I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

I'd have to ask RT, but I'm pretty sure that's a felony here.

I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

if you mean Jehovah's witnesses- here is the most valuable thing the NYT has ever taught me:

Sunday magazine endpage article from a guy who was raised JW, on why he left- all interesting, but the main point was when he gets the people at his door all he has to say is that he is lapsed (iforget the actual term) and the JWs run away. Try that? someone wh "knew the truth" but still turned away is scary shit.

I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

No, I'm pretty sure they were Baptists.

I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

Then I'd go with the lesbian angle. Send streaming video to dchef@justice.com.

Replacing my Neighbors With Laurels
 

Always wondered why the neighbors snickered when I told them my 60/70-ish neighbors (to the right of our house) "seemed nice." Now I know. I'm trying to install laurel hedges to block out some of the problems, but one nasty one is that they planted a thornbush on the very edge of their property teetering almost onto mine that grows tons of branches only onto my side -- very sharp and numerous. Every other day I am clipping off branches that jut out a few ft. where we hang out in the yard! I wouldn't care the constant clipping but I have nowhere to put these big thorny branches -- branch disposal is once a year and it has passed. I could throw them onto his yard but I know he'd be pissed and even if I'm "right" I don't want World War III. Seriously, my hands are a mess from these things. The guy is mean, but he's old and has a hearing aid and his wife is totally bonkers** which is sad.

**Eg.: they have assorted "squares" of their backyard roped off with bright yellow tape that says "caution" (but they never have guests??) but there is nothing in the squares. Only thing I can figure is those are the spots they want (or don't want) the aliens w/ anal probles to land on. Oh, and the wife walks around with a dishtowel over her face, with sunglasses over the dishtowel. Which I actually don't mind, given the photo ops.

Okay, thank you for reading my vent.

Replacing my Neighbors With Laurels
 

Accidentally spill something poisonous onto the ground near the thornbush.

Replacing my Neighbors With Laurels
 

Even a dose of salt.

Why not get a medium sized box, and cut them up into that. Then put in the garbage.
?

Replacing my Neighbors With Laurels
 

The neighbors, or the branches?

Replacing my Neighbors With Laurels
 

Both, in the same box.

Replacing my Neighbors With Laurels
 

Hee. And add a dash of that salt you were talking about for good measure?

Done deal.

(Especially since our garbage men would literally move bodies for us.)

I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

Make that dc_chef@justice.com

I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

You've got video? Share with the class...

I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

Yes, I'm distributing video of my freaky sex romps with my lesbian lover and some Jehovah's Witnesses and/or Baptists. It's part of my new marketing campaign for a line of sex toys. What's your addy so I can put you on the list?

I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

Secret_Agent_Man@justice.com

as if you didn't know . . .

:D

I apologize for breaking the Board.
 

From what I've seen of the dailies, you should probably get Less to lock in a distrbution agreement while he's in Moldova.

It's like being a first year.
 

http://www.boston.com/news/nation/ar...p1=MEWell_Pos1

Apparently, a mother should earn $134,121.

Interesting.

It's like being a first year.
 

More like a paralegal. $88k of that is overtime.

It's like being a first year.
 

And it's kinda bullshit -- some of the stuff they do is for themselves, not just the kids/husband: laundry, housecleaning, food prep, errands, etc. and everyone has to do it. Has zero to do with being a stay-at-home mom.

I could give a shit whether someone is a stay-at-home mom; stuff like this makes me respect the whole thing less.

It's like being a first year.
 

Of course it's bullshit. Presumably most dads would rack up quite the overtime bill as well, even if they blow off the housework.

Whaaah.
 

Can anyone link me to a reliable supplier of plastic bubbles? The baby has a peanut allergy.

It's like being a first year.
 

wow! talk about famous last words. Wait until 2015 when you do your post about how you make a steak dinner for baltassoc. The part where you talk about how you cut the beans on an angle cuz b likes them that way, and how you make homemade pastas!

I was jealous of what he gets- for dinner- then later IYKWIMAITTYD>

It's like being a first year.
 

Hmph. I wouldn't be claiming that my preparation of dinner deserves Wolfgang-Puckish compensation.

How'd you know I make homemade pasta?

It's a bit dusty in here.
 

Ok, this got me. I am so verklempt I can't even think of a sick and heartlessly cruel joke to make right now, which is why this isn't on the FB.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Given a Chance to Be Little Ballerinas, and Smiling Right Down to Their Toes

By COREY KILGANNON

With its practice bar, mirrored walls and lush orchestral music, the small dance studio in Bayside, Queens, seems like countless other ballet schools that nurture the dreams of little girls.

