The Blog, she has been neglected. Sorry.
Last weekend I lucked into tickets for the James Taylor concert at the Mandalay Bay. My Aunt Ross and I had a fun time, although I was surprised to find out that I knew more of his songs than my Aunt did. I figured since he was more of a “her generation” singer that she would be more familiar with his stuff than I was, who was raised with Milli Vanilli and Paula Abdul. (Yipes. No wonder I know a lot of James Taylor stuff.)
It was my second time seeing him in concert, and he did a good job, but MAN is he getting old. He’s starting to look just like Gargamel from the Smurfs.
The big pisser of the week, though, happened last night. I got roped into being on the board of my church’s ladies charity organization. I don't mind it, really. It's kind of fun. Circumstances were that I needed to come up with a service project for the ladies to do at last night’s meeting. I offered to put together care packages for female soldiers serving overseas. The ladies were tasked with writing a quick letter to their selected gal to accompany her care package. The package contained girly shampoo, conditioner, body, wash, and mani/pedi kits, along with a few other girly things. The military provides toiletries to all of their soldiers, but it’s all guy stuff. The women overwhelmingly request feminine toiletries. We thought it would be a nice and inexpensive gesture to send them what they had been requesting.
I thought the idea was a home run, but I was shocked, SHOCKED, when a few of the ladies brought me their soldier’s name and said “Sorry. I don’t want to do this. I’m leaving.” It wasn’t like they had writer’s block or anything (we had a few of those, and it was no big deal), they were apparently morally miffed at the suggestion that we send a letter and a care package to a soldier. Still more women left the room without bringing me their soldier’s info, opting instead to slink out of the room and leave it untouched on the table where they were sitting.
I don’t want to be judgmental towards these gals: you would be hard-pressed to find someone more against this war than I am, but I understand that there’s a line between policy disagreements with my senators and my president and helping out some ladies who are a hemisphere away from their children and their families. I certainly wasn’t about to force these ladies to do something they didn’t feel comfortable doing, but still…
Wow. Just…wow.
After some coaxing, she figured out that the Big Bad Wolf did not in fact devour her father's head, and stopped screaming bloody murder and hiding behind anything she could find: