December 31, 2005

A brief Update.

I spoke to the nurse on my dad's unit today and got good news. It seems that he has stopped bringing up the "flu-gook" and is improving. Oh, yes, in case you didn't see that on the Spousal Unit's blog, he has Type A Influenza. He and I contracted it at about the same time, probably from the same person, but his underlying health issues caused all of these problems for him.

But he is genuinely improving with each day. One of his doctors wants to move him out of CVCC and into a regular room today. The other one, much more prudently and in line with my thinking on this, wants him to remain in his current bed for a few more days before being moved.

Apparently the nurses want him to stay where he is as well. And no, not because they think he needs the higher level of care they can provide for him in that unit, but because they WANT him to receive the higher level of care they can provide on that unit.

You see, Dad's a charmer. He doesn't know a stranger, treats everyone well, smiles and tells funny stories, sees humor in some pretty un-funny things in a way that can defuse situations. And the nurses have just fallen in love with him. More than one has said so, calling him "Sweety" and "Cutie" and other such little endearments. I honestly believe they put him in the particular isolation room they did because they wanted him close enough to the desk to be able to peek in on him without being far from that desk.

Anyway, the very nice young nurse I spoke to this morning was informative and kind. You could hear in her voice that she truly cares about what she does and about her patients. It was good to hear, very reassuring, and helped greatly to relieve some of the worry.

Thank you all for your prayers, each and every one. They truly help us, each of us, with each improvement in his condition. And for that, we are all so very grateful.

Mistress Lila,

Oh! I do have to share this with you...

The other night, after the Progeny and I had our day of girlie-girl shopping and lattes, I called the hospital. I asked what the chances were of his being able to see his granddaughters, since they were both under age 14.

Well, this nurse was really sweet and stated that as long as they didn't look less than 14, no one would say a thing. Just make sure they look old enough, and no one will stop them.

This was a bad thing for me to have repeated within earshot of the Progeny. Now she is at home trying all manner of things to pad her little training bras and render herself more curvacious and "older" for a trip to the hospital. She's also practicing her "Grown-up Speak" in case she has to talk. It's been a riot to watch, believe me.

Me and my big mouth. Thought you'd get a chuckle out of that.

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December 28, 2005


Please keep Ret. Master Sgt Wesley John Albert, USAF, veteran of the Italian occupation force, the Korean war, and non-combat vet of the Viet Nam war era in your prayers.

He is a good father, better than any other I have ever met, and I claim him as my own. He is currently in Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis in the cardiac unit with what sounds at the moment to be some beginning stage of congestive heart failure brought on by his advancing COPD. I do not know what the exact diagnosis or prognosis are. All we can do is hope the course of treatment is successful. Given his extended battle with COPD, we are lucky this is the first time he has had difficulties of this kind.

Don't waste your prayers on me. I'm a big girl. Broad shoulders and bad attitude work well under these circumstances. Keep them for him. Keep them for my mother.

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December 27, 2005

What good is it?

As most of you know, I answer phones for a living. Yes, I get paid for doing something where many women can compete only at the amateur level. And no, these calls do not involve a 900 number or the requirement of a valid credit card.

Most nights, between 2:30 and 10:30 I take between 250 and 300 calls from people trying to reach friends and family in the hospital, people within the hospital trying to call home, doctors seeking doctors, nurses seeking doctors, medical personnel seeking techs of all sorts... Well, you get the picture.

Often we get calls from people who are trying to return a call that they received earlier in the day from someone at the hospital. They know they got a call, it's on their caller ID, and they want to know exactly who called them and for what purpose.

Let me let you in on a little secret: caller ID is worthless when the call you receive is from a business or concern with a large phone system. And I do mean completely, totally, unrepentingly, non-negotiably and utterly worthless. The only thing that will show up on your caller ID is a "trunk number." It will never, ever, in a million years show you the number of the extension that called you. You can call that trunk number as many times as you like, make it your life's holy and G-d given mission from now until the end of time as we know it and it will never miraculously change into the extension you desire. Never. Give it up, please.

Caller ID is not a suitable replacement for voicemail. Caller ID is not a reasonable facsimile for an answering machine. Caller ID does not absolve you from prying your ample and underworked bottom from the confines of your vinyl clad Lazy-boy with the duct tape repairs and the off-color afghan, ambling clumsily across the room while the crumbly remains of your last several hours of snacking tumble from the portion of your anatomy formerly recognizable as a lap, turning down the volume of your television where Jerry Springer is once again staging a malignant and disgusting tableau of social fraud and abject inhumanity, picking up the receiver and actually taking your calls.

If you're not at home all day and arrive to find a strange number on your caller ID that shows itself to be from a business or hospital or other such source, don't wait until 9:00 at night to call and demand to know who called you. No one is able to tell you if your outpatient MRI appointment in February has been cancelled, whether or not your doctor's office needed to give you the results of your drug screening, that Aunt Mable was in the ER at noon after she fell over an unattended pallet in the aisle at walmart and needed a ride home in time for lunch, or that "Lost and Found" finally found your lower plate. None of these departments works at 9:00 at night and your Aunt Mable has been gone for hours, as have the overworked and exhausted ER staff that listened to her grumble and complain for hours that you never answered your calls.

*takes a deep breath*

I feel much better. Now answer your phone.

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December 22, 2005

Christmas Influenza

Flu is bad. Let there be no mistake. Here it is, two days before Christmas Eve and the Spousal Unit's familial seasonal frolic, three days from Christmas and My familial seasonal frolic, and I have come down with what I can only believe is the flu. No birds about, only ratties and cats and the dog, so it certainly isn't avian, but it is punifying none the less.

Sad thing is, my dad has COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) in a rather advanced stage. He has been on oxygen for years now. The last time I spoke to him, it was like listening to someone speak from the bottom of a swimming pool filled with glue. His lungs are filling, his condition is weakening, and any exposure to respiratory illness could easily kill him. If this truly is the flu, I will be missing Christmas with the Parental Units again this year, even though I was lucky enough to actually get the day off.

So, in the interest of getting well, I stayed home from work today, slept as much as possible, took aspirins for the fever and aches, drank hot chai, ate a little bit, cut back on the smokes... You know the drill. I have apple juice for later, and some green and echinacea teas to break this up. The Spousal Unit even bought a bottle of brandy with which to spike my honey green tea so I would sleep well tonight. Yes, yes, I know. A little brandy in the tea, not a little tea in the brandy.

I do hope all of you are well this weekend so that you can enjoy Christmas with your families. Have a joyous one.

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December 21, 2005

Mama SHOULD have changed her password...

I just thought that I'd drop in with a fun little item....thats what you get when you don't change the locks when a boarder leaves....Delftsman3

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Bad Frosty

image013.gif Talk about your Holly Jolly Christmas. Where on earth did the Spousal Unit get that snowman suit anyway? Hmmmm... And no sign of frostbite on his "Frosted Buns" either.

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December 20, 2005

Public Service Announcement #53

In the public interest, no risque and semi-clad photos of the blogger, aka Mamamontezz, aka Mistress Lila, aka That Crazy Woman, will be posted on this site, in spite of the fact that they looked Great when the Spousal unit took them with my brand new Christmas present, a Lumix 8megapixel digital camera with a reall Leica lens and more bells and whistles than a Lexus.

Move along, now. Nothing to see. No nudity here. You're wasting your time.

Go Googleâ„¢ up some kittens and puppies instead. Or maybe just read on...

Okay, okay. I couldn't resist. Not like it's going to cause any riots or anything. And at least I didn't show you where the mistletoe was.

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Making Online Payments

I don't know about most of you, but I am a devote of online auctions. I adore them. The very idea of being able to select items, new and used, of countless variety, from the sanctity of my own home is more than just appealing. It has become a habit.

And I buy all manner of things. Recently, I have purchased such things as a "Korean Mink" blanket (simply beautiful, by the way), restraints, braided whips, beautiful long and detailed skirts, a DVD of Queen Live from Wembly Stadium, some runes for a friend's Christmas that are compatible to the online Diablo 2 game, the coolest corset in the world... Well, you get the picture. And overall my experience has been exceedingly good with the exception of my dealings with Paypal. And then...

...It started with my order for some clothing from ebay online seller HolyClothing. I ordered four items. I attempted to pay. Paypal refused to pass along the payment, giving me a message invoking some sort of "Temporary Technical" problem with a 4001 tag at the bottom. This went on for days. I even tried Bidpay, which I admit I screwed up on my own. But the Paypal payments... that was quite another matter.

During this episode, I continued to purchase items and paid for them successfully through my Paypal account. Still, each and every time I tried to pay for those clothes I was thwarted cruelly. And cruel thwarting is a "Hard Limit" for me.

Eventually, I managed to get Bidpay to cooperate, primarily by virtue of the fact that I pulled my cranium from my anal pore and did it correctly for once, and payment was extended and received for my HolyClothing items. This all, of course, after a payment dispute and an extended exchange of emails, not to mention more damage than I care to imagine to my poor little Ebay reputation.

Now, it seems, it is happening again. I only recently was able to clear up the HolyClothing situation, and now Paypal is denying payment to a gentleman in the UK for three whips, and another for a harness. And each of these vendors has active Paypal accounts in good standing.

Frustrated? That does not even begin to cover what I feel at this moment. I was forced to go Western Union to pay for the whips at an exhorbitant fee in order to resolve that situation. I will bet you that I end up having to do the same for the harness, and I so wanted it to arrive in California in time for Christmas. So much for shopping early on Ebay and using Paypal for payment.

What concerns me most, however, is the fact that I am in the process of working up a small online business and had been counting on Paypal to take care of payments for it. After this fiasco, I have several concerns about that. Most of the problems I have had were with vendors who sell items "outside of the mainstream" which is exactly how I would classify what I intend to sell. Artwork, one of a kind items... And not necessarily of the vanilla variety.

I hate to think of the problems I may have because of the sort of merchandise I plan on selling. It's all perfectly legal, above board, hand made items. Drawings, cards, perhaps some sculptures if I find the time to do a few, my leather crafts...


At this point I'd be happy to pay for the items I've bought. Everything else would be gravy.

Posted by Mamamontezz at 09:31 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 18, 2005

On Being Santa's Helper

You know from the past, it's rare for me to put up a post with one of those internet stories that we all get in email on a daily basis. This one, however, touched me so much because the progeny and I had the same conversation yesterday.

Little AnnaMontezz, the apple of my eye, was having Santa Verification issues. Yes, she's 11 years old, and yes, she's probably the only child in her school beyond the second grade that still believes, but she believes so strongly. I tried to explain to her that Santa was in all of us, and that we were all responsible for being Santa for someone.

She didn't quite get the idea, but she took comfort in the fact that yes, there is a Santa.

Then I came to work and received this tender little story from one of the nursing administrators whom I just adore. It was perfect. It was just what I had wanted to explain to Anna yesterday.

And so now, in a break from the norm, I'm going to reprint this sweet little email. I hope that all of you has a Santa moment this year.


I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me.

"No Santa Claus?" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it . That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through it's doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car."

Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's. I was only nine years old.

I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-4 class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he had no good coat.

I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag , smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it.

Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside:.....


Author unknown

December 11, 2005

Saturday Fun

I had such an amazing day Saturday, doing something I had not done in a very long time: I went shopping. Real shopping. Shopping with a vengance. I was a woman on a mission, and the mission was to find some things to wear.

I met with nellie, the submissive and love of My Mentor in Texas for this day of financial ruin in Jeffersonville/Clarksville, a city just inside Indiana across the river from Louisville, KY. We arrived at about noon, found each other in the parking lot of Logans Roadhouse, and proceeded to enjoy a wonderful light lunch to bolster our reserves and prepare us for the battle ahead.

Let me state that nellie is just delightful, a wonderful submissive with a sharp mind, a rapier wit, a lot more on the ball than most people. She defies the stereotype of "The submissive" and enriches those she is with, even socially. Master Kiss could have made no better choice if He had tried, and I am so pleased for both of T/them. We laughed, shared silly and hysterical stories about each other's O/one, and truly enjoyed the afternoon.

So, we ate our lunch and drove down the interstate to the next exit where we reached our destination: Value City. Oh, my. I've never been much of a Value City shopper because of the sad and sorry state of most of the ones I have been in around the Indianapolis area. Sure, the one in Greenwood is pretty nice, but oh my goodness, the others resemble overblown garage sales. After yesterday, I will certainly be shopping in Greenwood more often.

But was my mission a success? Oh goodness yes! Two beautiful skirts, two wonderful pairs of shoes, gifts for my one, and a friend. What more could one want? But next time, I'm going to insist on a slumber party and breakfast the next day. I've got some Master stories about Hers that I'd love to tell her, and a girly-girl slumber party is just the place.

