This weekend was one of the busier and scarier ones we've had in a while, and that's saying something considering how our lives run.

The two big items that had been on my plate recently can now be discussed in the open...sort of.
First, my Dad and I concocted, planned and pulled off a surprise 60th birthday / retirement party for my mom. I didn't think in a million years that we could do it, and we tried many times to screw it up and ruin it, but it went off more or less without a hitch. Also, my paternal grandfather and his wife were in town for my brother's high school graduation this past Friday. As you can see, we had many irons in the fire.

We had the event catered by La Frontera and had it at our house, and about 50 people ended up attending. My favorite part of the La Frontera thing is that there is leftover kickass food for about three more days of eating.

The "SURPRISE!!!" picture the wife took is perfect, even if it is a little far away. But even from that distance, you could still tell that the guest of honor's jaw was on the floor.

I was glad that so many of mom's friends could attend and everyone was complimentary and seemed to have a great time.

The whole event was on the brink of not happening Friday morning, however, when as I was talking to my Dad on the phone about final arrangements, Molly informed me that she was bleeding and thought something was wrong with the baby.

Automatic man-mode ensued, which entailed comforting her and assuring her (and myself) that everything would be okay. We pawned the urchin off on Heather at a moment's notice on a quite busy day for her as well, and she didn't flinch when I asked, which was greatly appreciated.

We got to the doctor's office per their advice, and we waited. Molly finally got an exam and then the Doctor started a sonogram. She tried for about five or ten minutes but could never hear anything, which she said in and of itself didn't mean anything. She also said that whenever they can't hear a heartbeat, they would do an ultrasound, even under normal circumstances.

At this point, I found myself saying things like "God I hope everything will be okay" and other things that sounded remarkably close to prayers, which most of you know simply isn't like me. I only did this a couple of times, but I felt a little better as we went.

We then waited in the ultrasound area for not one but two women to get them done, and by then I was started to panic a bit. We finally got in, the tech was great (we knew her from the last one) and after about 15 seconds or so of looking, she found a healthy, very active baby a little over 5 cm long waving, hiccupping and kicking along the very back of my wife's (get ready) uterus. It seems that it's tough to get sonograms at that point when the baby is so far toward the back.

What amazed me was that I was totally fine the whole way through getting to the doctor, them not finding anything initially and everything else, but I could not prevent the tears that came immediately after she said that everything looked normal and seemed fine.
It was at that moment that I realized how much my wife and unborn child meant to me, and that's saying something.

They told the wife to take it easy and not lift anything for a few days, and that was totally fine with me. She wasn't quite as understanding, but reluctantly agreed.

Later that day I caught myself saying "I pray the weather stays nice," and then I immediately caught myself and realized how selfish that was, considering the fact that I'd had two prayers answered that morning.

We then (unfortunately) had to inform my brother that we wouldn't be attending his graduation, which made me a little sad. I am very proud of him for accomplishing what he has so far, and I wish him great luck and success as he heads to Statesboro, Georgia to attend Georgia Southern.

Saturday brought way more work, many trips to Wallyworld, and finally the party. It was great, everyone had a good time and the guest of honor was thrilled.

I did have the unfortunate honor of having to go to work Saturday. At 8:45pm...during the surprise party that I was hosting...and while I was pretty drunk to boot. Luckily my friend Paul was there to drive me to work, wait around for an hour, and then drive me home. He would NOT, however, stop to let me get a beer for the ride home, the bastard.

When I got home, Cooley and Pete and Pat were there and it looked like phase two was about to begin.

That part cleared out by around 11pm or so, and after the wife went to bed, that left me, Cooley and my brother in law to fight over all the beer that was left, and we did our best to get rid of it all. I believe I ended up heading for bed around 2:30am, and in an effort to rewind the tape to watch The Winston (which is ludicrous considering my condition at that time) I rewound, hit record, changed the channel and went to sleep, so I had no race to watch yesterday and the only thing I've seen of one of my favorite races of the year is the 30 seconds they put on SportsCenter.

Damned beer.

