owner and you live in the area then this is a gripe that you understand very well.

Some people don’t like dogs. Fine. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for people not to like dogs. Whatever your reasons, if you don’t like animals, I can respect that and act accordingly. I, unfortunately, don’t HAVE any people like that in my neighborhood. What I do have is an ignorant, rude woman with a passel of kids in whom she instills, next to encourages, a fear of dogs. But she’s a whole other visit to the psychologist’s office.

I was walking the monsters in the woods and as paranoid as I am about my two I keep a pretty fair eye out for other people. And when I say people don’t like dogs, I mean they even cross the street for my neighbor’s pug and watch that dog like a hawk until they reach what they think is a safe distance.

That, I’m fine with. Perfectly.

What I have an issue with is when I watch a man from about 50 yards away talking on his cell, see my animals, pick up a fallen tree branch, stick, twig -whatever- and start beating the ground with it as he walks towards me and my dogs.

For reference, my two are NEVER on anything longer than a 6′ lead and are seldom more than politely curious.  If you want to see me get pissed let’s talk about dogs heavier than 35 pounds on retractable leads. NO. BUSINESS. WHATSOEVER.

Naturally the sound and movement inspired a little curiosity from Bruno and Tempy.  They didn’t invade his space but that the stick-wielding tough guy leaned away made me more than a little happy. And lest you call me paranoid he dropped it right after we passed. Pussy. There’s a two year old up the block that has less fear than you.

Look, I don’t expect people to know what breeds are more capable than another of ferocity. Or know the difference in body language between a friendy dog and one that is aggressive. Frankly, they’re animals and love them though I do, they are going to have instinctual drives that not even I can control. Short of Schutzhund, Matt.

But don’t be a dick about it. It’s regrettable that you’re afraid of my dogs just ignore us the next time you walk by and we’ll gladly return the favor.

Good Thing To Know #513

Epiphany time here at Lilium Inter Spinas is always fun. Probably more so for people who happen to read because most of you are at the very least acquainted with me and already are aware of what I am just now discovering about myself.

I don’t like to be rushed. No good ever comes of this combination. In fact, the only quicker path to an untimely kick in the balls is telling me that “You must be in one of those moods today.” Do not pass go, do not collect your broken testes, just go away.


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