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December 07, 2005

Okay, it's time...

I know that it has been a matter of some small curiosity as to why I quit writing for a long time, longer than even I intended. I've given it a lot of thought, and decided that I'd just use this as my forum for thrashing it out. Bear with me, please. I'm sure some of you have felt the same things.

To begin with, let me say that menopause is a bitch. A vicious, uncaring, heartless bitch who will rip your heart out one moment and then toss you the pieces, and in the next moment will render you numb and emotionally impotent. It has finally started for me, and because I am unable to take hormones for the psychological side effects I am stuck with the radical and unpredictable mood swings. There are days when I muddle through like an automaton, and others when I'm like the poster child for bipolar disorder. Keeping one coherent thought is hard enough without trying to string two together on the page. No, it's not an excuse, merely a factor. And there are more.

The world around me has left me disillusioned and disappointed. The people I trusted to use power wisely have turned out to be so much more of the status quo. A war that I find both just and necessary has been spun into dross by people who are so afraid of the world that they never leave their hotel in Baghdad and only report those things that are Spectatular. Bombs are spectacular. Rebuilt schools are not. Kidnappings are spectacular. Running water is not. Protests by historically agressive factions are spectacular. Families with rebuilt homes are not. And my little voice could do nothing to change that, nothing to fix it, nothing to hold these lazy, self-centered pretenders to Journalism accountable. And this helped to silence my voice. A caged bird will sing, but not one under a cover.

The situation with the Spousal Unit's disability, and the depths to which we sank trying futilly to hang on during the process was almost more than I could handle. I cannot tell you the number of times I seriously thought of walking away, finding my place in the world alone, no responsibilities but my own. But I could not do that. I'm an adult. I have responsibilities. I have people for whom I care and who care for me that did not need the drama of my selfishness during this. It got to the point that it was easier not to think at all than to think of what was happening. Now, with his disability coming in monthly, I will be able to pay my bills without asking if water were more important than gas, were more important than the phone, were more important than the electriciy. I will be able to afford the luxury of thought.

But even as I stayed, miserable as I was and miserable as I know I made everyone here, I began to search for myself. Yes, I know, how "lame, 60's, hippy" that is, but you know after living like I have my whole life denying who and what I was, it needed to be explored. I have found things that make me wary of myself and things that I never even recognized that I now celebrate. I've found aspects of myself that I never dreamed I'd find.

And now... Where am I now? I don't know, really. I know what is happening now is better than it was, and that some small part of me wants to write again. The better question is not whether or not to write, but rather on what to write. I cannot bring myself to even look at Drudge or even Lucianne without the frustration and disappointment rising to the surface again like bitter bile in my throat. But there will be something. It might not be every day, and it may not be like anything you've read here before, but as I rediscover my voice I will begin to post more regularly.

As I do, I hope that you will be patient, be kind, and realize that every journey has rocky places as well as lush and verdant ones. I've crossed the rocks, and the meadow in the distance looks like a good place for staying for a while. Come and enjoy it with me. I'm sure it's not quite like it looks from a distance, but isn't discovery an important part of the journey?

December 05, 2005

Okay, so here it is...

Yes, apparently the clothing isn't the only thing I need to update. Seems a new photo is also in order.


Look! Dimples! And I have discovered that there really are cheekbones embedded in that face, too.

Can you stand it?


And such a day, too. My much desired and long awaited black leather corset arrived today, and I can't wait to get laced into it. How hard could it be, anyway?

Hard. Very hard. I watched Gone With The Wind. I know how hard it is. I'll just have to find some help. Hmmmm... Wonder where the Spousal Unit is?


Found him! And for someone who has never done this, he did a great job of lacing me into it. I thought it would be very uncomfortable, but I'm blogging in it now. Hmmm.... from nekid blogging, to Pajamahadeen, and now corset-blogging. Looks like a natural progression to me, but then again, I'm not the average housewife, am I?

December 02, 2005

And while I'm thinking of it...

I went shopping the other day. I had lost enough weight that my little, flat, "hound dog ear" breasts were sitting at the bottoms of enormously over-sized cups, and it was a bit like looking at a pair of toddlers sleeping in a King Size bed.