Yesterday we also went to my Mother In Law's to plant stuff and cut up yard stuff and do general cleanup. (Yuck!!)

We passed on a trip to the lake to have the family over again for leftover Mexican food, a little pork tenderloin and to apparently laugh at my urchin. See, she went balls to the wall starting Thursday despite fighting a cold since earlier in the week. She was up in the middle of the night Wednesday and Thursday, got up early Thursday and Friday, we took a hot tub on friday night which should have helped but didn't, then Saturday was non-stop running around that culminated with three hours in our neighbor's new jumpin' thang.

She scuffed the back of her thigh falling off the porch, she got hit in the nose by something in the jumpin' thang, she scraped both hands when I knocked her over in the driveway, she skinned her knee TWICE that day, and then she blistered her foot in the jumpin' thang. She didn't go to bed until after nine on Saturday and was up early Sunday after a pacifier fell out of her crib.

She ran around at Mee-Mee's house for a couple of hours and ours when we got home. Then, at about 4:30pm, she crashed. Hard. She fell asleep on the floor in the den.

I picked her up for pictures with my dad and grandfather, which she never woke up for. I then put her on the sofa to continue her two hour nap.

Woke her up at 6:30ish, fed her rice, beans and pork meat, got her suit on, hit the hot pool (her words) again, then home, pj's, two stories and bed. I don't think I've ever EVER seen her so tired.

note: Babies / kids are beautiful when they are asleep.

The other amazing thing that happened this week (actually about three weeks ago) is that I was offered a professional writing job with Turner Sports writing for www.nascar.com!!

Whether or not anything ever comes of it is irrelevant. I got offered a professional writing gig. Not bad for a network administrator who majored in management and finance before not finishing college at Auburn.

This week is a big week since it's a long weekend and Sunday is the greatest racing day of the year. I am expecting company Sunday for the Euro Grand Prix, Indy and the Coke 600 which will entail cooking all sorts of things on the egg. Hopfully the weather will cooperate in all four cities that day.

More to come later in the week.

A few things in the news lately have made me pause and think. (These are listed in no particular order either).

One: What is the deal recently with folks killing kids all over the place? Stabbing, hanging, strangling, beating, etc. It makes me crazy thinking about all of the people that want children but can't have them, only to hit the news once a week and find some fucking crackhead douchebag growing tired of his woman's baby and decide to pull a Kenny Hardwick or a Susan Smith.

This crime ignores racial lines as well, despite what you would be led to believe. It turns out that you don't have to be of a particular race to be a violent asshole fuckwad.

Would the runaway bride story please fucking dry up and die already? Who on earth truly gives a shit that this broad is in some "treatment program?" She oughta be in the gwinnett county lockup's treatment program for repeat shoplifters who commit felonies. I can't believe that these folks that live in Mayberry, USA can make a metro county ignore the law and in turn just keep letting this loonie chick out to commit more crimes.

Oh, and how much longer do you think it will be before there's a story on page 20 of the living section saying that her pussy of a fiancee has decided to "let things cool off" and calls off the wedding.

Maybe part of her "rehab and therapy" is filling out by hand all of the thank you / apology letters, gift return shipping labels and other various correspondence required of a soon to be not-bride-to-be that's crazy as a shit-house rat...

In sports, the totally unwatchable NBA is taking one step closer to disappearing by announcing that there is a work stoppage scheduled for June 30th. If the NBA goes on strike or has a lockout or anything else, I hope the lot of them fall off a cliff in a parade of escolades with spinners spinning...

Barry Bonds' return from a third knee surgery is being slowed by an infection. And the fact that his system's so polluted with steroids that he could give birth to a 1970's eastern block women's swim team. Are his 703 home runs impressive? Sure. Is he a first ballot hall of famer? Of course? Is he the greatest player in 30 years? Maybe.

Will he be remembered negatively because of this whole steroid thing? Sure, but I don't really give a shit.

Graduation season is in full swing, and I hope that parents and kids alike will remember how dangerous drinking and driving is. I always find myself sad that Sunday morning when I am watching the news and see that four "great kids" died in a car crash driving home drunk from a graduation party.

