I'm a liberal, I swear!!

I love quizzes, but this one I had to fill out for my National Security Decision Making class, so it's not just fun, it's helps you understand why we just can't get along:

Are you a realist, liberalist, or idealist?

(It's good even though it's from the Christian Science Monitor and titled "Are you a neo-con?" Leading much?)

I'm a realist.

Realists…

Are guided more by practical considerations than ideological vision
Believe US power is crucial to successful diplomacy - and vice versa
Don't want US policy options unduly limited by world opinion or ethical considerations
Believe strong alliances are important to US interests
Weigh the political costs of foreign action
Believe foreign intervention must be dictated by compelling national interest

Historical realist: President Dwight D. Eisenhower
Modern realist: Secretary of State Colin Powell

Not surprising considering I'm very cynical when it comes to politics and international relations. States can can espouse freedom, democracy, and human rights then get into wars based on national economic interests because that's how people work. Unless states can convince others that any action is to their benefit, this is how it will always be.

Don't just watch, do something!

Trying not to worry constantly about the welfare of hurricane Katrina victims. It's amazing what weather can do in just a couple of days. So, I'll do my liberal, Sally Struthers plea:

Please donate to the Red Cross (overall disaster relief or hurricane fund) or other reputable local charity. There are over 290 million people living in the US and if we each give just a few dollars, that's significant. Share the wealth and alleviate victims' suffering because it could be you next time and you'd appreciate the help.

Psychosomatic...emphasis on the psycho.

My stomach hurts. Is it the food or the life?

Just needed to share the love.



For those who don't know them, these are my babies: The alien monkey and her friend the round orange floor cushion, aka Gipsy and Giles. Worship them!

For those who do, they have tons of fur saved up to rub on you for your next visit. Worship them!

I will miss them next week when I will be swilling das Bier and observing die Truppen. Very sad.

You know that overworked feeling? The feeling of being not so fresh?

I think I just found the solution to that very problem!

Use my annual leave! For vacation! For anything besides work! (Ta-da!)

This truly is a revelation because I've taken days off now and then, but I've been feeling very tired lately. Then I did some calculations after I discovered that I have over 17 days of leave saved up (and it's not even the end of the year). That's almost a month! Not including the 40+ days of sick leave and 2 days of award leave. Hell, I'll just take half the next year off, thank you.

Why the revelation? That means that I've haven't used a single damn day of leave this year. Instead, I've banked extra hours and have been taking those few days off because I've already worked them. Isn't this why I didn't become a lawyer? (And that whole bloodsucking thing.)

The sad thing is that it took me until August to realize this. Damn work ethic. I'm taking the rest of the day off.

Update on the A/C:



Massive leaks "fixed" by A/C company = bedroom ceiling collapse. Thousands of dollars in damage. Yay!

Waiting for run of bad luck to end:

--windshield shattered ($$)
--A/C (still) leaking buckets of water ($$$)
--reminded of inability to keep a man (priceless)

Argh. Will not wallow in sad music. Will not eat my way through the city. Will not watch Bridget Jones again.

Sweet Revenge

Found out about betrayal of trust, and have been feeling a little out of sorts. Angry in fact. So, how do I get over this feeling without resorting to immature bout of violent bludgeoning? Will follow the lead of M: use Sims to live out my dreams.



The life and imminent death of one Miserable Bastard. After being surgically removed from his mother's teat at age four, has vowed to scorn all things female and emulate the pursuits of his dastardly father. Twenty-five years later, is married and lederhosened after getting wifey (former Miss Trailerpark California) knocked up with demon spawn Babs (who terrorizes the villagers with her cacophonous howls). Now lives in ramshackle hut (with outhouse) in style of industrial safari. In attempt to fix breakfast, catches house on fire and Death comes visiting while Wifey is taking a leisurely dip. Thus is the story of Miserable Bastard.

The End.

OK, feel tons better. Will move on.