avanta7: (Thong Man)
New Jersey considers ban on bare-it-all Brazilian wax.

First of all, let me say the phrase "genital waxing" was something I never expected to see in a news article.

Second, out of the gazillion women who have "Brazilians" done each year all over the US, two, count'em, two, women who had complications are influencing the New Jersey State Board of Cosmetology to ban the procedure? What next? "Oh, that razor cut my shin when I was shaving my legs and I think it ought to be taken off the market"?

Third: For crying out loud!

And finally: Thong Man (above) should have had a Brazilian.


The text of the article for posterity's sake. )
avanta7: (Phoebe)
Tired of your dog? More importantly, is your dog tired of you? Is he bored and restless from being cooped up in a yard or apartment when all he really wants to do is roam free? Grant your poor dog's unspoken wish, and send him to Dog Island! Where he is free from the tyranny of humans! Where he can roam with a pack and live off the land!

"We have conditioned our lovely canine friends to live under our rules. They are used to it, yes. They have learned to love us anyway, yes. But it is not right, no. Dogs should live free, should live lives unfettered by humiliation due to forced public defecation and having to walk on a leash.

"It is with this in mind that Dog Island was created. Is it the ultimate answer? No, but it's a step in the right direction - dogs living on their own, controlling their own destinies in ways that they absolutely cannot while under human rule.

"Here at Dog Island, we look to give back to dogs what we have taken from them: their freedom."

(Be sure to read the section on rates. And don't miss the directions!)
avanta7: (Leonardo)
While at Target today, I noticed a man leaving the store at the same time I was. He was probably in his early to mid-30s, ordinary in appearance, casually dressed. He was slightly ahead of me and to the left. He stopped in front of the non-automatic doors when he realized they weren't opening, but instead of pushing the doors open and going out, he stepped around the barrier to his right, jumped in front of me and exited through the automatic doors. Then turned left on the sidewalk and continued on his merry way; in other words, retracing steps he needn't have taken, all to avoid manually opening a door.

I find this very curious.

Huh.

Jun. 16th, 2005 09:55 pm
avanta7: (Leonardo)
I received an e-mail from an old friend in California which informed me my first fiancé, the fellow I was going to marry back when I was 19 (and then changed my mind), died a few months ago. Of cancer. He was 43.

I haven't thought of this man in ages. But he meant a great deal to me once upon a time. Last I heard anything about him was at least 15 years ago -- he was divorcing the woman he had married after he and I split up, and the ex got the kids. I have no idea whether he married again or had more children. I don't know what kind of cancer he had, or even exactly when he died. (My e-mail informant didn't have all the details either.)

I'm considering mailing a short note to his parents, but I can't remember their first names, and truthfully don't even know if they're still living.

This is very strange.
avanta7: (Leonardo)
Mom called me yesterday. She and Daddy had gone out to the house to check on some things. Daddy went around to the side of the house to turn the master electric switch on (we keep the electricity off most of the time) and discovered....

....the meter assembly had been stolen as well.

Can you believe it? The thieves took the blinking electric meter!!

I called my insurance agent, but I doubt the electric meter is covered under either of the policies.

When I told spouse, his jaw about hit the floor. "I'm amazed" was all he could say. Ditto. I'm knocked-in-the-head stunned. An electric meter. Reddy Kilowatt is no more.
avanta7: (Default)
What in blazes is going on in this neighborhood?

The other day I noticed our photinia hedge had been spray painted with a blue squiggly stripe. And some odd symbols in the same blue paint also appeared on the large elm (?) in front of the house next door.

Late last night (well, late to me -- it was right at nine o'clock) someone threw something against the front of the house. THWACK! Spouse hopped off the couch and looked outside, but whoever did it was nowhere in sight. He grabbed the flashlight to check things out. On the siding near the front window was an orange syrupy substance. We decided someone had thrown a popsicle. (?) Judging from the angle and the force with which it hit, whoever threw it must have have been on or at the bottom of the porch steps.

I called the landlord and told him what was going on. Oh, says he, sounds like gangs might be expanding their territory. He suggested I call the neighborhood alert center in the morning.

Joy. That it might be gangs had never even entered my mind. And they're armed with popsicles, apparently.

I went to the neighborhood alert center in person this afternoon. I wanted to talk to the officers face to face. I didn't want to get blown off like when I reported the Barbie dolls. (BTW, I reported the Barbie doll thing again while I was there.) Officer Friendly takes my name and address and number and says he'll refer it to the gang unit. If their budget hasn't been cut (!), they'll be out sometime this week to look at the symbols.

Back home, I grabbed the camera and took a few shots of the tree. I'll take the photos to Officer Friendly tomorrow. Budget cuts, my Aunt Fanny. Budget cuts be damned. I don't want gangs on my block. I don't want to move!
avanta7: (Phoebe)
Multiple journal entries today for a variety of different topics. This entry concerns my walk with Phoebe late yesterday afternoon.

Phoebe and I have a number of different routes we take on our afternoon jaunts when I come home from work. Yesterday we decided to visit the vacant lot around the corner. It's kind of trashy, so it's a good spot for her to do her business -- very little chance of someone casually stepping in a mess, knowhutimean? As we started across the lot, I saw something unusual out of the corner of my eye.

It was a small satin pillow, about 4 inches square, sitting at the base of a dead tree. I picked it up, thinking "maybe I can clean this up and use it somehow." (Yes, and I've gone dumpster-diving, too, so sue me.) It was a cute little pillow, all frilly and lacy. It had a design on one side that said "No Boys." Just the sort of thing that would appeal to a pre-adolescent girl. I glanced down again and that's when I saw the naked Barbie dolls and a pair of crumpled little girl's panties.

Oh dear God, I thought. I put the pillow back the way I found it, and immediately returned home to call the police. As I told the dispatcher what I found, I got upset and teary, just imagining all sorts of scenarios that could have led to those particular objects being left under that tree. She questioned me, took my name, address and phone number, and said they'd send a car out.

I waited until I couldn't wait any longer; we were singing for Ash Wednesday service and I had to be at the church at 5:30. No officer ever came to my door, and I had no messages when I returned home after the service.

I thought perhaps I was overreacting, but when I told spouse about it last night, he said we had a convicted sex offender living on the next block (where the vacant lot is).

Phoebe and I didn't go back to that vacant lot this evening.

I watch too much Law And Order: SVU, I guess.

August 2013

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