Kids...let me tell you something. You are "adults" now. What you need to do if you're too drunk is call your parents on your cell phone, tell them you're spending the night, and go to sleep in a pool of your own urine like you should.

There is no excuse for driving drunk and endangering your life or others' lives while acting so irresponsibly.

And if your parents demand that you come home, just say no. Being grounded is better than being dead. Think further into your future than your next funneled beer. You'll save your familyand friends the sorrow of attending your funeral or your trial for vehicular homicide.

My Grandfather and his wife are in town for my brother's (gulp) High School graduation. I am absolutely floored that my wife is going to have a baby the same year he goes to college, especially since he was born the Thanksgiving weekend the year I went to college.

I WANT AN I-POD!!! There. I said it. And between now and my (and our nation's) birthday, I will have one. I cannot wait.

My nephew (the one I've been tutoring in ninth grade algebra) currently has an 80.3, which is a B by the thinnest of threads. He has one more test on Tuesday over a chapter I have not yet seen. This could be the greatest comeback since Alan Kulwicki in 1992. Keep your fingers crossed for another week and I'll keep you posted.

That's about it for now. Here are today's baby name ideas or names that are ruled out without discussion.

My child will not be named anything to do with Michael Jackson, Prince, Paris, McCauley, Jesus Juice or anything related to that lunacy.

My baby will not be named scott peterson.

My baby could be named Cadillac.

We are considering) but not seriously, family name type options as well. These include Floyd, Tolef, Elsie, Melda...oh wait. No we're not.

Seriously, one of the funniest things my dad's ever told me is this (I'm paraphrasing):

"If you ever wonder if I love you, know that I loved you enough NOT to make you a Junior."

My dad's name is Floyd.

I love you too, dad.

This weekend was exceptionally excited at Backer Manor. We got quite a bit done and had some fun as well.

Friday, the boss (formerly referred to as PV) said I could go ahead and leave early, which was around 3:15pm. That was very cool. I got home early, knocked out the lawn mowing for the weekend and started on the house cleaning.

That was followed by some cold beers and a little Wall Ball, which is a game that involves three players and the garage of either my brother in law's house or my own. Actually, here's the deal.

The first person to ten points loses, leaving two players. The last person under ten points is the winner.

Player A throws a tennis ball from anywhere in the driveway and it must hit the house (outside of the garage) first. The garage doors are left open. Any ball fired directly into the garage results in the thrower getting one point. I am the king of this type of unforced error.

Anyway, player A hits the house and the ball bounces back. If the recipient (player B) catches it on the fly, he scores minus one point, which is good. If he catches it on one bounce, he stands pat, and if it bounces twice (or more) he earns one point, which is bad.

Anyway, this is the second redneck game we've invented that costs no money and provides hours of entertainment. It's also got an element of baseball to it in that you can set guys up with previous throws or set them up for future throws by doing certain things. It's a blast.

Except that I have a shoulder problem. I can usually minimize the problem by warming up well, but inevitably I try to throw too hard and it goes numb for a minute or two. I'm pretty sure it's a rotator cuff / nerve thing, but I'm no doctor. I may have to go see one if it gets worse, however.

The other thing is that, since we've started playing, I've had some debilitating pain in my neck. I have been sleeping poorly due to the pain. Last night was the first time the wife actually said "this started when you started playing wall ball."

Hmmmmm.

I plan to take the week off from wall ball to see if it gets better. If it does, I'm going to a doctor because I want it fixed. This wall ball thing might be my destiny.

After the urchin was in bed, we had beers and steaks at Casa De Thomas and they were amazing as usual. Andy, proprietor of Cooley's Pizza, came over and I picked at him, as usual. I feel bad because I might have gone too far. I must remember to call him this week and apologize.

Saturday brought a ton of housework and then my niece Olivia's ballet recital. She's five. It was awfully cute, and Lauren LOVED it. She sat still and quietly for almost an hour and a half, except for when she was supposed to cheer, which she did loudly. I can just see her in that recital in a year or two. I imagine that room will be very dusty.

Saturday afternoon became "let's bitch about having to go the lake to ride on the boat" day. Nick, my 15 year old nephew, is feeling smothered because he always has to do stuff with us and his parents, and we're not as cool as his friends' families, since they let the boys stay out late, play outside, and generally run willy nilly with no supervision.

Nick's crabbiness made me crabby, and I in turn rubbed that off on the others. Luckily, that feeling goes away once you cast off and head for deep water. The lake is quite cathartic and relaxing and I enjoy it a lot.

Lauren LOVES the boat. She also loves when we stop at Pop's and get boiled peanuts. Her dinner Saturday was boiled peanuts and a slim jim. Is that good?

We took a brief tour of P.J.'s 80-foot houseboat, and it was AMAZING!! I am seriously considering selling our house to get one. Wonder if the wife would dig that? God knows Lauren would.

We got home in time to catch the last 100 laps of the Cup race. Kasey Kahne got his first win and the two big Hendrick cars fell out early and finished deep in the field. These two things made me quite happy. I hate Jeff Gordon and I hate Hendrick Motorsports. Let's move on...

I was up at 5am thanks to mother nature and the shit-storm she threw at our neighborhood all night. It rained a ton and forever. It cleared, but started pouring again about the time that I started the grill, which should come as a surprise to no one. We did have lamb kabobs which totally kicked ass. My new favorite spice is saffron.

We wasted time until the Survivor finale came on at 8pm, and that was great tv as well. Ian may be the dumbest person in reality tv history and Kate may be the laziest to ever reach the final. If 100 people got to vote, I STILL believe that the only vote she'd have gotten was Coby's.

This week is a big week as my grandfather and his wife are coming into town for my brother Paul's high school graduation Friday. I cannot fathom that this chunky little tow head of a baby is now about to go to college at Georgia Southern. Shit, have I gotten old.

Today's name suggestions are:

Actually, just check out this link. There's some fun readin' right there...

I think I will not name my child Thor or Flameboy.

That is all...

Terrell Owens is a dick.

There. I had to get that off my chest.

Mr. "I got us to the Superbowl" has decided, once again, not to honor his contract and demand a new one worth (surprise) more money.

Very surprisingly, Eagles owner Jeffrey Lurie has effectively told T.O. and his agent Drew Rosenhaus to shit in their collective hats, and that they would not be receiving a new anything. Further, if T.O. doesn't get his ass into camp, Lurie may not even give T.O. a new parking pass.

For some reason, Terrell and Rosenpenis think he'll get so much money next year that it's worth sitting out this year. Owens is about to be 32 years old. Exactly how much longer can a malcontent play in a league full of guys who will gladly clean his plow for shooting off his pie hole all the time? I don't know.

I do know that I think he's an asshole. Further, I hope he trips on a rake at home and incurs some injury major enough that he can't play in the NFL any more, but minor enough that he can lead a normal life. Maybe he'll end up counting the items on my reciept at the Sam's Club.

That would fucking rule.

Before I get started, I was just talking to a friend about IRL female driver and uber-hottie Danica Patrick, and I stated that she wasn't my type.

He replied: "In what way?"

I said "I like a little more, you know, up top."

Him: "To me, that's just a distraction on the way to business."

Me: "So you're saying that boobs are like an accident scene in the emergency lane on the way to work in that they just cause unnecesassary slowdowns?"

Him: "Exactly."

(I disagree, but it just made me laugh...)



Speaking of Danica Patrick, she is apparently not the same as Janet Guthrie, Lynn St. James, Shawna Robinson and the other women before her in racing. She's fast. Damned fast.

She turned 224 plus in rookie orientation this weekend and knocked down laps over 227mph yesterday, and claimed that there was still speed in the car since they hadn't trimmed it out or found the balance.

Holy shit!! Can you imagine the Indy 500 with a chick not starting 33rd but starting 3rd or something? That would be awesome.

I just hope she has her lipstick done before the parade laps, otherwise we could be looking at Roberto Guererro II.


Anyway, yesterday I walked in the house and Lauren had blue magic marker from her left shoulder down her arm and all over her hand and arm, in addition to a blue marker moustache.

