HAPPY HALLOWEENIE!

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Elvis Aaron Schwarz is going to dress as Captain Jack Sparrow for Halloween.

Hi! Remember me?
I'm Elvis Aaron Schwarz.
I'm dressing as Captain Jack Sparrow for Halloween.
Here I am in my costume.

I, of course, will dress as a feisty wench in need of rescue by the captain.

That's me, on the right. Don't you love the way my bodacious ta-tas peek out from my low-cut costume?

Happy Halloweenie!

Infinities of love,

Guess who!

PUT ON YOUR GIRDLE. WE'RE GOING TO THE ER.

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My mother wouldn't go to the grocery store without changing her clothes so she was more dressed up -- and I'm talking about right up to the day she went in the hospital to die.

When I was little, I remember her attending events such as a Military Wives Tea wearing a hat and gloves. I still have the hat and gloves I wore to my oldest sister's wedding. We were always dressed to kill because Mother would have murdered us had we not dressed properly.

What was not so lovely and pleasant, though, was that we had to get dressed up to see the doctor, no matter how sick we were.

One of my sisters once had a terrible case of stomach flu or food poisoning or something. She spent a hideous night alternating between diarrhea and vomiting.

When morning finally came and she felt a bit better, my mom insisted that our dad take Sister to the Emergency Room. Of course, the time to go would have been when she was really, really out of control and passing out sick.

But, no. Mother waited till morning. When she was better.

To add an icing of misery to her misery cake, Sister had to dress up to go to the ER. She was forced to don her best dress, stockings, and a girdle. She probably weighed about 80 pounds, but in our house, once you reached a certain age you wore a girdle.

I remember my sister crying, I just wanna go to bed. I'm sooooo tired.

But she got dressed as ordered (or she would have been beaten, which, of course, cures any illness), and our father carted her off to the emergency room, where a doctor said, Well, I guess she's fine now.

Some things about the olden golden days were great. But others, such as putting on a dress and girdle to go to the emergency room . . . bleah.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

NEIGHBORS WHAT? MONDAY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I am sandwiched between a lovely pair of neighbors and a not so lovely pair.

The not so lovely pair has a messy unmown yard. A large plant grows or is stuck on the roof over their front door. They go in and out of their gate at all hours, and as I've mentioned before, the gate like to say

SQUEEEEEEEEEAK   and    CREEEEEEAK.

These folks also like to chat out in their driveway, sometimes in the middle of the night or the wee hours of the morning.

Their driveway is right next to my bedroom window.

Worst of all, the woman likes to engage me in conversation when I'm doing yard work, and she's a REPUBLICAN.

I wouldn't mind that she's a Republican if she didn't try to cram her beliefs down my throat. Avoiding arguments with her can be difficult because she seems to peep out her window, waiting for me to trim bushes or rake leaves, and then suddenly she's outside, telling me that Democrats are idiots.

I try very hard to avoid political confrontations, and I change the subject when she gets started.

My other neighbors, however, are absolutely adorable. I have no idea what their political affiliations are because they don't nag me about politics. They tend to say things such as, "Hi! How are you? Let us know if you need any help."

I call them Hot Young Anthony and Sweet Young Allison. They are a young married couple. He's an RN, and she teaches first grade.

Hot Young Anthony gives me a hot little thrill when he takes off his shirt while mowing his lawn. I can't help liking Sweet Young Allison, though sometimes I wish she would disappear for just a little while so I could have Hot Young Anthony all to myself.

These little stories about my neighbors lead me to today's question:

What kind of neighbors do you have?
Are they pleasant or annoying? Do you think of them as friends? Is anyone else fortunate enough to have a Hot Young Anthony?

As always, I look forward to reading your responses.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

MOVIE NOT MOVIE WEEKEND

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I have two movies to discuss with you today, both released in 2011 and both available on DVD.

The first is a Japanese documentary that's worth watching: Jiro Dream of Sushi.

For those of you who whine that you don't watch movies with subtitles, unless you're Melynda, get over it. Many movies with subtitles are excellent, and this is one of them.

Jiro Ono, an 85-year-old sushi master, serves sushi at his restaurant, which seats eight customers. That's right -- sushi for eight people. No appetizers, no desserts, no other entrees. Just sushi, for which he charges $300 a plate.

We get a look at the sushi preparation; Jiro's relationship with his two sons, who also make sushi; and he visits his boyhood home. Stylistically, this movie is lovely. I also like Jiro's philosophy and his comments on his work ethic, which are sprinkled throughout the film: 

Jiro Ono: Once you decide on your occupation... you must immerse yourself in your work. You have to fall in love with your work. Never complain about your job. You must dedicate your life to mastering your skill. That's the secret of success... and is the key to being regarded honorably.


Thus, Jiro Dreams of Sushi earns The Janie Junebug Seal of Approval.

Now onto our "not movie" weekend, which you may have guessed means that I don't like this film. It's called Straw Dogs, and it's a remake of a 1971 film that starred Dustin Hoffman. I don't know if the first one was any good, but the second one stinks. It's lewd, crude, lurid, and violent.

Straw Dogs has The Janie Junebug Seal of Very Strong Disapproval. Please don't waste your time on it, but should you choose to watch it for God knows whatever reason, it's most definitely not for children.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

MY FATHER'S LOVE: THE LEGACY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Yesterday I repeated a post I wrote last year about a memoir by Sharon Doubiago called My Father's Love: Portrait of the Poet As A Young Girl. Today I'd like to write about the second volume of Doubiago's memoirs, My Father's Love: The Legacy.

In this second volume, poet Sharon Doubiago considers the effect of childhood rape by her father on her life and her family's lives as an adult looking back on events and living the aftermath.

Her father's deathbed confession that he raped her at the age of seven brings no closure for Doubiago, not with a mother who denies the event and a younger sister who is strangely jealous of their father's attention to Sharon, even if it was painful and sexual. Doubiago's sister -- called "Bridget"* in these memoirs -- is a constant source of pain to Sharon, belittling and demeaning her, spreading rumors about her, filling their relationship with a hatred unwanted and painful to Sharon.

It's a classic case of "blame the victim," as if Sharon should be punished for attracting her father sexually, and, moreover, should not tell the truth about his inappropriate and abusive behavior toward her.

Bridget arrives again. Very soon we're fighting. About what? I was trying so hard not to let this happen. Mama is sitting in the dining room, silently watching just as she did when Daddy and I fought. Something Bridget says is such a lie, such a distortion, so unfair, my heart starts hurting, my breath is gone, though I'm screaming.

Just leave. I get up to leave. This is what I must learn to do. I'm at the font door, opening it. She comes at me, throwing her whole self into me, scratching and biting.

"I hate you I hate you I want you dead . . . . "

The legacy of her father's love is not Doubiago's alone to bear. It tears apart an entire family and nearly everyone who becomes involved with them. And eventually, Doubiago learns that her father should not have been left alone with his granddaughters.

I relate so strongly to Doubiago's writing that it hurts, physically and emotionally; yet it comforts me to know I am not alone -- I am not the only person who has suffered from a family legacy, a legacy of lies, a legacy of  abandonment, a legacy of degradation. We scream we are not liars and are condemned as hysterics, as mentally ill.

I strongly recommend these two volumes to you, dear friends, no matter how painful the reading may be, because pain often brings enlightenment, and eventually, relief.

The first volume of My Father's Love is currently not available from amazon. However, you can request the book and receive an email when it is back in stock. Go to http://www.amazon.com/My-Fathers-Love-Vol-Portrait/dp/0984130403.

The second volume of My Father's Love also is not available from amazon at this time. Please visit http://www.amazon.com/My-Fathers-Love-Vol-II/dp/0984130438 to place an order for the future.

Perhaps it should come as no great surprise that Doubiago had difficulty finding a publisher. Many in the publishing world will not accept books about rape or abuse because of pressure from the False Memory Syndrome Foundation and because of books that portray raped and injured children as liars and fantasists. Doubiago writes in her Author's Note: "For almost fifteen years not a single incest book has been published by a major U.S. press -- this culminating an era that had uncovered the fact that one quarter or more of all females are raped in childhood. The taboo of the incest book is still very powerful, censorship being an aspect of the silent shadow."

To purchase the books now, I recommend ordering them directly from the publisher, Wild Ocean Press, at http://wildoceanpress.com/.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug



*Sharon's sister "Bridget" is actually a well-known New Age healer who calls herself Donna Eden.

MY FATHER'S LOVE

I first published this post on November 25th, 2011. I offer it for your reading once more because on Thursday I'll review the second volume of Sharon Doubiago's memoirs.



Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Sharon Doubiago wrote My Father's Love: Portrait Of The Poet As A Young Girl, the first volume of her memoirs, about the horrific alternative to love that she received from her father. For her father's love was presented in the form of emotional and physical abuse -- and even rape.

Doubiago, a poet, writes about the worst events in her life so eloquently and beautifully, that I marvel it is a book about a hideous childhood. We look at the 1940s and '50s with such nostalgia. But those were the years during which Doubiago grew up, and sexual deviance seems to have been all around her.

From the homeless men who hid in the bushes and jumped out with their pants unzipped in front of young Sharon and her friends, to numerous family members, Sharon Doubiago seems to have been wanted for one reason only: to satisfy the sexual cravings of men, molestations that her mother refused to see.

Night comes. To go to bed is like being tied to the railroad tracks. Lying there waiting for the 4:20 train to grind you into Eternity. Your ears ring and ring and your heart jumps crazily all over your chest. You can't show you're afraid, he will know you know. Just pray, do not sleep, do not go to sleep. To stay awake you have to keep your mind busy, you have to constantly think (the bag's not buried enough), you have to talk to yourself, you have to see things (the screen's not back on tight enough), you have to remember (don't return to the scene of the crime, someone will see you, you'll remember). To keep your legs crossed and your eyes open you have to sleep on your back. You have to listen with all your might for him coming again. . . . You pray for the bleeding to stop. You pray that your bloody things are never found.

Doubiago not only writes beautifully. She changes the genre of memoir. It has long been accepted that memoir represents the memory of the writer whether the memories are accurate or not. But Doubiago supplements her memory by using diaries, scrapbooks, and other records to document her family's life.

I am so glad I purchased this book. I bought it at City Light Bookstore in San Francisco. I've never seen it anywhere else. I bought it because it is signed by Sharon Doubiago and I wanted to add it to my small collection of autographed books.

I had no idea I would discover a gem of a writer. I have also purchased the second volume of Doubiago's memoir and hope to read it soon.

True, Doubiago's story is not easy to read or understand. How could a father do such things to his little girl? But sadly, a lot of men -- and some women -- do such things to little girls and boys.

The most recent statistic I heard about molestation is that one in three girls is sexually molested and one in four boys. The attacker is usually a member of the family or a friend of the family.

Important facts to keep in mind.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Sharon Doubiago, a great talent

STUCK UP? MOI?

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Lately I've heard rumors that some people think I'm stuck up. I don't understand. Just because I sprinkle my conversations with French phrases and speak with a bit of a British accent and name drop occasionally? I mean, really. Everyone wants to hear about my dinner with Brangelina and the kiddies.

How many kiddies were there? I'm not sure . . . uh . . . they moved so fast I couldn't count them.

Sacre bleu! I am not stuck up!

Perhaps some people make rude comments about me because they're jealous and insecure. After all, I must admit I am fabulously beautiful with my bodacious ta-tas.

Oh.

Wait a minute.

Elvis Aaron Schwarz just explained to me that people don't think I'm stuck up. They heard I got stuck BEHIND something.

Hi! Remember me?
I'm Elvis Aaron  Schwarz.
My baby doll isn't stuck up.
But she did get stuck behind something.
Maybe she'll tell us the story.

Yes, Elvis Aaron Schwarz. It's true. I got stuck behind something once upon a time, and the thing I got stuck behind was a Maytag washing machine.

I want to begin by saying that I didn't get stuck because I'm chubby. At the time, I was very, very thin.

It was kind of like an episode of I Love Lucy. The dryer hose had come loose from the vent. I needed to put it back on. Dr. X was out of town, and I wasn't strong enough to move the washer or dryer.

Thus, I wiggled behind the washing machine, and voila! I put the hose in its place. Gave it quite a tongue lashing.

But then, of course, I wanted to come out from behind the washer.

And I couldn't. I was stuck.

I squiggled. I giggled. But then the giggle stopped. I really was caught!

How could I get behind an appliance but not be able to get back out?

What would happen when it was time to get the children from school?

Fortunately, I knew what to do. I could make myself even skinnier by sucking in my stomach until it touched my spine. I diggled my way out. I tweren't no piggle.

I wasn't really stuck all that long -- just long enough to give me a story to tell.

And now that I've told it, I'll turn my attention, once again, to Elvis Aaron Schwarz.

Cuddle up and give me a kiss, baby.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

TRAVEL WHAT? MONDAY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Recently I asked you to tell me about your dream vacation. I told you that my dream vacation involves a trip to England and walking out of my visit to the Crown Jewels with a tiara hidden in my messy pink and blue streaked hair.

"Ignore the woman with the tiara in her messy pink and blue streaked hair" will be the subliminal message I send out psychotically or psychedelically or something -- I can't remember the word I want. You know, when you send out a subliminal message to people about tiaras.

Whatever.

I think I've also asked you before about the best vacation you've ever taken, but now I want to know the following:
What's the most interesting thing you've seen while traveling?

This question is a bit of a toughie for me because I've seen a lot of cool museums and famous homes. Before White House visits became more restricted because of terrorism, we went to the White House shortly before Christmas. George H. W. Bush was president. The tree was decorated in a Nutcracker theme and no, I do not mean your balls, I mean the ballet, and at every turn we encountered a different group playing instruments or singing.

That night was lovely. The snow was falling. Not many people were out and about so the line was short and it moved quickly. Ah, what a delight that was.

But I can't say we were really traveling then because we lived a mere 16 miles from the White House.

I'll answer with something we saw while on a trip to Vermont and Quebec. Dr. X had business in the Stowe area and in Montreal. The kiddles and I went along for the ride. We toured Ben and Jerry's and marveled at the beauty of the Vermont mountains. Initially we checked into a hotel with an ant trail going through the bathroom -- yes they were walking across the floor two by two by two as if they were headed for the ark, hoping desperately they could all get in -- so we moved to the Trapp Family Lodge. That was a joy, and I felt a great desire to make the curtains in our room into play clothes for all of us, but Dr. X and the kiddles held me down and wouldn't let me do it because I can't sew.

Anystowe, as we drove toward Quebec, not long before we would cross the border into Canada, we saw a sign that said "Lipizzan Stallions: Visit Us." We pulled over and there were all these incredibly gorgeous Lipizzan stallions that travel to put on shows. Some people call them dancing horses because they can perform such amazing moves.

They were tethered under a very large tent, taking a rest from their journey.

We walked from one horse to the next, saying hello, simply enjoying the beauty of the white stallions.

It was an ahhhhhhhhhh moment. I choose the stallions as the most interesting "thing" I've seen while traveling because it was unexpected and thrilling. What a marvelous surprise to just be driving along and find them.

Now, how about you?  What's the most interesting thing you've seen while traveling?

I eagerly await your fascinating responses.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Our view of the mountains from the von Trapp family lodge.

MOVIE MOVIE WEEKEND

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

We offer two movies for your consideration today. Both are available on DVD, were released in 2011, and are quite good.

The first is The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.

A group of British retirees decide to make their dollars go farther by relocating to The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel For The Elderly and Beautiful in India.

Of course, the place turns out to be a dump.

But almost everyone pitches in to make living conditions better, and before you know it, the hotel improves, while some lives improve at the same time.

This movie is simply charming. The story is lovely, except that one aspect of the conclusion seems quite contrived out of desperation for a happy ending that doesn't cast blame or guilt on anyone.

Marigold boasts a stellar cast. My favorite characters are Muriel Donnelly (Maggie Smith) and Evelyn Greenslade (Judi Dench).

Miss Donnelly arrives in India in a very unhappy position -- she needs surgery, she's prejudiced against Indians, and she's going to have her surgery in an Indian hospital. It's a prescription for misery. But Muriel Donnelly's life changes, and it begins with her acknowledgement of a servant who is an "untouchable."

And then we have Evelyn, who depended on her husband for everything, but he's left her by dying. She hardly knows what to do, but she becomes beautifully independent during the course of the film. Judi Dench brings both gravitas and an adorably impish grin to every role she plays.

I believe a few of you mentioned seeing this movie when it first arrived in theaters, and you liked it. You really liked it. And now The Most Exotic Marigold Hotel has The Janie Junebug Seal of Approval.

Our second offering is Water For Elephants.

Jacob (Robert Pattinson), a young veterinary student during The Great Depressions (no, not this one, the last one), is about to graduate from Cornell when tragedy strikes. He abandons the opportunity to earn his degree, loses his home, and suddenly decides to ride the rails. To his surprise, Jacob jumps on what turns out to be a circus train. At first, he shovels animal manure, but when August, the owner of the circus, learns that Jacob is a veterinarian who went to Cornell, August welcomes Jacob as the show's vet and as a social equal to August and his beautiful wife, Marlena (Reese Witherspoon).

Christoph Waltz, who won a Best Supporting Actor Academy Award for playing a Nazi in Inglorious Basterds, proves himself capable again at portraying evil; however, this performance is more multi-faceted than his Nazi in Basterds. August is so unpleasant, though, that I gasped more than once in shock and dismay at his cruelty. Although I think this movie is very good, you must be aware that it contains some violence. It is not for children.

Marlena is the victim of some of August's dastardly deeds. She performs in the circus, first as a trick rider on a horse, and then as the rider of Rosie the elephant, who wows the crowds. Reese Witherspoon is excellent in this role, and I don't think I've ever seen her look more lovely. I think she has a maturity now that adds to her talent and beauty.

If the thought of violence frightens you away from this movie, I understand, but be aware a happy ending awaits you.

Water For Elephants also earns The Janie Junebug Seal of Approval.

I wish you a most pleasant weekend.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THIS WEEK IN DOGTOWN

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

This week in Dogtown, the weather has taken a left turn toward Pleasantville. We are shocked and awed at being able to tell you that our highs during the day hover around 80 with low humidity. The windows are open; the back door is open. The dogs can come and go as they please. We are pleased in spite of mentalpause.

The nice weather has us reminiscing about Thoreau, the Treeing Walker Coonhound.

Reau suffered mightily as a youngun and then middle-aged dog, but he spent his final years as one of the Z Boys. He learned that sitting on the couch to have his tummy rubbed was a good thing. Reau had many aches and pains from his earlier miseries, so he loved to lie on the family room floor in his very own sunbeam when we lived in Illinois. When the weather was pleasant, he would go outside to sleep under his napping tree -- the spot where he was buried when the time came.

When he left us, I sobbed inconsolably and Faulkner fell into a deep depression. He slept on the couch by himself and wanted to be left alone. It took a long time to draw him out of the doldrums that accompany loss.

Then, in 2010, Faulkner went to Heaven. Thank God I gave him the last bite of my watermelon that day. Faulkner loved watermelon. Recently I told a friend that I don't think I'll ever get over losing Faulkner. He said, No. I don't think you will. You always talk about him as if he just died a month or two ago.

Faulkner was, is, and always will be The Dog of My Life.

But let's reminisce about Reau a little more. He was a massive, solid dog with huge paws. When he stepped on one's foot, it stayed stepped on. When he tired of sleeping in the back yard, he would chew through a board in the fence, force his way out, and go for a swim in a neighbor's farm pond. He would return wet, smelly, and smiling, and Dr. X would replace the missing board. Eventually, the fence had a row of new boards, allowing us to count the number of times Thoreau had gone for a swim.

He died suddenly one night. Faulkner found him and barked his emergency bark. It was horrible. We miss you, Reaudy.

We suffered a small disappointment this week because Elvis Aaron Schwarz came down with a cold and couldn't visit us.

Hi! Remember me?
I'm Elvis Aaron Schwarz.
I look blurry because I have a rotten cold.
I can't visit my baby doll.
I'm too sick.

We are sad when EAS is sick and blurry. 

Some better news: I was finally able to get ads on my blog again. Google made me get a new PIN from them. I entered it in my AdSense account, so the ads are back. Please feel free to click on them. I have a crazy dream that one day I will earn money from them.

The mentalpause continues with a hot flash at this very minute. 

I'm afraid I must take you to task for not voting for this little girl every damn day as I requested you do. Click here to vote.

At of five minutes ago, she had only 56 votes in the photo contest. That's not enough to win. You people simply have to get with the program. According to my calculations, she should have 3, 256 votes by now. I could figure out that number because I am the mom of a mathematician.

Vote, dammit, vote, I say! Vote each and every day because I have mentalpause and I said vote.

You might charge me for being grouchy, but I promise I will charge you for NOT VOTING!

Speaking of voting, I have not yet watched this week's "debate" between Mitt Romney and President Obama. The debate awaits us on our close personal friend, DVR. Whatever happened in the debate doesn't seem to matter, however, because The Hurricane has decreed that President Obama will be re-elected. She sent me an email stating that she doesn't watch anything or listen to what anyone says because she has been confident from the start and remains confident that the president will remain Our President. And that's that.

Favorite Young Man very kindly stopped by to mow the lawn. We appreciated it. We gave him cookies.

We're going to leave you with two videos, both recommended by our old friend, The Silver Fox.

Videos will follow my leavetaking.

And that's the news from Dogtown, where all the dogs are good looking, all the dogs are smart, and all the dogs are adored.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug and The Z Boys

MENTAL PAWS

Hi Everybody! Mom is letting me blog today. Yeah, me. Franklin. I'm wagging my tail at you and kissing the screen in front of me. Can you feel my kisses? I know I slobber some.

I get to do the blog because Mom doesn't feel good. She says it's mental paws. I dunno what that means, but I hope it goes away soon.

Mom is the bitch in our dog pack (I learned from Samson that that's the word for girl dogs). We're all boys except for Mom.

Besides me, there's Scout:

And Harper, who is my best friend:

I'm telling Harper a secret in this picture.

And, of course, we have Mom:

We love Mom a whole bunch. She has thumbs and can do stuff we can't do. 

But the problem is that lately she's grouchy. Last week we were getting ready to go for a walk. I was excited like always when she got the lead out of the closet. I started wiggling around and wagging my whole butt really hard. My butt was just following my tail.

Mom got mad and stomped her foot on the floor and yelled at me: Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

Like I didn't hear her the first time.

I was so scared I peed a little bit. Mom never yells at us.

I think it must be the mental paws. Mom said she was sorry, but we want the mental paws to go away. And fast! As fast as Harper runs when he catches a bird.

I'm tired now so I guess I'll take a nap.

Thanks for reading my new blog! Oh. Mom says it's still hers. She's kind of a selfish bitch.

Bye Samson! Bye Gracie! Bye Alex's chihuahuas! Bye Beau!

I hope I didn't forget anybuddy.

Love and kisses,

Frankie Big Paws

SERIOUSLY?

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It's time for more great search terms people -- and I use the word "people" loosely -- have used to find my blog.

Elvis Aaron Schwarz couldn't believe that someone would Google any of these searches.

Hi! Remember me?
I'm Elvis Aaron Schwarz.
I can't believe that someone would Google any of these searches.

Uh-oh, here we go:

Let's start with "alarm fur cobra movie scary." Huh?

"british rock star with bad teeth" -- this one I get

"chubby amateur women" as opposed to chubby professional women, I suppose

"men can fix anything"

"no teeth woman" would be desirable for a smoother . . . let's not go there

"woman bad" -- I beg your pardon?

And now my two favorites (I can't decide which of these is better):

"fuck my company" or "girl with penis tits" -- which do you prefer?

I apologize, but I don't have a photo for "penis tits."

Please feel free to use your imagination.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

FAMILY HOW? MONDAY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Watching Call The Midwife (PBS Sunday evenings) has me thinking about the size of families. I mentioned in the post I wrote about the show that one of the mamas in Nurse Jenny Lee's care had her twenty-fifth child, which prompted my good friend Lotta Joy to ask if the babies just fall out of the mom at that point.

So now I'm wondering, how many siblings do you have? Do you think you come from a large family? Do you think your placement as oldest, middle, or youngest has affected you?

I once met a man who came from a family of 34 children -- eleven sets of twins and the rest single births. I couldn't verify the 34, but I did find the eleven sets of twins on a Web site.

When I was a reporter, I worked with a woman named Barb in Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, who came from a family of 18. When I was a geriatric nursing assistant, I worked with a woman named Robin from Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, who came from a family of 18. I asked, Do you have a sister named Barb who works at the newspaper? She said, No, but I have a sister named Barbara.

I thought it was interesting that little Waynesboro could boast of having at least two families with 18 children each.

These families make me feel that my five siblings and I didn't come from such a large family after all, but when I was a kid and the last in line to use our one bathroom, I thought our family was huge.

I've read that the oldest child in a family is usually a leader; the middle child or children keep quiet and go with the flow; and the youngest tends to be artsy and creative -- maybe even flaky.

Well, I'm the youngest. I hope I'm creative.

