Well, JU is filled with Episode III reviews with all sorts of takes on the content and script and the acting and the message of the film. There's simply nothing more that can be said about Episode III, right? There's no more room for yet another review, is there? Well, if Texas Wahine hasn't covered it, it simply hasn't been covered! This will be a bit random, so try to hang with me... I thought this was by far the best of the prequels. It actually made sense, and it helped me und...

It's been said that becoming fat does not happen overnight. It's a carefully cultivated art that takes place one meal, one snack, one night sacked out on the couch at a time. In today's America, reaching the pinnacle of fatness is easier than ever. In fact, there's actually a fast track to fatness that requires little effort on the part of the eater and provides great success and fleshy abundance in a very small period of time. Now, I'm no skinny little thing. I enjoy fries and Snick...

Victoria's Secret is about boobs, yes? Not strictly boobs, but boob adornment is a large part of what they're about. And yet, when my breasts need Victoria's Secret, VS abandons them. I have large breasts. Not "oh my god!" breasts. "Wow," maybe, but nothing you won't see in a Wal-Mart or Home Depot or Gold's Gym or Red Lobster or Hooters anywhere in America. Breasts like mine are common. So why is it that bra-makers worldwide have conspired to force me and my stacked sisters into u...

As it turns out, I am a Jedi. In fact, I am: NEABR SULEF of the planet Zoloft! Yes, NEABR SULEF of the planet Zoloft ! Great, isn't it? You can find your Jedi name here !

I've always respected the wisdom of people older than myself. Life experience is a great teacher. And life has taught me some lessons of my own. Some things I've learned: You should order your pizza no less than an hour before you plan to be hungry. If you leave a magazine on the porch swing, the puppy will eat it. Permanent marker doesn't come off floors. Two wrongs really don't make a right. The Pop Rocks chemistry set doesn't really change colors and it tastes like ...

Adrian's been home on leave for the past couple of weeks, and we've used the spare time to catch up on some island activities that we missed before he left for the middle east. He has to go back to work on Tuesday, but we've had a great time and made some fantastic memories. On Thursday we had a jam-packed day. We took a submarine tour in the morning, spent mid-day at the mall, and finished up the night with a luau. We were kind of nervous about the sub tour because we didn't know how...

Disclaimer: I am making broad, sweeping generalizations about wealthy people (yeah, mostly women) in this article. Not all wealthy people live or act this way. In general, I think great wealth is a burden. That's right...I don't crave to be rich. Here's why: 1. Your 2 grand hoity toity pure bred dog's dumps aren't any less stinky or easier to pick up than the ungodly ones my $150 mutt makes. Same poop, better price. 2. I don't have to have an expensive new toy in order to ha...

Tonight Adrian and I went to a 3 Doors Down concert at Pipeline Café in Honolulu. We had a blast. It's been just about two years since our last concert (an outdoor concert...RHCP and Snoop Dogg...pouring rain) and 3DD was a great one to break our concert celibacy. Tickets were sold out for tonight's concert...in fact, 3DD will be having another one in the same place tomorrow night because of the huge response. Pipeline Café is a small venue (smallest I've ever been in for a concert)...

I'm a grown up. I'm responsible for myself. I'm also responsible for two little people. Daily, I find myself doing things that I hate because they need to be done, or because they are the prudent thing to do. I really hate getting up early in the morning. I mean, most normal people don't care for it, either, but my hatred for getting up early (which is anything before 9:30 am) is quite intense. I wait until the last possible moment to get up and get the kids out of bed to get read...

So, I changed out my tongue jewelry today. I decided to go with my green on with the little bomb icon instead of the skull and crossbones. Don't know why. It's just what I felt like. These are not the best pics in the world, but they give you an idea of what it looks like. The little pic that shows the bottom of the piercing is cropped . . . I had my eyes closed in the pic . . . it was an accident, but the photo came out looking like I was in the throes of orgasm or something and I d...

Your love feels like wrapping myself up in a blanket fresh out of the dryer . . . warm and fragrant and comforting. Your love feels like seeing the sweet and excited expression on the kids' faces the moment they realize it's Christmas morning. Your love feels like looking in my McDonald's sack and discovering that they gave me an extra order of fries. Your love feels like reaching into the pocket of an old, worn jacket and finding a twenty dollar bill. Your love feels like rushi...

I'm crying. I can feel myself making the "sad Gizmo" face. I have tears in my eyes, tears on my face . . . my bottom lip keeps popping out. Today I am supposed to clean the battery cables on the car. I had to go all over the base to find club soda to use. Now I have a brush, gloves, club soda, pliers, and a flashlight. I popped open the hood and propped it open with the metal bar. I was crying even before that. I am scared to do this, and so I wanted to do it and be prou...

I'm an ass . . . I'll admit it. In fact, it's almost a term of endearment for me (and for those I care about, too . . . you know I like you when I call you an ass). But how do you know if you are an ass? Well, obviously, understanding ass-ness is like trying to tell a rainbow to stop being a rainbow. However, there are some clues . . . some guidelines . . . that can help you determine whether or not you might be an ass. 1. You laugh at the misfortune of others. You hee-ha...

Last night in bed my mind did the thing it usually does . . . it raced through all sorts of random thoughts and a review of the day's events. There, laying on my back with my seven year old's knee lodged in my ribs and my Hawaiian print comforter pulled up to my neck, I was hit with the realization of few things . . . I had not cried a single tear that day. Not one. I have cried and cried until my eyes have ached and my body shook. I have cried in the car, at the computer, on the ...