When asked why she did it, she replied "to remember."

"Remember what honey?"

"To ask Samma Craws to bring you a daddy guitar so we can play music toogevver."

You can't really get angry at that...can you?


Here are some baby names I have been thinking about lately. I like the idea of city names and some work if associated with actual names.

Jennifer Albequerqe lastname(after the runaway bitch)
Minneapolis St. Paul lastname (sounds religious but isn't)
Amber Auburn lastname (multiple colors are fun too)

More to follow...

I said I'd post every day to make suggestions for names for the new Bambin(o/a) and already I'm laying down on the job.

Let's just get right to it and list a few that I find more funny or amusing than practical.

Here's a list of names I'm pretty sure we're NOT going to use if it's a boy:

Butch
Colin (like Powell, not Farrell)
Dick
Gaylord
John
John Thomas
Johnson
Peter
Ralph
Randy
Rod
Willie / Willy
Woody

Now here are some girl names we're not gonna use either (and I haven't even consulted the wife):

Cherry
Fanny
Mary Jane
Patsy
Pansy
Priss
Prissy
Randi

I am also not going to name my child Barry Bonds Berger or George Steinbrenner Berger. I will not name a girl Cheese, Bacon Double, Triple or Krystal Cheese Berger.

Not out of the question are Ted Williams Berger, Aubie Berger, War Eagle Berger, Jeff is a fag Berger, and Dale Junior Berger.

That is all for today. Stay tuned for more baby naming fun as well as some pretty cool news I got last week that continues to develop....

It seems that, despite several verses in the Bible that speak out strongly against it, I have managed to once again impregnate my beloved wife. She is currently "in the family way" and will be so until somtime around Thanksgiving or so.

Ever since about five seconds after Lauren was born on that delightfully unexpected day in April of 2002, many of you have been asking "when are you gonna have another one?" As if having and raising a kid is no more difficult a decision than say, how would you like your steak?

(For the record, I like mine medium rare. My steaks, not my children).

Anyway, we talked about it, didn't talk about it, talked about it some more and I figured "sure. We can 'try' to get pregnant. I'll just drag ass and do it all wrong or accidentally wear a condom or something, and we can stretch this out a ways."

No such luck. I have a successful fertilization average that any softball player would kill for. I've got a .667 average, for Christ sake. I may not hit for power, but I sure can put the ball in play, as it were. I have actually considered hiring myself out for couples in need. Especially couples where the wife is really REALLY hot. Who's to say that this isn't my gift? You know, my one true purpose?

So now, we've got a roller coaster partner on the way for Lauren. (sidenote here. I'd like to thank Brian, my cousin Sarah's husband, for coming up with that term. It's the main reason he said that they had a fourth child in seven years, and I typed that sentence with a cold sweat developing on my forehead).

We told Lauren a couple of days ago, and she was quite excited. She said "I'm going to have a baby?"

"No honey. Mommy's going to have a baby."

"What it be?" she asked...

"We don't know yet honey, but we know you're going to be a great big sister."

"No, I be a big brother," she replied.

"Umm, no honey. Technically, no matter what happens, you're gonna be a big sister."

"I'm a big kid, so I'll be a big brother."

Sigh. What the hell. I've got about six or seven months to break her of that. Well, that and one more thing. As God as my witness, she will be out of her crib before the new blessing arrives.

Why, you might ask? Simple. There's no fucking way I'm buying another crib just so Lauren can switch to a real bed seven hours after the new urchin comes home. Not. Gonna. Happen.

So now, we're telling everyone. Neighbors are happy for us, as are many of our friends. I am looking forward to this a lot more than I was last time. Last time, I wanted to tell everyone so they could be all excited and happy in hopes that I would pick up some of that too.

This time, I didn't care when we told people, because I was excited for us. Now, don't take that to mean that I'm not scared, because of course I am. But I am far more ready for this one than I was the last one, and that's gotta count for something.

Anyway, part of the reason I announced this here is that I'd like to begin making daily submission of name suggestions here. You know, sometimes you're just walking or driving around and you see or hear a great name, and you want to write it down somewhere? Well, I am going to write it down here.

First off, we asked Lauren if she thought the baby was going to be a boy or a girl. She said "both."

"What honey? "

"I want both. A sister AND a brother."

"Ummm, no thanks honey. We'll just take the one for now. But thanks anyway."

So we asked Lauren what she'd like us to name the baby, and she said "Maisy."

"But what if it's a boy, honey?"

"Maisy."

Great.


For those of you that don't have kids under five or don't watch Noggin 23 hours a day, THIS is Maisy. She's a cartoon mouse created by communists to teach our kids (subconsciously) to become communists. Sure, they mask the message with good stuff like sharing and helping others, but the mouse and her friends are communal farmers!! I mean, who does that anymore?

So that's the first suggestion. My other suggestion came from the news story that got Tennessee QB Brent Schaeffer kicked out of school. (or to agree to a mutual seperation in which he'd leave Knoxville).

It seems that Brent had a run-in with a fellow that had "disrespected" Schaeffer's girlfriend and her cellphone, so Brent decided the best way to handle that was to pop the guy in the mouth.

Nice.

Anyway, the first time I read the story, I thought the name was magic. That name is:

Quantavios.

So that's it for today. I welcome any and all submissions and suggestions for naming what we currently affectionately refer to as "The Plumolive."

First it was Terry Schiavo and that whole mess with Tom DeLay and the rest of those fascist bastards who think they know more than our nation's founding fathers.

Then it was the Pope-a-thon, where I couldn't watch anything without seeing the death watch, the subsequent Cardinal-watch, and finally the coronation of hisself, the mighty Benedict the XVIth.

But then, it happened. A true tragedy.

A 32 year old white woman from an affluent family disappeared while on a jog last Tuesday, just five days before her 600 person, 8 attendant, uber socialite wedding at one of metro Atlanta's more exclusive country clubs.

Astounding. Gwinnett County officials and citizens as well as the GBI and the FBI got involved and expended enormous time, energy and invested a ton of themselves, hoping against hope to find this woman.

(Now, let me preface this by saying that my 8-year old nephew said from the first time he saw her picture that she "had crazy eyes." I agreed).

Anyway, we were kept up to date by local and national media as the story "the missing bride to be" gathered steam. Hell, my sister in law was in a Pope JP II like frenzy over this one.

Oh, and another sidebar. Thanks to the Scott Peterson's of the world, it's apparently standard practice to ignore the spouse/boyfriend/fiancee's constitutional rights and demand thru the media that he take a lie detector test.

Are those results admissable in court? No. Has he been charged with anything? No.

How about if we have this lie detector test taped and conducted at a neutral location (offered John Mason's all to generous attorneys).

"Ummmm...no. We don't do it that way," said local law enforcement.

Here is where I would add "fuck you, local law enforcement." Then I would quote the movie Raising Arizona where Nathan Arizona said "Dammit, are you boys gonna chase down your leads or are you gonna sit drinkin' coffee in the one house in the state where I know my [insert missing family member's relationship here] ain't at?"

Anyway, the miracle of miracles shows up on the Saturday morning news.

SHE'S ALIVE!!! SHE'S ALIVE!! IT'S A MIRACLE!!

Um, no. It's not a miracle.

What it is, is a 32 year old rich self-absorbed, narcissistic white woman who's obviously crazier than a shit house rat, got cold feet and ran away from what I would guess are non-refundable costs of between sixty and one hundred thousand dollars for the wedding and all of the crap surrounding it.

That's it.

Oh, she did file a false police report here and in New Mexico to weakly try to cover her tracks. But the funny thing about the Feds and agencies whose names contain letters like B.I. and such is that they have a knack for finding the trail.

Like the fact that this bitch bought a bus ticket a week before running away.

Now, it's come to light that this couple has been engaged for over five years. Who the fuck does that? I mean, unless you secretly get engaged in ninth grade or something, no normal folks stay engaged for that long. They either get married or pull the pin on the relationship.

Oh, and did I mention that this psycho has apparently run from an engagement and subsequent wedding before this one?

That's right. So now you know that sometime prior to about 1990 when she would have been younger than 27 (more like early 20's since most folks don't meet, date, get engaged, plan a wedding and run out on it over the course of a weekend), she did this before. Her family knew it. Her friends knew it. Yet no one gave a shit enough to mention it to the groom-to-be?

That's the kind of goddamn information I'd like to have when I'm making the "should I or shouldn't I" decision at the Shane Company diamond counter.

So if I'm John Mason, do you know what I'm doing? I'm confirming the honeymoon plans that were probably 10 days to two weeks in Tahiti or some such place, and I'm hiring the two hottest hookers I can find, and I'm taking them with me. And I'm sending home photo updates to my ex-fiance every day, including a web-cast of all of the threesomes we'd be having in the Champagne suite of the Hotel suckee suckee or wherever I chose to stay. That's it. All I'm out is what I paid to buy 14 monogrammed flasks at "Groomsmen R' Us."

So, in light all that I mentioned prior to my secret whore plan, the genius that's her fiancee, instead of running like the wind, is defending her. He even went so far as to offer this quite defiant quote on ABC:

“Her cutting her hair and getting on a bus and riding out of here ain’t none of (prosecutor) Danny Porter’s business,” John Mason said. “And that’s not criminal as far as I’m concerned.”

Maybe not, shit for brains. But the fact that she filed a false police report in New Mexico and reported a false crime to the sheriff here is.

By the way, here are a list of the agencies that were inconvenienced by Jennifer's Wild Ride, Part Two (or more, depending upon what investigators dig up when they look back as far as this loony's early 20's):

GBI, FBI, Gwinnett County District Attorney's Office, Gwinnett County Police Department, Gwinnett County Sheriff's Department, Gwinnett County Fire Department, Swift Water Rescue, DNR, Hall County Fire Department, Hall County Sheriff's Department, Gainesville Police Department, Fayette County Sheriff's Department K-9, Haralson County Sheriff's Department K-9, Office of Homeland Security, Gwinnett County Emergency Management, American Red Cross, Gwinnett Community Emergency Response Team, Gwinnett Citizens Police Academy, the Alpha K-9 Search and Rescue, and Gwinnett Amateur Radio Association.

That's a lot of folks missing meals with their families, not solving other crimes, in one case missing a fellow law enforcement officer's funeral, and many other things they could have been doing if Miss Doesn't Know The Earth Doesn't Revolve Around Her" had just said "I want out."

I also think that since her family offered $100,000 for information leading to her return, they oughta be ordered to donate that sum to the agencies involved. I also think that someone needs to prosecute her or file a civil case against her for the money and time she wasted while she apparently stuffed a 7/11 burrito in her face at a payphone in New Mexico.

And by the way, do you even know where a payphone is now? I mean, since you're staging this whole thing anyway, at least carry a fucking cell phone in case you accidentally get yourself in trouble. You were, after all, travelling by bus, which is not the safest way in the world to get to Vegas. And their big city stations leave a little something to be desired. Of course, you're a box full of crazy anyway, so I imagine that combined with your homemade haircut had you fitting right in with all the psychopaths.

So, after everyone invested all kinds of time, some blamed the husband, some probably blamed the imaginary hispanic man or men that she said kidnapped her (the fucking racist), what do we have?

We have a pathetic, self-centered, possibly crazy chick that probably STILL doesn't think what she did was wrong, and as she and her family lawyers craft some irritating statement that will include phrases like "sorry this happened" and "unfortunate occurance," she will STILL not accept responsibility and because of her connections, she'll be put back into society as if this never happened.

Except it did. I mean, how does she go back to work? "Hi Jennifer. Hey...how was Vegas by the way? Did you happen to catch Sigfried?"

I hope her life is ruined. I also hope that the family of the victim of some crime that wasn't solved or prevented because people were looking for Jennifer will find her and thank her for being so self-centered. That would be really nice.

Oh, and one more thing.

Fuck you, Jennifer and fuck you national news. For one weekend can something big or seemingly big not happen so I can just sit and enjoy my Friday post-work beers in peace?

Thank for reading.