I'm definitely flaky.

My placement in the family has affected my life, and I'm afraid it's not a positive effect. I'm 53 and my four living siblings still treat me as if I'm the bane of their existence. I kinda feel as if I'm punished because our mom made the older kids take care of me. They would get in trouble if I got hurt or was fussy.

Thus, I stay away from family gatherings. I prefer to be treated as an adult, which my friends do.

Now, how about you:  How many siblings do you have? Do you think you come from a large family? Do you think your placement as oldest, middle, or youngest has affected you?

As always, I eagerly await your fascinating responses.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

I HAVE A FAVOR TO ASK OF YOU

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

This adorable little girl is Good Youngman Brown's niece. Her parents have entered her photo in a Cutest Little Monster contest for Halloween.

Not that she's monstrous in any way, but the favor I want to ask of you is that you go to the voting site and vote for her. Click here to vote, pretty please with sugar on top.

Hint: You can vote once a day, every day, until the contest ends.

I have no idea what Good Youngman Brown's name is -- other than Good Youngman Brown -- but I think it's sweet that he loves his niece. He also adopted a dog recently, and he loves his dog. Loving niece and loving dog make him worthy of our support, which we can do with a click for this little girl.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

MAYBE MOVIE MOVIE MOVIE WEEKEND

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Today I present three movies for your consideration. All are available on DVD. I don't go to movies in theaters because it's ridiculously expensive, but I kind of hope someone will take me to see Anna Karenina. I'm not crazy about Russian writers, but I do like poor Anna. I guess I could see it alone, but I like theater going to be a shared experience.

Now, on with this week's movies. The first is Big Miracle.

If you want a movie for the entire family, then this one is your choice. John Krasinski plays a reporter covering the story of a family of whales trapped in the ice at Barrow, Alaska. He gets his former girlfriend, a Greenpeace worker played by Drew Barrymore, involved in the battle to save the whales.

This movie is not perfect by any means, and I don't endorse it wholeheartedly. First, it's extremely unrealistic, but that probably wouldn't matter to children. People are out in temperatures well below zero, yet they aren't dressed properly for the weather. Even so, no one is shivering and shaking. One character is splashed by one of the whales, but the water doesn't freeze on his face. Some brief clips at the conclusion of the movie show the real people (yes, this movie is based on a true story) so we know how they actually had to dress, and we see a man with ice crystals in his beard.

I also don't like it that this movie has a little bit of profanity. I admit it's just two or three words, but they are totally unnecessary. If profanity isn't something that's expected of a character, then why add it?

You should also be prepared to discuss death with your children if you watch this movie.

I give Big Miracle The Janie Junebug Halfhearted Seal of Approval.

Our second movie is Friends With Kids.

Just don't even bother with this one. Two friends want to have a child. So they decide to have a baby together and share custody. The arrangement works -- until it doesn't. The last line of this movie is, I want you to f*** the sh** out of me.

I mean, really? Hell to the no! I give Friends With Kids The Janie Junebug Seal of Disapproval.

Last, but not least, is the somewhat quirky Newlyweds, an Edward Burns film. I like Edward Burns.

The newlyweds think they have the perfect marriage because one works during the day and one works at night, so they don't spend too much time together. But, of course, relatives have to interfere, so what will happen to the newlyweds? Can they maintain their supposedly wonderful marriage? You'll have to watch it to find out because I'm not revealing too much plot.

I give Newlyweds The Janie Junebug Seal of Approval, but I give it conditionally. This movie is not for children, and if you decide to watch it with your sweetie or by yourself, don't expect something spectacular.

I realize I haven't given you anything great to watch this weekend, so what I really recommend is the following: If the weather is decent where you live, then get outside and have some fun. Play ball with your kids. Ride bikes. Go for a walk with your significant other or with a friend, and maybe the two can be in the form of one person. OR go to a fall festival. That could be a lot of fun.

If the weather is lousy, then play a board game and read a good book. Take a nap.

You can have fun this weekend without a movie.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THE SECOND QUESTION, PLEASE

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

When I asked about mentalpause yesterday, I mentioned that I would also have a question today.

Some of you may remember that I started writing the rough draft of a book here on my blog. It was something about Love, Laughter, and Poop. I decided to continue writing it on my own because I was afraid no one would consider publishing the book if it had already appeared on my blog.

Well, guess how much work I've done on it since then. Go ahead. Guess. I'm waiting.

Time's up!

Other than a little revising, I've done zero, zilch, nada.

I don't seem to be able to write unless I'm doing it for a specific reason, such as the Open Doors anthology or this blog.

Do you think it would be okay if I started work on the book again -- here on this blog? Will anyone ever consider publishing it if it's been on my blog? Does it matter? Cuz it can't get published unless I write it.

What say you all?

It's won't be book blog every day because I've rediscovered my ability to write about nothing, and I shall continue to do so.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THE MENTALPAUSE

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I have two questions. I'll ask one today and one tomorrow.

The first is about the mentalpause (term stolen from my FORMER friend dirtycowgirl at Left Alone With A Full Moon. I love dirtycowgirl but she's irritating the hell out of me because she hardly ever blogs anymore. She's too busy selling stuff on ebay. She has abandoned me, and I don't feel one bit guilty about stealing "mentalpause" from her.)

So here's the story, morning glory. Gentlemen, you might not want to read this.

I'm having trouble remembering how many years ago it was, but I think it was about eight. I went through menopause, though I didn't figure out what was wrong till it was over. I had hot flashes followed by chills, breast tenderness, night sweats, and I was so emotional that I managed to get fired from my crappy shitty job for laughing at a doctor. I worked in his office and he didn't like it when I laughed at him but he really was a moron.



Eventually, the mentalpause subsided, and I thought it was alllllll gone.

But now it seems to have returned.

Hot flashes, night sweats, chills, breast tenderness. Can't think clearly. Did I mention I'm forgetful? I'm not particularly grouchy, though I don't know how anyone could tell because I'm always at least a little grouchy, but I am down in the dumps. Everything makes me cry. If the dogs look at me because they want their supper, I cry. The price of toilet paper went up by two cents? I cry. I miss the things I left in Illinois, and what do I do? Cry and complain. And then I cry some more. And then I forget why I'm crying. The words that usually pour out of me onto the computer have dried up. I'm also forgetful.

I had a hystericalectomy more than 20 years ago, so I can't judge what my body is doing to me based on periods. Or maybe it's all in my head.

But what's not in my head is that my neighbors' gate squeaks. It's right outside my bedroom window and even with the window closed I can hear as they go in and out of that squeaky gate at all hours. Sometimes 3:45 a.m., which happened last night; therefore, I have been up since 4 a.m. Lotta Joy, please come to visit and bring your gun, or at least some WD-40. I can't even sneak out there to WD-40 the gate without backup (lotta joy with her gun) because those people never seem to go to bed. In and out. In and out. Squeak. Squeeeeeeeeeeek!

I wanna get out of town. Big time. I need a break I can't afford. I want to see something other than palm trees, Spanish moss, ant hills, and palmetto bugs. I want health insurance, and I want it now. I want a job, and I want it now. For Christ's sake, I've been job hunting for three years. Isn't that long enough?

So, anyway, my question is the following: Have any of you experienced this problem? Does the mentalpause come and go and then return? Has it been lying dormant in my system all this time, just waiting to attack Elvis Aaron Schwarz? He doesn't really understand what's going on -- not that I do.

Hi! Remember me?
I'm Elvis Aaron Schwarz.
I don't understand my baby doll right now.
She's turned into a big fussy baby doll.

Please tell me I'm not going to be like this forever. I don't want to scream in agony every time Elvis touches my boob (not that he would do something that personal). I don't want to cry every time I look at my dogs' sweet faces. I don't want to wail and flail because I haven't seen The Hurricane in such a long time.

Even if you have to lie to me, please tell me that this crap shit  mentalpause will go away soon and won't come back. Once should have been enough.

Bollocks. That's all I have to say right now. Bollocks. And ass hat. I feel like saying ass hat. Romney. Piss off. And maybe I also feel like dropping the F-bomb the way I did when I got kicked out of Bible study. I still don't know why those women were so upset. You would think they never dropped the F-bomb and I'll betcha they have cuz they went through the mentalpause.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

P.S. Please don't advise me to see a doctor. I don't have insurance and I'm not going to the doctor unless it's a HUGE emergency. However, I will get a flu shot, but not the extra nasty flu shot that's for old folks because I'm still young at heart and in years. I'm just old in mentalpause.