I don't remember dial up being this slow, ever.

Before I married David, I had dial up. It didn't seem this slow. You'd think we were using an 1200 baud modem or something. Who knows what this actually is. Maybe 2400. Ha!

While I was stomping about earlier, griping about the injustice of the loss of DSL, David tried to make me feel a little better.

"Pretend like you are camping," he said.

That kind of helps.

But tomorrow, either SBC can reconnect us (although doubtful as DSL capacity has been maxed here and our port is probably long gone to some less deserving household), or we will sign up for Comcast Cable internet.

Basically, it comes down to who gets the broadband here quickest.

Earlier, I was contemplating running out to scrounge up an AOL disc at Blockbuster. You know you never have an AOL disc when you actually need some free temporary dial up access (this was before David reminded me that we have backup dial-up through SBC).

What I do get from all this is that I don't handle the unexpected all that well, and that I am my father's daughter. I want to yell at someone until this is fixed, even though there is no one to yell at.

So for now I will stomp and pout. And binge eat this bag of Christmas M&Ms.

Tonight, the unthinkable happened.

Our DSL was disconnected.

My little world has fallen apart.

A few months ago, I changed our home phone number to a "metro line". "The only thing that matters," I told Jim, Diana, and everyone else I spoke with in the SBC order department, "is that we don't lose our DSL."

They all assured me that we would not lose our DSL.

And, the telephone number changed, and we still had DSL.

But, that was just a cruel joke designed to make us think all was well. After a few months of not paying for the DSL (and not knowing this since the phone bill gets billed to a credit card), the DSL was disconnected tonight.

This always happens at night when you can't do a damned thing about it for hours or sometimes days.

So here I am on a ridiculously slow dial up. I am going through withdrawals for my broadband connection. I have some kind of odd pains and I feel like kicking someone.

I don't think I am going to be able to sleep tonight.

The Hall family in New Jersey got an extra surprise this Thanksgiving. Along with their bag of giblets, their frozen turkey came with a frozen turkey head.

I agree that it is gross.

The funny thing is that Mrs. Hall is either upset or surprised that turkeys have heads, or so it seems.

"It's gross, sickening," said Hall. Hall said the turkey head is a tough image to get out of her mind for Thanksgiving.

We're not going to cook any more turkeys in our house," said Hall. "We're going to cook but we're going to cook ham."

Hello! Pigs have heads too!

Most meat sources have heads, last time I checked.

If we were the lucky recipients of  a turkey head, we'd most likely have a puppet show. We would probably fight over it. And we would have taken a much better picture to share.

Sears bought Land's End.

Kmart bought Sears.

Kmart owns Land's End.

Holy smokes! Now where am I going to buy my pants?

Last Tuesday, David and I were eating our dinner at McChipotle (for the second week in a row).

As I looked around, I realized what a safe little happy world our immediate little Far, Far, Far North Dallas environment is.

The restaurant was full of happy people. The employees were laughing and joking with the customers. A group of what looked to be several families was eating together at a large round table. Four young men of varying ethnicities who appeared to be in their late teens ate quietly with nice manners. A group of State Troopers arrived and ordered their dinners.

Afterwards, David and I wandered over to the new World Market, where we ran into LD's 4th grade teacher, and we all chatted for a while.

Everyone just seems to be at ease.

What a difference from "the big city", where I grew up!

Whenever we go to LD's elementary school and see 40+ bikes in the bike rack, most without locks, I always chuckle to myself and think, "Where I grew up, if it wasn't chained down (and sometimes if it was), it would be gone in a heartbeat.

When I lived in "L.A.", my car was broken into in the garage, twice. I was robbed at gunpoint at work. My brother walked into a robbery at a McDonalds. Our house was burglarized when I was a little kid, so I learned what insurance was when I was about six.

For years I carried my keys on a keychain that I found on my car after police officers arrested a fleeing suspect on the trunk of my car in our driveway. I still carry the handy little Craftsman keychain screwdriver from those keys on my current keychain!

We used to hear the L.A. County Sheriff's Department helicopters circling all the time. If they were close, and we were lucky, we could get them to shine the huge light on us if we ran down the street while they were looking for someone.

I guess what I am getting at is that I've always had to watch my back, and now I don't feel quite the same.

I can't even recall the last time I saw any bullet-proof glass.

I could go on, but I'll save some for later.

The next time you are feeling depressed over the average American's dull vocabulary, try incorporating the following British terms into your everyday life:

Instead of shopping cart or buggy, try trolley.

Instead of pantry, try larder.

Instead of master bathroom, try en suite.

 Instead of electrical outlet, try power point.

If anyone acts like they don't know what you're talking about, just roll your eyes and instead of the middle finger, give them the ol' two fingers.

I grew up in a suburb of Los Angeles.

In California, the liquor laws are pretty simple: Over 21 can buy alcohol between 6:00 a.m. and 2:00 a.m. anytime the store is open for business. Bars close at 2:00 a.m.

In California, if you are a skilled and fast driver, you can hit last call at 1:30 a.m. then skid into the closest grocery store by 2:00 a.m. for a bottle of store brand booze to take home.

Here in Texas, the rules ain't so simple.

The state governs the overall booze trade, but the individual counties and cities decide what to allow and what is so sinful that you should have to go to the next county to get it.

Some cities allow no liquor sales at all. They are known as dry.
Our county allows beer and wine sales, and is considered "damp".
Our city recently voted to sell beer and wine and is now "damp" instead of dry.
Dallas and Denton counties allow beer and wine, as well as hard liquor sales, and are considered "wet".
NO county may sell hard liquor on a holiday.
Most liquor establishments in wet counties have a "beer and wine" store next to a separate "liquor" store so that they can sell beer and wine on Sunday and on holidays while the liquor store remains closed.
If Christmas falls on Sunday, you cannot buy hard alcohol on the following Monday.

Here in Texas, you need to plan your binge ahead of time.

I asked a liquor store clerk why one can't buy hard liquor on Thanksgiving.

His theory is that you don't want family members who don't like one another showing up at family gatherings, getting drunk, and murdering one another.

Makes sense to me!

If you recall my post from a few days ago regarding children's nutrition, you'll know how annoying I find the fast and junk food industries.

We found ourselves at the local Blockbuster Video the other night.

It was a toss up between One Night in Compton (for some reason, I just love a 'hood comedy - must be my roots) and Supersize Me, a documentary.

Supersize Me follows one perfectly healthy Morgan Spurlock through a month of eating nothing but McDonald's. Throughout the journey, he barfs, gains weight, raises his cholesterol, and experiences other unpleasant side effects.

The rules were simple:
1. Everything he ingested during the month had to come from McDonalds;
2. During the month, he had to try every menu item at least once.;
3. If the counterperson asked him if he wanted to Supersize, he had to accept.

Oh yeah, and his girlfriend is a vegan.

The McDonald's aspect of the movie was a little over the top, but the real enlightenment was in the pieces on children's nutrition.

Basically, the fast and junk food industries are firmly entrenched in the school cafeterias, addicting the kids to grease and sugar.

And my suspicions are confirmed: Chicken nuggets are disgusting.

Worth seeing, if you have the time for an enlightening, yet comedic, view of American laziness and stupidity.

I spied this package of amazingly life-like slimy rubbery lures in a huge sporting goods shop.

Maybe fish see these and think "YUM".

But then also, maybe some people who shop in Oriental grocery stores see these and think "YUM".

Maybe if I were into fish snacks, I would think "YUM" too, but for now, sorry, it's just "YUK".

Delicate Triscuit
Golden flaky woven snack
Gentle munching sounds.