Parents peek in from a crowded waiting room as a patient teacher demonstrates first-position to little girls proud simply to be wearing tights, tutus and ballet slippers.

But this studio holds one special class a week for dancers whose movements do not exactly exhibit the refined control of a prima ballerina. There are no lithe leaps, perfect pirouettes or pointed toes here. Most girls cannot walk or stand, much less make a shallow curtsy. Their crutches and walkers lie nearby and their customized ballet slippers are stretched over leg braces.

The eight little ballet students, who have cerebral palsy and other debilitating physical conditions, are assisted in class by teenage volunteers with strong healthy bodies and infinite patience. The teacher is Joann Ferrara, a physical therapist who owns and runs Associated Therapies, where most of the girls go for treatment.

Even at a tender age — the girls range from 3 to 7 — they grasp that they will never romp in a playground or flip onto a gym mat, let alone play hopscotch, tag or hide-and-seek. But being little girls, they are not immune to the dream of being a glamorous ballerina swathed in frilly pink, gliding gloriously on a stage in front of everyone.

"Every little girl wants to be a ballerina, and my daughter wanted to know why she couldn't," said Maria Siaba, whose daughter Veronica, 7, is in the class. "I would bring her into a ballet school and they said, 'We can't accommodate her.' Outside, I'd have to explain to her that she couldn't do what all the other girls are doing."

For an hour a week, Veronica and seven other girls from Queens escape a world plagued by awkward physical motion and enter a room where elegant music is played and they get a taste of movement that is graceful, smooth, supple and refined. Ms. Ferrara teaches only the basics of ballet. The girls do not perform full pliés or pirouettes, and they are lifted for leaps. While she coaches the girls to lower and raise themselves and turn slowly, Ms. Ferrara constantly reminds them to smile and "be proud."

And even if the limbs do not obey, the dancers have absorbed the traditional ballet ethic of disciplined hard work. One day all too soon, they will leave their ballet lessons behind and will work simply to stand or walk or move without being too ungainly.

"I just want them to feel the sheer joy of moving and to be proud of themselves," Ms. Ferrara said. She began the dance class three years ago after hearing repeated laments from the families of girls she treated. "The parents all said their daughters wanted to take ballet like all the other girls, but no ballet schools would accept them," she said.

She recruited a group of teenagers to assist the dancers and paired them up. Most pairs have been together ever since. When Monica Chaffardet, 5, began the class, her left side was so weak that she was barely able to use a walker. Heather O'Halleran, 16, of Flushing, has been so persistent with her that Monica is just about ready to stand with the use of a cane, and doctors hope that she will walk one day without any help.

"She's dying to walk," Ms. Ferrara whispered the other day in class as Monica danced to her favorite ballet, "The Nutcracker."

Monica's mother, Joann Chaffardet, said: "She'll never be a prima ballerina. This isn't about that. She just wants to be like everyone else. She doesn't see the difference. When she saw her cousin, who's the same age, taking ballet, she kept saying she wanted to do it, too, but the schools said it was an insurance risk to take her.

"We all know these girls are different, but this is to help them get up there and be like the other girls. Even if for a short time, they're up there feeling like real ballerinas."

Sophia Clarke, whose daughter Jessica is a student, said the class had helped Jessica's self-esteem. "I never thought I'd say, 'I'm taking my daughter to ballet class,' " she said. "I could never put her in a regular class because she falls easily and no one has the patience for her."

The girls had their annual recital last Sunday in the auditorium of the Mary Louis Academy in Jamaica Estates. Backstage, assistants were pulling ballet slippers over the bulky plastic sheathing and hinges of leg braces, and helping the girls put on white tights and pink tutus. Pink fuzzy tiaras were adjusted and pink tambourines and fairy wands were distributed. The dancers were bursting with excitement as they checked their makeup and hair in the mirror.

Monica resolved that during the recital she would try to stand for the first time in front of her dad, John Chaffardet, who was in the audience.

Veronica sat in the lap of her helper, Christina Arfsten, 16, of Flushing, and said her favorite ballet was "Swan Lake" because "it's about a girl who works very hard and never, ever gives up."

She continued: "Ballet made me realize I can still do stuff that other kids can do. It's a great opportunity to do something new and keep trying and realize you can do something you thought you couldn't do. Even if you feel scared, it's the same for anything: If you don't try, you'll never know what you can do."

The recital show, called "Wishes and Dreams," featured the dancers of Associated Therapies performing to excerpts from "Swan Lake" and "The Nutcracker." The girls stood in a line onstage, supported by their assistants behind them, lifting and turning them to the music.

The audience included some of Ms. Ferrara's other patients, who watched proudly and shed tears of pride, not pity. For the finale, "When You Wish Upon a Star," the dancers held shiny paper stars. When the music stopped, Jessica held hers aloft and yelled, "Yea, we did it."

The audience bathed the girls in cheers as Ms. Ferrara handed each ballerina a red rose. Monica held her rose in one hand and used the other to steady herself with her ribbon-wrapped cane. Heather gently released her and beamed as she stood by herself, held up by applause and her father's quivering smile.

It's a bit dusty in here.
 

Oh you big old softie. Because you showed us all that you in fact can be human, I will not mock you. Today.

It's a bit dusty in here.
 

A sweet story, indeed. But I'm pretty sure the author moonlights writing bad romance novels and soft-core porn.

It's like being a first year.
 

I told him. [true story] after i retired, i went into the future and ironically my paths crossed with ty. at 50 [/true story].

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

Friends,

I have a problem.

Our next door neighbor is a nice enough fellow. Early 50s, kids grown and gone, and IIRC divorced about 10 years ago. Interesting enough guy, intelligent, good dinner companion. A bit odd in some ways (for example, he rents out a bedroom to students from time to time, and from the traffic to and from the house it reminds me a bit of a hostel), but whatevah.

A few weeks ago, he invited us (including the Gaplets) over to dinner with another couple and with his new ladyfriend. Ladyfriend has two kids, relatively close in age to the Gaplets. (They are 7 and 5, the Gaplets are 6 and 3.) Dinner was a bit chaotic, as would be the case anytime you have a house with 4 small children in it, but enjoyable enough.

Since then, whenever the ladyfriend comes over to the neighbor's house, she sends the boys over to come play.

Now normally, mind you, this isn't a problem. We have other kids over from time to time, and send ours to go terrorize the homes of the Gaplets' friends as well. But there are several things about this particular arrangement that are getting under my skin:

• * The ladyfriend never calls to either ask permission for or announce the kids' impending arrival. They simply appear at the door. If nothing's going on at the time, that's fine, but if we've got other visitors, or plans, or need to draw pentagrams in the backyard without interruption, then we've got a problem.
  
  * A small point, but there's no reciprocity here. We'll be sitting for her kids whenever she wants to come visit, but there's never been any discussion about our guys going over to their house.
  
  * The kids lack the politeness gene, or training, on of the two. (Ms. Gap and I have taken to calling these two kids, between ourselves, the Street Urchins.) This flaw manifests itself in a number of ways, ranging from arrival (not asking if the Gaplets are free to play, but marching in upon the door's opening) to negotiations ("You have friends over for dinner? When will you be done? Can we come back in 10 minutes? 30 minutes?") to departure (it's hard to get them to leave -- apparently the Rule of 3 applies, where the explanation that the playdate has to end now needs to be repeated. And repeated.)
  
  * The Street Urchins prefer more violent games than the Gaplets are used to.
  
  * We find ourselves doing a little more proxy parenting than we would expect when handling the children of a woman with whom we've spent a single evening over dinner. "No, guys, you can't climb the tree in the front yard." "No, I'm afraid you can't 'borrow' that toy until next time. It's one of the Gaplet's favorite toys."
  
  * How can I best put this? I hate them. It's hard to fully articulate this in a single post, but the things they say, the things they do, IMO have little redeeming value. The older Urchin will, I believe, soon grow up to be torturing small animals. The look I find in his eyes is the look of one who, under the surface, is accustomed to challenging authority figures. The younger Urchin isn't quite as toublesome, but it's just a matter of time.

We haven't taken any steps yet, largely because Ms. Gap and I have been taking all this in and at different moments being amused, perturbed, and appalled. In any event, this state of affairs won't continue. I am a bit concerned, though, about resolving it without souring our relationship with the neighbor, or needlessly creating an enemy in the ladyfriend.

Random solutions range among the following:

* Ignore it, hope for a breakup
* Move to new city
* Four Words: Front door spring gun
* Require the Mom to call ahead to ask
* Declare that the Urchins are dead to us

But I'm sure that more creative solutions are out there, and I know our little group is up to the task.

Gattigap

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

The next time they appear at the door, what's wrong with saying that you're sorry, but everyone is busy, the Gaplets can't come out and play and they should march their shitty little sociopathic JD asses back to their whore of a mother next door because you're not running a daycare center for prostitutes? Follow up with a muffin basket, of course.

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

Not a bad idea. I wasn't sure that the Urchins would be old enough to get the You're Dead to Me reference, but this variant has the advantages of directness and sass.

(The point of trivia that the neigbor in question is a rabbi gives this solution a little extra spice, too.)

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

It seems like it would be kinder not to deal with this by inexplicably (to children) changing the rules midstream. After all, it is not their fault they are being raised by wolves. So tell the neighbor and/or his ladyfriend that you need an ahead-of-time call, and that you aren't providing babysitter services, or, if the kids seem amenable to suggestion from their peers, have your kids tell them that their other friends' parents call ahead.

Why is it so hard to call the neighbor?

ETA, in theory I generally take the "best interests of the children" approach, and on a second reading it seems like you would rather fuck with the kids' heads than figure out how to deal with the adults. It seems like their adults (rabbi and friend) need to get on the "your house, your rules" bandwagon and reinforce that with the kids, and they need to get the "the adults call first" message, and enforce it with their kids. You need to just say to the kids, as to activities at your house, that you don't do XYZ.

And if the rule is, must call before play date, then you can't have play dates that don't involve calling, except under extraordinary circumstances.

And don't forget, it's OK to leave the baby exposed on the porch while you fetch haircare implements.

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

What, seriously? It's not. This, simply, is an opportunity for irreverent dreams of spring guns before having the conversation with that whore about her sociopathic children (just the terms I was grasping for. Thanks,weed!)

Oliver Twist
 

You forgot

* Hand each of the urchins a broom and declare "Today we're playing Disney - and you two get to play Cinderella!!! Hooray!! Now go sweep the floor!!!"

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

Oooooh.

Use the children in demonic rituals. Use your kids too. Good training.

Tell the kids that their mom is a whore and is sending them over to your house so that she can [insert highly descriptive sexual stuff here, but use "wee-wee" and "cock" interchangeably, for maximum fucking-with-heads-ness] with the rabbi guy. Tell them that rabbi guy and mom are going to hell because they haven't accepted Jesus Christ as their savior. Tell them children who don't spontaneously develop stigmata and speak in tongues aren't welcome. You are from the south -- have a field day with the religion thing. You dabble in Monkey porn -- have a field day with the sex thing.

I'm shocked -- shocked -- that you can't figure out how to be maximally emotionally abusive.

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

Start teaching the kids about accepting Jesus Christ as their personal loward and savior, and the problem should solve itself in a couple of days.

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

Even easier than trying to teach them anything - send 'em back with rosary beads and ashes on their foreheads. "Mommy, what's Opus Dei?"

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

here's what gets me about liberals: on PB Gattigap is all about taking money from me and giving it to help people in a poor position- "it's not their fault and we need to help everyone rise up!"

here he has a chance to teach these kids manners- can't he work with them to see what's inappropriate and how to better interact according to his perception of what is proper?

the "bad kids?" guess what- it's not their fault and Gattigap as a member of society should try to correct the shortcomings he perceives in their behavior. society is "taking" anything from him- it is just asking that he gives his fair share.

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

Weed,

I for one think it's telling that Hank eschewed the easy swing offered with the Judaism/Christianity pitch, and waited for the high, hard, inside challenge of liberalism on which to base his response.

It's time we took note from Hank's example, that the path to becoming Most Helpful Lawtalkers Poster 2006 requires us to stretch ourselves and write about what's unfamiliar and challenging. We have Hank to thank for this little reminder. Doubly so after I tell the Urchins that with this little Greyhound ticket, they can go visit Uncle Hank in Detroit, who has in his basement loads of toys and that big cache of assault weapons they've been asking about.

Gattigap

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

Kill them. I can't believe I have to tell you this shit.

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

If you would just stop trying to take all his money and give it to murdering junkies to spend on clean needles and rusty knives, which, as we all know, is the central tenent of liberalism, I'm sure everything could be worked out. Besides, Hank's house is already full of the adopted children of young mothers he convinced to forego abortions while chained to the front doors of the Detroit Planned Parenthood clinic. And Katrina orphans. Lots of Katrina orphans.

Dealing with the Street Urchins
 

OK. But afterwards, do you think that lemon water will be enough, or should I use a stronger brine?