So off to Lane Bryant I went. I kind of knew what I needed, since I'd bought a "Just My Size" one at the evil infidel Walmart a few days earlier for purely scientific reasons. Straight to the back of the store I went, and was confounded by a selection of things the likes of which I had never considered. Everything from cozy and familiar B's to spacious and palatial DD's awaited the discerning shopper. It was an experience of a near-religious nature to gambol through those garments, to peruse the panties, to linger in the lingerie like I did.

But did I stop there? Of course not! After selecting three amazingly sexy and well fitting Stopzemfrumphlopen and five lovely and lacy buttercutter bottoms, I decided to look at some of the other items on the various sale racks in the store.

And lo, from a rack of gorgeous cotton spandex tops with deep plunge necklines, a revelation came forth:

I had achieved a size 18/20, something I had not seen since I was a sophomore in High School. And there was much rejoicing.

*sighs happily*

So here I sit, enjoying cleavage I had heretofore never experienced, content in the knowlege that I can now wear a size that beginneth with a "one" and not with a "two", and that even big women can enjoy the sexy feel of lace buttercutters under their jeans.

Yes, life was good this week.

On Tying One's Self Up on St Andrew's Cross...

Seems that things have started happening on a local level here in Indianapolis with regards to "Adult Businesses" focused on the BDSM or D/s lifestyle.

Some of you remember from a while back that I outed myself as a Lifestyler known to those in the community as Mistress Lila. I operate a chatroom on Paltalk, train with a lifelong Master, and have accepted the gift of submission from a wonderful person. I attend "play parties" and "Munches" and enjoy the companionship of others who share in the Lifestyle. I don't condone much of what is done by those who would associate themselves with BDSM or D/s, finding them opportunists and players who use it for their own Kink.

Kink... such a word. People who like to play at being something else for a session of sex call what they are doing Kink. People who do not live it full time, but engage in it for Something Differentâ„¢ call it Kink.

I find calling my lifestyle preferences or practices Kink to be an insult. But I also understand the "Kinkster" and how they look at us.

Now, that said, let's look at what happened in Indianapolis this week.

Miss Ann, a woman who I had met, with whom I had enjoyed a few conversations, who had given me an outlet for some of the items I make, is now embroiled in a legal issue with the city of Indianapolis. Her retail shop, The Reformatory, located in a small, gallery-like building has been closed as a result of this fight over zoning and what constitutes an Adult Business. Now, as a result of complaints from the neighbors, her home dungeon has also been closed.

Let me begin by stating that I have very mixed feelings on this.

I like Miss Ann. She provided me with an outlet, is very enthusiatic about the lifestyle and her place in it, is active and determined in her activism, and is one of those "once in a lifetime" people that some of us are lucky enough to meet. She is open, almost to a fault, and challenges the status quo every single day.

But then I look at the locations of both The Reformatory and her home, the home from which she operated a business, and I shake my head. The entrance of the store faced into a parking lot only a matter of feet from family residences. It was literally surrounded by large, older homes and condos in a pricy, upscale, gentrified neighborhood. She was surrounded by those who move into the urban setting to show how openminded and cosmo they are, but only as far as it doesn't threaten to impact their property values.

Why on earth put an adult oriented business, one that appeals to a segment of society that few understand and even fewer accept, in that neighborhood? With the wonderful artsy, gallery filled, bravely counter-culture areas in other parts of the downtown landscape, why there?

To make a point, perhaps?

To force the issue?

To make people see?

To make people confront their own secrets?

The only secret she made these people confront was their own desire to protect the value of their precious lots and rehabilitated Victorian homes. These fine, upstanding, cosmopolitan people, who send their children to private schools instead of to the ones in their neighborhood, who go to Black Expo to be seen, who make a public show of either distaining religion completely or of going at every opportunity, who donate their token amounts to the ACLU or Justice, Inc. every year to get the news letters, are the ones who shut her down.

And she gave them the ammo to do so.

Now all we can do is wait to see what the next step will be. Will they come knocking on my door to see if I have a piece of restraint furniture in my basement? If they find one, will they try to take my home? Will they try to charge me with operating an adult business if I have a few of my friends over for coffee, conversation, and a scene or two?

All we can do is watch and avail ourselves if necessary. All we can do is go on living and wait to be called if needed.

Posted by Mamamontezz at 06:13 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack