An older blog, with some newness thrown in on the end. Sorry, I know I promised to limit the repeats. And this one is in sharp contrast to the previous night's entry. See, sometimes, when we are happy, it is important to remind ourselves of the reasons we weren't happy before. That way, we can stay the course. Plus, I am in kind of a bad mood...
Originally blogged 5/12/2008
Ah, catharsis. This blog is acting as such tonight. I hope that I do not bring you down, my maybe friend, but shit...I am sad. I have been sad for so long, I don't think I really feel "sad" anymore, more like - chronic melancholy. But for some reason, true, deep sadness had made it's way into my consciousness. The kind that only happens when you have been hurt so many times you are no longer numb. I read a clipping on a bulletin board once that said..."My soul is like a wooden fence. You can hammer nails into my fence and I will bear them all. But if you change your mind, and pull them out, the holes will always remain". How many holes until the fence falls down? Is that like how many licks it takes to get to the center of the Tootsie Pop? (A little levity, forgive me). To my credit, I am a great fake. I can fool the world, and it's all good. And in the life I have created in my mind, it is all good. The future is filled with good things that push the hurt away, and those things don't seem so far out of reach. It is the future that I want for not only me, but for the Amazing A and Incredible I. I will ensure that they don't know this level of sadness...Unless of course, it is hereditary, then I will make sure to recommend a great shrink and help them choose the proper medication. It's the least I can do.
The addition: Blogged 8/31/2008
So, there is my depressing blog of the month...Well maybe I should say week, I can be a little dramatic. I know that it can be a little risky to place emotions in a public forum like this, where just anyone can see them, including the people/places/things you are actually blogging about. Some may say this is a calculated risk, because really, in your darkest of hearts, these are things you want people to know...You are just to afraid to tell them to their face. Sometimes, the risk pays you in dividends. Other times, it goes unnoticed, or hurts people unnecessarily. Hurting people is almost always unnecessary, but in truth-telling, there is always fallout. In some cases, it rains down upon you, clean and clear and it revitalizes your soul. In others, it carries the toxic, acrid scent of something that has died, long ago. Only the truth-teller can clean up whatever mess they leave behind. So you see, a calculated risk is one that I will take again tonight. I have taken them many times in the past, whether it's with this blog or my actions in my daily life. So far I have been lucky, and reaped the rewards of my risk-taking nature. Soon, though...Soon my luck will run out, and I will be forced to bear the brunt of the risk that I am taking now, and clean-up the mess that I will make. And it will not be pretty. But do not fear for me, for I am perfectly aware of the consequences of risk-taking. I will do my best to contain the collateral damage. I am strong and I am determined and I have held the hands of happiness...And I am not afraid. So don't you be.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
You Gotta Know When to Hold 'Em, Know When to Fold 'Em...
Sometimes giving up is easy. Other times, giving up isn't an option. And not because you are some elite para-military freedom fighter and that's, like, the motto you have tattooed on your bicep. Instead it's because you just CAN'T give up...It's just not physically, mentally or emotionally possible. What do you do then, my friends? Do you hold 'em or do you fold 'em?
I have never been a quitter. Yes, I have admitted to being lazy when it comes to trying things that are hard, and I have confessed to my general ambivalence to most things involved in the nature of just living, but I wouldn't necessarily categorize myself as a quitter. So when it comes down to the simple pursuit of being happy, what makes one think that it's okay just to quit seeking it? For some of us, seeking it is too exhausting or it's just hidden away too well. There is a saying, "we will all choose Happiness, when Happiness is actually a choice". I am quite sure that I would have rolled my eyes and walked away from you if you had said something that saccharine-laden to me, before I too made the choice. I used to believe that happiness was something that you had to be medicated to achieve. But I get now that it's not. Happiness is a right, not a privilege. If you squander that right on things that are fleeting and without deep connection, it doesn't make you any less happy, it just truncates the feeling somewhat. Or, you can pursue the kind of happiness that changes your life, long-term. What I have chosen for myself is the latter.
It is a decision that is going to change my life. It may not change it today, tomorrow or ten months from now...But the choosing of happiness will change who I am and who I will ultimately become. It will change the lives of those around me, because they will learn that happiness is a choice that is available for them, too.
Kenny Rogers (Thanks, BTW...My true friends wont let me look like a moron for too long, and that's one of the myriad reasons why I love them) sang:
You gotta know when to hold 'em,
Know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away, know when to run.
You never count your money,
While you're sitting at the table.
There'll be time enough for counting,
When the dealings done.
So for the sake of the analogy, I just sat down at the proverbial table and I, for one, will continue to hold the cards that I have just been dealt. I want to stay at the table, and frankly...I don't give a fuck about the money to even bother with the counting of it. When the dealing is done, I just hope that I am holding the winning hand, cause I really don't plan on ever folding these fucking fabulous cards.
I have never been a quitter. Yes, I have admitted to being lazy when it comes to trying things that are hard, and I have confessed to my general ambivalence to most things involved in the nature of just living, but I wouldn't necessarily categorize myself as a quitter. So when it comes down to the simple pursuit of being happy, what makes one think that it's okay just to quit seeking it? For some of us, seeking it is too exhausting or it's just hidden away too well. There is a saying, "we will all choose Happiness, when Happiness is actually a choice". I am quite sure that I would have rolled my eyes and walked away from you if you had said something that saccharine-laden to me, before I too made the choice. I used to believe that happiness was something that you had to be medicated to achieve. But I get now that it's not. Happiness is a right, not a privilege. If you squander that right on things that are fleeting and without deep connection, it doesn't make you any less happy, it just truncates the feeling somewhat. Or, you can pursue the kind of happiness that changes your life, long-term. What I have chosen for myself is the latter.
It is a decision that is going to change my life. It may not change it today, tomorrow or ten months from now...But the choosing of happiness will change who I am and who I will ultimately become. It will change the lives of those around me, because they will learn that happiness is a choice that is available for them, too.
Kenny Rogers (Thanks, BTW...My true friends wont let me look like a moron for too long, and that's one of the myriad reasons why I love them) sang:
You gotta know when to hold 'em,
Know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away, know when to run.
You never count your money,
While you're sitting at the table.
There'll be time enough for counting,
When the dealings done.
So for the sake of the analogy, I just sat down at the proverbial table and I, for one, will continue to hold the cards that I have just been dealt. I want to stay at the table, and frankly...I don't give a fuck about the money to even bother with the counting of it. When the dealing is done, I just hope that I am holding the winning hand, cause I really don't plan on ever folding these fucking fabulous cards.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Paramore
I like to think I am a pretty cool Mom. I let my girls wear black nail polish and skull & crossbone Vans. Some may call that projection, but I disagree. These are things that they have decided are cool. I don't even own any skull & crossbone Vans!
My oldest daughter is getting to that age where she wants to like what her little friends like. Most of them like Hannah Montana, Camp Rock and the Jonas Brothers. I am quite proud to say she doesn't really like any of the above. In an effort to help her stay current on post-toddler/pre-tween goings on, we will listen to Radio Disney when we are in the car. As a direct result, my youngest daughter, at three, loves to sing the following lyric from Hannah Montana, Best of Both Worlds, over and over and over...
You get the lemons in the front, oh, oh, oh, oh...
Every shapes, every shoes and the colors...
You get the beds of boat world!
First you (mumble mumble mumble), then you rock out the show!
You get the beds of boat world!
Now, these are not the actual lyrics. I am not entirely certain just what the actual lyrics are, and I don't care. I like Isabella's version. It's not only clever, but it really makes you think. I mean, why are there beds at boat world? Are the boat Captains sleepy?
Today Radio Disney played a song by the group Paramore. I am a fan of Paramore, and have never really considered it a kid's group. Just goes to show what I know! The people in this video are NOT in my demographic.
When you look at the lyrics, however, I think it speaks to a much older crowd. Here they are, and not Izzy's version of the lyrics, the actual lyrics:
No sir, well I don't wanna be the blame, not anymore.
It's your turn, so take a seat we're settling the final score.
And why do we like to hurt, so much?
I can't decide
You have made it harder just to go on
And why, all the possibilities where I was wrong
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
I drowned out all my sense away, with the sound of its beating.
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
I wonder, how am I supposed to feel when you're not here.
'Cause I burned every bridge I ever built when you were here.
I still try holding onto silly things, I never learn.
Oh why, all the possibilities I'm sure you've heard.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
I drowned out all my sense away, with the sound of its beating. (beating)
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
Pain make your way to me, to me.
And I'll always be just so inviting.
If I ever start to think straight,
This heart will start a riot in me,
Let's start, start, hey!
Why do we like to hurt so much?
Oh why do we like to hurt so much?
That's what you get when you let your heart win!
Whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
Now I can't trust myself with anything but this,
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
Right. Cause nothing says childhood like singing about emotional distress and pain. Fun! But that's the thing about "tween" music. It's so cross-generational! I have actually grown quite fond of some of these "tweeny-bopper" bands. Mostly because I am subjected to the extremely short playlist that is Radio Disney, but also because sometimes, the lyrics do actually speak to me. When they do, I find it a bit frightening, but I also think the Grateful Dead song "Casey Jones" speaks to me, and I have never even done drugs...So there goes that faulty logic. Take the Jesse McCartney song, "I'm Leaving", for example. In it he sings, "Why don't you tell him that 'I'm leaving, never coming back again, I found somebody who does it better than you can'". And it leaves me wondering, does what better, exactly? Aren't these singers, like 16? Well, I can't lie, it doesn't really leave me wondering, I get it, but my 6 year old asked me the other day, "what does he do better Mommy?". To which I felt obligated to say, "the New York Times crossword puzzle, honey". She totally bought it.
So anyway, I am putting ONE more song in this post. Yah, some adults might say Howie Day is a pussy. You are probably right. But in the Radio Disney world in which I live, this one song seems to stand out as having the potential to be slightly more adult. Plus, it speaks to me. So enjoy, and know that the next time I catch you singing "you get the beds of boat world", it's okay by me. I can totally rock out that show, too.
Oh, and in case you are wondering why there are Disney characters in this video...It's for Amy and Traci. Two beautiful faces that I don't get to see enough of anymore. Yes, girls...Disney did distort our concept of what love can be, but I am certain Prince Charming is out there. He might be just around the corner.
My oldest daughter is getting to that age where she wants to like what her little friends like. Most of them like Hannah Montana, Camp Rock and the Jonas Brothers. I am quite proud to say she doesn't really like any of the above. In an effort to help her stay current on post-toddler/pre-tween goings on, we will listen to Radio Disney when we are in the car. As a direct result, my youngest daughter, at three, loves to sing the following lyric from Hannah Montana, Best of Both Worlds, over and over and over...
You get the lemons in the front, oh, oh, oh, oh...
Every shapes, every shoes and the colors...
You get the beds of boat world!
First you (mumble mumble mumble), then you rock out the show!
You get the beds of boat world!
Now, these are not the actual lyrics. I am not entirely certain just what the actual lyrics are, and I don't care. I like Isabella's version. It's not only clever, but it really makes you think. I mean, why are there beds at boat world? Are the boat Captains sleepy?
Today Radio Disney played a song by the group Paramore. I am a fan of Paramore, and have never really considered it a kid's group. Just goes to show what I know! The people in this video are NOT in my demographic.
When you look at the lyrics, however, I think it speaks to a much older crowd. Here they are, and not Izzy's version of the lyrics, the actual lyrics:
No sir, well I don't wanna be the blame, not anymore.
It's your turn, so take a seat we're settling the final score.
And why do we like to hurt, so much?
I can't decide
You have made it harder just to go on
And why, all the possibilities where I was wrong
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
I drowned out all my sense away, with the sound of its beating.
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
I wonder, how am I supposed to feel when you're not here.
'Cause I burned every bridge I ever built when you were here.
I still try holding onto silly things, I never learn.
Oh why, all the possibilities I'm sure you've heard.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
I drowned out all my sense away, with the sound of its beating. (beating)
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
Pain make your way to me, to me.
And I'll always be just so inviting.
If I ever start to think straight,
This heart will start a riot in me,
Let's start, start, hey!
Why do we like to hurt so much?
Oh why do we like to hurt so much?
That's what you get when you let your heart win!
Whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
Now I can't trust myself with anything but this,
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
Right. Cause nothing says childhood like singing about emotional distress and pain. Fun! But that's the thing about "tween" music. It's so cross-generational! I have actually grown quite fond of some of these "tweeny-bopper" bands. Mostly because I am subjected to the extremely short playlist that is Radio Disney, but also because sometimes, the lyrics do actually speak to me. When they do, I find it a bit frightening, but I also think the Grateful Dead song "Casey Jones" speaks to me, and I have never even done drugs...So there goes that faulty logic. Take the Jesse McCartney song, "I'm Leaving", for example. In it he sings, "Why don't you tell him that 'I'm leaving, never coming back again, I found somebody who does it better than you can'". And it leaves me wondering, does what better, exactly? Aren't these singers, like 16? Well, I can't lie, it doesn't really leave me wondering, I get it, but my 6 year old asked me the other day, "what does he do better Mommy?". To which I felt obligated to say, "the New York Times crossword puzzle, honey". She totally bought it.
So anyway, I am putting ONE more song in this post. Yah, some adults might say Howie Day is a pussy. You are probably right. But in the Radio Disney world in which I live, this one song seems to stand out as having the potential to be slightly more adult. Plus, it speaks to me. So enjoy, and know that the next time I catch you singing "you get the beds of boat world", it's okay by me. I can totally rock out that show, too.
Oh, and in case you are wondering why there are Disney characters in this video...It's for Amy and Traci. Two beautiful faces that I don't get to see enough of anymore. Yes, girls...Disney did distort our concept of what love can be, but I am certain Prince Charming is out there. He might be just around the corner.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Shazaam!
Originally blogged 6/07/08. Sorry for the repeat...
Shazaam!
I am in a great mood tonight! And I don't know why!
Do you remember those old Saturday Night Live skits where they would mock Robin Leach (of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous)...He would shout all of his lines and then say things like, "I am shouting, and I don't know why"! Always in a amazingly annoying British accent. Not that I don't love a good British accent...Alan Rickman is a primary example. Kinda odd looking man, but the accent makes him DELECTABLE! Oh, and I totally love that "Fight for the Bright", "wee bit of the dingies" Cheer detergent lady. She's great.
So, what prompted the change in my mood? I am pretty sure it isn't the British...I don't really have a good explanation. I had a pretty normal day at work, (except when they air conditioning in my office went out), did not argue with my husband (NOT ONE TIME) today, the kids were wonderful, and I lost a pound yesterday! Well, those are pretty good reasons, I suppose. I think maybe, just maybe, I am coming to accept the reality that my life will never be glamourous. How did I stumble upon this realization...Let me enlighten you, my dear friend...About 4 years ago I got Invisalign. I loved it, and if you knew me 10 years ago (give or take) you might remember that my two front teeth were a little crooked. Well, I HATED THEM. So, $5,000 and a year later, I had awesome straight teeth. A few weeks ago, Butters ate my retainer. Stupid fucking dog. Anyway, I had to rely upon my "backup" retainer. Since then, my teeth have been (ever so slowly) turning. It is killing me. No one will ever notice but me, but it's all I see. So, you might be wondering how this could possibly contribute to my current good mood? Again, it all comes down to glamour. Or, in my case, lack thereof. See, I will NEVER be famous. Truly, these are the only classification of people who really require "perfect" teeth. And many of them DO NOT HAVE THEM! I mean, have you looked closely at Katherine Heigle's teeth? Scary! Anyway, in the life that I have made for myself, no one I know, or would care to know, will ever give a fuck that my two front teeth aren't perfect (except me, of course, and I don't really listen to myself anyway, since I have decided I am a silly twit).
I will never stop being vain. I will never stop worrying about how people perceive me. I will never stop laughing at you, cause clearly you don't care (oh, no my friend...not YOU. The universal YOU). But maybe I let a little bit of that go today. Maybe I am a little relieved about that, and it is making me feel light. Under normal circumstances I would have called my Orthodontist immediately and scheduled an appointment for a NEW Invisalign procedure...I haven't called him yet. Maybe I wont.
Yah, I probably will. Tomorrow.
Shazaam!
I am in a great mood tonight! And I don't know why!
Do you remember those old Saturday Night Live skits where they would mock Robin Leach (of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous)...He would shout all of his lines and then say things like, "I am shouting, and I don't know why"! Always in a amazingly annoying British accent. Not that I don't love a good British accent...Alan Rickman is a primary example. Kinda odd looking man, but the accent makes him DELECTABLE! Oh, and I totally love that "Fight for the Bright", "wee bit of the dingies" Cheer detergent lady. She's great.
So, what prompted the change in my mood? I am pretty sure it isn't the British...I don't really have a good explanation. I had a pretty normal day at work, (except when they air conditioning in my office went out), did not argue with my husband (NOT ONE TIME) today, the kids were wonderful, and I lost a pound yesterday! Well, those are pretty good reasons, I suppose. I think maybe, just maybe, I am coming to accept the reality that my life will never be glamourous. How did I stumble upon this realization...Let me enlighten you, my dear friend...About 4 years ago I got Invisalign. I loved it, and if you knew me 10 years ago (give or take) you might remember that my two front teeth were a little crooked. Well, I HATED THEM. So, $5,000 and a year later, I had awesome straight teeth. A few weeks ago, Butters ate my retainer. Stupid fucking dog. Anyway, I had to rely upon my "backup" retainer. Since then, my teeth have been (ever so slowly) turning. It is killing me. No one will ever notice but me, but it's all I see. So, you might be wondering how this could possibly contribute to my current good mood? Again, it all comes down to glamour. Or, in my case, lack thereof. See, I will NEVER be famous. Truly, these are the only classification of people who really require "perfect" teeth. And many of them DO NOT HAVE THEM! I mean, have you looked closely at Katherine Heigle's teeth? Scary! Anyway, in the life that I have made for myself, no one I know, or would care to know, will ever give a fuck that my two front teeth aren't perfect (except me, of course, and I don't really listen to myself anyway, since I have decided I am a silly twit).
I will never stop being vain. I will never stop worrying about how people perceive me. I will never stop laughing at you, cause clearly you don't care (oh, no my friend...not YOU. The universal YOU). But maybe I let a little bit of that go today. Maybe I am a little relieved about that, and it is making me feel light. Under normal circumstances I would have called my Orthodontist immediately and scheduled an appointment for a NEW Invisalign procedure...I haven't called him yet. Maybe I wont.
Yah, I probably will. Tomorrow.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
An Amazing Loss for Words
Wow. I am having one of those very, very rare moments where I have lost the words to what I would like to say.
It's probably for the best though. I don't want to get myself in trouble. Not really certain that what I would choose to say would cause me any real trouble, but occasionally, I like to think of others.
A song from the current playlist of my life. Lyrics are as follows:
Thank you for being such a friend to me...
Oh I pray a friend for life.
And have I ever told you how much you mean to me... Oh you're everything to me
I'm thinkin all the time how to tell what I feel
I'm contimplating phrases
I'm gazing at eternity I am floating in serenity.
And I am so lost for words...And I am so overwhelmed
Please don't go just yet...Can you stay a moment please?
We can dance together and we can dance forever
Under your stars tonight
We'll live and breathe this dream
Close your eyes but don't dream too deep and please pass me some memories
But I fall you're underneath a thousand broken hearts
Carried by a thousand broken wings
A thousand broken wings
God, I love Flyleaf.
It's probably for the best though. I don't want to get myself in trouble. Not really certain that what I would choose to say would cause me any real trouble, but occasionally, I like to think of others.
A song from the current playlist of my life. Lyrics are as follows:
Thank you for being such a friend to me...
Oh I pray a friend for life.
And have I ever told you how much you mean to me... Oh you're everything to me
I'm thinkin all the time how to tell what I feel
I'm contimplating phrases
I'm gazing at eternity I am floating in serenity.
And I am so lost for words...And I am so overwhelmed
Please don't go just yet...Can you stay a moment please?
We can dance together and we can dance forever
Under your stars tonight
We'll live and breathe this dream
Close your eyes but don't dream too deep and please pass me some memories
But I fall you're underneath a thousand broken hearts
Carried by a thousand broken wings
A thousand broken wings
God, I love Flyleaf.
Friday, August 22, 2008
My Facebook Obsession
I am obsessed with Facebook. I absolutely LOVE that I am able to connect with people that I haven't seen in years, as well as keeping in touch with people I see with a little more frequency. I love it. It has been suggested that I am too old for Facebook...To those people I say, whatever! I spend enough time stressing out over how old I am, I really don't need you reinforcing it, thank you very not-so-much. Where else on the Internet can I build a cyber-city, send virtual Starbucks, give and receive happy looking plants for my Facebook Garden, buy my friends, and generally be nosey...All in one place! Why, nowhere but Facebook! I have recruited several of my friends to join, and can now see what my technically-challenged sister is up to at any given time...Although she still hasn't put out her "profile picture" as of yet...That's mine there on the right (yep, I am totally cute)...As far as my sister goes, it's okay, I know what she looks like. No pressure, Bridget...I am just thrilled you have figured out how to use your computer! Baby steps, I suppose...
Just the other day, I listened to some people debate on whether or not employers should be allowed to use information they find on social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace. Lots of different viewpoints, but I think the bottom line is this...Don't put anything out into the ether that you wouldn't want your Momma to see. Common sense, my friends. Common sense. It would make common sense, then, that the same principle would apply to blogging. Don't put anything out there that could come back to haunt you. Don't give up too much...But where is the fun in that? I have spent a lot of time looking at the blogs of others (think you have a good one? Leave your link in my comments section), and I have determined that very few of us actually have any common sense. Those individuals who have chosen to blog about personal experiences do a pretty darn good job of putting it all out there. It's those who blog about completely innocuous (and oddly hysterical) subjects like real estate listings and food products are the ones who likely will not to do any lasting damage to their ego or psyche. I have enjoyed the freedom and potential for complete ego destruction that has come with blogging on my personal experiences. It's always interesting to see the direction a life can take, even if it is your own life, and you feel like you are viewing it as some out-of-body, transcendental experience.
Facebook is like a life blog. People put all their personal experiences out there for their "friends" to see. I have pictures of my beautiful children on my Facebook profile. I have random Pieces of Flair buttons on my page, that I feel truly capture my essence (like the one that says, "I am crafty. I make people", and "Bacon, the candy of meats")...I have joined countless groups that represent me to the letter (like the "I love champagne and champagne loves me" group, or the "I say fuck a lot, but I am still classy" group). It's really quite fun. If you haven't yet had the opportunity to join Facebook, or if you have (up until this point) not really ever seen the need, please do so now that I have enlightened you. Shoot, you are on the computer right now, I am assuming, so once you are done reading (or re-reading, as the case may be) my blog, bop on over to www.facebook.com and sign up. Then search for all the people you know that figured out Facebook was cool long before you did.
Maybe we can be Facebook friends.
Maybe even BFF's...You just never know.
Oh, and just in case you don't know what side of the employer curiosity/Facebook privacy debate to stand on, just watch this:
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The Struggle
Sometimes writing this blog is a struggle. It's not that I don't want to write it, and it's not that I don't get plenty of great ideas from friends, family, even many a stranger. Some days, it's just a little more difficult. Often it is lack of subject matter, or at least, subject matter that you might find entertaining. On a day like today, I struggle to come up with the words to appropriately convey what I really want to put out there into cyberspace.
I'm not sure that I can. I'm not sure I know how...
It's easier to put the thoughts out there when they are truly anonymous and without direction. When we start to put too fine a point on it, we risk making ourselves vulnerable, or making other people uncomfortable. And I am neither about making myself vulnerable OR making other people uncomfortable. Actually, that's not entirely true...I am not fully affected by other people being made uncomfortable. I am very protective of myself, however. When I think that I might be getting myself in a situation where I am not fully in control, I get really quite antsy. So antsy is as antsy does, and I am thinking of opting for full disclosure here. But by the grace of my own personal genius, I am presently opting for discretion. I am sure you will thank me later, and I am sure that it is the right thing to do...for right now. But don't get too comfortable, you never know what you might read on this blog. It's really all about how the wind blows up my skirt on any given day.
And if the wind blows up my skirt while I am standing on the side of the road, waiting for someone to help me by changing my flat tire, recognize that there is a reason for everything. I don't ever want to have to change my own tire. This may make me ultra-snotty or fly in the face of all things feminist, but I am not sure that I really care. I don't like to get dirty and I don't like heavy lifting. And although I don't like feeling vulnerable, I like the way it feels when you are anticipating the upcoming "open-book" signing. You know, the nervous energy, the "butterflies"...Those things can make one quite giddy. And that, my friends, can be wonderful.
I'm not sure that I can. I'm not sure I know how...
It's easier to put the thoughts out there when they are truly anonymous and without direction. When we start to put too fine a point on it, we risk making ourselves vulnerable, or making other people uncomfortable. And I am neither about making myself vulnerable OR making other people uncomfortable. Actually, that's not entirely true...I am not fully affected by other people being made uncomfortable. I am very protective of myself, however. When I think that I might be getting myself in a situation where I am not fully in control, I get really quite antsy. So antsy is as antsy does, and I am thinking of opting for full disclosure here. But by the grace of my own personal genius, I am presently opting for discretion. I am sure you will thank me later, and I am sure that it is the right thing to do...for right now. But don't get too comfortable, you never know what you might read on this blog. It's really all about how the wind blows up my skirt on any given day.
And if the wind blows up my skirt while I am standing on the side of the road, waiting for someone to help me by changing my flat tire, recognize that there is a reason for everything. I don't ever want to have to change my own tire. This may make me ultra-snotty or fly in the face of all things feminist, but I am not sure that I really care. I don't like to get dirty and I don't like heavy lifting. And although I don't like feeling vulnerable, I like the way it feels when you are anticipating the upcoming "open-book" signing. You know, the nervous energy, the "butterflies"...Those things can make one quite giddy. And that, my friends, can be wonderful.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Get to Know the B'z
I lived in Japan for a brief period of time. My entire life has a soundtrack, so it only follows that my experience as a student in Japan had one as well. I loved the B'z and Kome Kome Club. There were some others that I really liked, but in Japan, all bands have wacky-ass names. I could say I love the group, Peanuts on Toast, and that might have very well be a band. Anyway, please watch this clip from the B'z. The band is AMAZING. I saw them in concert when I lived in Chiba, Japan. It was about the same time this song came out. The harmonica action on this track rocks...No matter what language you speak. But the real rocking out comes about 2:45 in, if you don't feel like waiting. It's good stuff.
The lyrics...Just in case you were in the mood to try and speak Japanese...
Let me go medara ni tsuzuku nureta highway to your home
Don't stop, fumeba subete lock shite iki sou
I'm too hot, konna ni mo atsui engine ochitsukaseruno wa
Tada hitotsu suikomare souna kimi no mune dake dayo
Aite ga ki ni naru yoru no naga denwa ga
Boku wo hashiraseteru
Oh! Girl mada mada kimi wo hanashitakunai
Akuseru yurumenai de mou sugu ai ni iku yo
Last year natsu wa chigatta yo futari ima to gyaku datta ne
Gigolo no yoyuu mo ima ja sukoshi aseri ni kawatteru
Kimi ni nomerikonderu jibun ni ima yatto kizuita yo
Oh! Girl, mada mada hoka no yatsu wa me jyanai
Kimi e no omoi nara dare ni mo makenai kara
Keep on my girl, mada mada futari dake no stage de
Atarashii love song utau yo nan do demo
I'm never gonna leave you
Every night ironna otoko ni itsumo sasowareru dake sasowarete
Tsuite ikanai kimi ga ichiban suki da yo
Oh! Girl, mada mada hoka no yatsu wa me jyanai
Kimi e no omoi nara dare ni mo makenai kara
Keep on my girl, mada mada futari dake no stage de
Atarashi love song utau yo nan do demo
I'm never gonna leave you!
Tak Matsumoto & Koshi Inaba make up the group B'z
The lyrics...Just in case you were in the mood to try and speak Japanese...
Let me go medara ni tsuzuku nureta highway to your home
Don't stop, fumeba subete lock shite iki sou
I'm too hot, konna ni mo atsui engine ochitsukaseruno wa
Tada hitotsu suikomare souna kimi no mune dake dayo
Aite ga ki ni naru yoru no naga denwa ga
Boku wo hashiraseteru
Oh! Girl mada mada kimi wo hanashitakunai
Akuseru yurumenai de mou sugu ai ni iku yo
Last year natsu wa chigatta yo futari ima to gyaku datta ne
Gigolo no yoyuu mo ima ja sukoshi aseri ni kawatteru
Kimi ni nomerikonderu jibun ni ima yatto kizuita yo
Oh! Girl, mada mada hoka no yatsu wa me jyanai
Kimi e no omoi nara dare ni mo makenai kara
Keep on my girl, mada mada futari dake no stage de
Atarashii love song utau yo nan do demo
I'm never gonna leave you
Every night ironna otoko ni itsumo sasowareru dake sasowarete
Tsuite ikanai kimi ga ichiban suki da yo
Oh! Girl, mada mada hoka no yatsu wa me jyanai
Kimi e no omoi nara dare ni mo makenai kara
Keep on my girl, mada mada futari dake no stage de
Atarashi love song utau yo nan do demo
I'm never gonna leave you!
Tak Matsumoto & Koshi Inaba make up the group B'z
Why You Gotta Make It So Hard?
Today was fun. No real threat of super-mega dangerous severe weather, just the constant planning due to the constant fear of it. I felt rushed all day long, and ate nothing but a Zone Bar and a handful of almonds. Oh, yeah, and drank a Diet Coke. Doesn't that sound fun and nutritious to you? I am tired tonight, so I am cheating. Since I don't want to get caught lying to my readership, I am confessing to the crime of posting an older blog. I did make a few edits, and the message still rings true to the events of today (because they keep repeating themselves, over and over and over...And I am not convinced I want them to stop. I thrive on the drama). So please enjoy, with my apologies, and know that a new blog is on the horizon.
Originally blogged on 6/28/08
I woke up this morning, feeling good. Better than good, in fact. I just knew today was going to be the kind of day that makes me want to get up on subsequent days, awash in the glow of the promise of more days like today! Do you follow? Don't worry, I will lose you soon enough...See, it started something like this:
Isabella came and cuddled in the bed with me for 15 minutes, didn't whine one time, and told me all about her "scary" dreams she had last night. Although slightly less than half asleep, I lovingly shared my philosophy on dreams with her. (They aren't real, get over it). Then, I got out of bed, took a shower with a very impressive amount of water pressure (always a plus, as our shower is normally reminiscent of being pissed on by a giant), had a fabulous hair day, and put on clothes that have become too big for me (I am 12 pounds lighter my friends).
All good, right? Right!
In fact, I am still feeling good. Aside from the moment when my heart was ripped out of my chest, shown to me, then eaten...It has been a good day. It's a good thing that I am not prone to drama (no sir, not me), or I may still be hyperventilating. See, I don't like it when things are harder for me than they need to be. And doing this almost every day, well, it's not the Webster's definition of "easy". I am not sure how I came to this place to begin with...I lost the map many, many, months ago. Not that the directions that I am currently following mean anything to me...You said go left, but do you really mean left, or are you just saying that...should I really go right? Straight? North? South? WHAT?! I will go in whatever direction you want me to, you just have to tell me! I AM SO CONFUSED! Do you think I am pretty? Wait...What??
Oh, you're confused now too, my dear friend? I apologize. I get that this is hard to follow. That's okay. Maybe it can mean something different to you than it does to me. See, no matter what our circumstances in life, where we are or where we are going, there is always something that blocks you from being who you want to be, having what you want to have, or feeling complete. To this thing/person/place, we ask "why you gotta make it so hard?"...I don't know what event in my life led me to believe that everything should be easy. Maybe a series of childhood spoils or the thrills of young adulthood...Whatever the reason, I had become immune to the disease that is wanting. I have been so lucky, my friend, and I know this. I am grateful to this bit of fortune. Now, however, I find myself struggling with the wanting of something I can't just HAVE. I no likey. I no likey one bit.
If I beg, can I have it? If I make myself available to it, can I have it? If I write it on a piece of paper, fold it into an origami swan and eat it, can I have it?
I can make a really great origami swan...Wanna see?
Originally blogged on 6/28/08
I woke up this morning, feeling good. Better than good, in fact. I just knew today was going to be the kind of day that makes me want to get up on subsequent days, awash in the glow of the promise of more days like today! Do you follow? Don't worry, I will lose you soon enough...See, it started something like this:
Isabella came and cuddled in the bed with me for 15 minutes, didn't whine one time, and told me all about her "scary" dreams she had last night. Although slightly less than half asleep, I lovingly shared my philosophy on dreams with her. (They aren't real, get over it). Then, I got out of bed, took a shower with a very impressive amount of water pressure (always a plus, as our shower is normally reminiscent of being pissed on by a giant), had a fabulous hair day, and put on clothes that have become too big for me (I am 12 pounds lighter my friends).
All good, right? Right!
In fact, I am still feeling good. Aside from the moment when my heart was ripped out of my chest, shown to me, then eaten...It has been a good day. It's a good thing that I am not prone to drama (no sir, not me), or I may still be hyperventilating. See, I don't like it when things are harder for me than they need to be. And doing this almost every day, well, it's not the Webster's definition of "easy". I am not sure how I came to this place to begin with...I lost the map many, many, months ago. Not that the directions that I am currently following mean anything to me...You said go left, but do you really mean left, or are you just saying that...should I really go right? Straight? North? South? WHAT?! I will go in whatever direction you want me to, you just have to tell me! I AM SO CONFUSED! Do you think I am pretty? Wait...What??
Oh, you're confused now too, my dear friend? I apologize. I get that this is hard to follow. That's okay. Maybe it can mean something different to you than it does to me. See, no matter what our circumstances in life, where we are or where we are going, there is always something that blocks you from being who you want to be, having what you want to have, or feeling complete. To this thing/person/place, we ask "why you gotta make it so hard?"...I don't know what event in my life led me to believe that everything should be easy. Maybe a series of childhood spoils or the thrills of young adulthood...Whatever the reason, I had become immune to the disease that is wanting. I have been so lucky, my friend, and I know this. I am grateful to this bit of fortune. Now, however, I find myself struggling with the wanting of something I can't just HAVE. I no likey. I no likey one bit.
If I beg, can I have it? If I make myself available to it, can I have it? If I write it on a piece of paper, fold it into an origami swan and eat it, can I have it?
I can make a really great origami swan...Wanna see?
Monday, August 18, 2008
Flight of the Conchords
This group is now "on my radar" (I love corporate buzz-speak!) and felt that I would be remiss not to share them with you all.
This was introduced to me by Someone Special, and I think it's possible he is trying to tell me something.
Hey, man...Wednesdays are good for me, and two minutes is about all the extra time I have, anyway.
It's a Cruel, Cruel Summer...Especially If You Poke Your Eye Out.
Ah. Summer is drawing to a close here. My kids go back to school in a week and we have yet to purchase the obligatory school supplies. I hate shopping for school supplies. I can never find all the things I need in one damn place. Why is that, do you suppose? Why can't the Prang watercolors be sold in the same store as the day-glo neon, fat tip, washable, non-toxic, cancer curing markers? WHY!
I know why.
Because nothing in my life can ever be easy. And I must say this proves a great conflict for my whole "I don't wanna try" mentality. I shared my particular brand of laziness with a friend today, and actually talking about it out loud made me feel like a total moron. If you unfamiliar with my view on "trying", scroll on down to the blog Who Am I Kidding, and that will pretty much spell it out for you. I am a lump. I have been riding high on the crest of many personal successes lately, but I still have my really bad days. On those days, I feel incapable of accomplishing anything. Even the simplest task seems downright unbearable. I am moody (read: a bitch), I am short-tempered (read: a big bitch), and I yell at people and things (read: shut-up bitch). I guess you might say I act a bit like a bitch. I don't really want to and I don't think that I am quite as bad as I have the potential to be. And I certainly don't want people outside of my small inner-circle to be exposed to this repellent behavior, but sometimes it just slips out. Take yesterday, for example. Bad day, long story, not interesting. At the end of my bad day I threw a pen at a co-worker. THREW A PEN! Not normal behavior, my friends, not normal behavior. If the pen had not been attached to a chain, it very well might have put an eye out. The poking out of one's eye is just about my greatest fear EVER. I have such an intense phobia of dislodged eyes that I have tiny Dixie Cups with the bottoms cut off on stand-by, just in case someone in my house should have a projectile embedded in their eye. I have eye wash, eye patches and eye coagulant powder. I am ready for your eye to pop out. I will know just what to do. I have a magnet on my fridge that details the steps I should take based on the actual trauma to your eye. Aren't you glad we are friends?
Interesting, really...That I would try so hard to preserve the eyes of others, but I am not capable of driving across the street from Target to Office Depot to buy the Prang watercolors at one store and the crazy-ass markers at another, because it's too "hard". I am not sure that they have developed a medication to fix me yet. As long as I don't attempt to poke out my own eye, I see no need for immediate intervention. I have determined that the pen on a chain doesn't have the proper trajectory or speed to actually impale an eye. And thank God for that, because although my co-worker (the one I threw the pen at - I'm sorry, BTW) is quite fond of wearing wrinkly shirts and pants, he does have nice eyes...and it's always advisable to not poke out the eye of a co-worker or friend. You know the old saying..."You can poke your eye, you can poke your friends, but you can't poke your friends eye".
Knit that on a pillow!
I know why.
Because nothing in my life can ever be easy. And I must say this proves a great conflict for my whole "I don't wanna try" mentality. I shared my particular brand of laziness with a friend today, and actually talking about it out loud made me feel like a total moron. If you unfamiliar with my view on "trying", scroll on down to the blog Who Am I Kidding, and that will pretty much spell it out for you. I am a lump. I have been riding high on the crest of many personal successes lately, but I still have my really bad days. On those days, I feel incapable of accomplishing anything. Even the simplest task seems downright unbearable. I am moody (read: a bitch), I am short-tempered (read: a big bitch), and I yell at people and things (read: shut-up bitch). I guess you might say I act a bit like a bitch. I don't really want to and I don't think that I am quite as bad as I have the potential to be. And I certainly don't want people outside of my small inner-circle to be exposed to this repellent behavior, but sometimes it just slips out. Take yesterday, for example. Bad day, long story, not interesting. At the end of my bad day I threw a pen at a co-worker. THREW A PEN! Not normal behavior, my friends, not normal behavior. If the pen had not been attached to a chain, it very well might have put an eye out. The poking out of one's eye is just about my greatest fear EVER. I have such an intense phobia of dislodged eyes that I have tiny Dixie Cups with the bottoms cut off on stand-by, just in case someone in my house should have a projectile embedded in their eye. I have eye wash, eye patches and eye coagulant powder. I am ready for your eye to pop out. I will know just what to do. I have a magnet on my fridge that details the steps I should take based on the actual trauma to your eye. Aren't you glad we are friends?
Interesting, really...That I would try so hard to preserve the eyes of others, but I am not capable of driving across the street from Target to Office Depot to buy the Prang watercolors at one store and the crazy-ass markers at another, because it's too "hard". I am not sure that they have developed a medication to fix me yet. As long as I don't attempt to poke out my own eye, I see no need for immediate intervention. I have determined that the pen on a chain doesn't have the proper trajectory or speed to actually impale an eye. And thank God for that, because although my co-worker (the one I threw the pen at - I'm sorry, BTW) is quite fond of wearing wrinkly shirts and pants, he does have nice eyes...and it's always advisable to not poke out the eye of a co-worker or friend. You know the old saying..."You can poke your eye, you can poke your friends, but you can't poke your friends eye".
Knit that on a pillow!
Saturday, August 16, 2008
For the Love of Cupcakes
I love cupcakes. Specifically, I love carrot-cake cupcakes with REAL cream cheese frosting. I had such a craving for this type of cupcake today, and it never got satisfied. What a shame. As a result, I ate about a billionty different things in order to satiate my need for a carrot-cake cupcake, and to no avail. Now, typically, I don't eat cupcakes. If it is a carbohydrate, I eschew it. Sometimes, I just chew it...Then I spit it out. Yeah, I know that's just wrong. Don't care. I am not bulimic, and Lord knows I am certainly NOT anorexic...Have you seen me? Not a skinny girl...Healthy. Healthy is the polite way to describe my body. "All T & A" is something I heard recently, but in it's context at the time, I just found it annoying. Maybe it's true, but Pedro at the 7-11 needs to learn to keep his comments to himself before I kick his ass.
As a result of my nutritional obsessiveness, I don't really eat much of anything that is bad for me. Most of what I eat is low calorie, low carbohydrate, somewhat low fat. Well, except for the bacon and the double bacon cheeseburger (NO BUN) that I get a few times a week from 5 Guys Hamburgers. So let me rephrase, although I may eat crap, it's all low-carb crap. It seems to work for me! But that cupcake...It is haunting me in my sleep. I promised myself I wouldn't eat anything remotely resembling a cupcake until I had reached my "goal" weight. I am only about 10 pounds away...But, dude! I waaaant the frickin'-frackin' cupcake! I actually have this fantasy where a Cupcake Fairy leaves me a carrot-cake cupcake on my desk at work. There are several things wrong with this fantasy: One, it doesn't involve sex (that's just sad...And you call yourself a fantasy, you should be ashamed). Two, it takes place at work (that's just weird). Three, there is no Cupcake Fairy.
I still believe that fantasies can come true. I have to...they are just about all I have. This particular fantasy has me a little stressed out, however. I am afraid that I have been depriving myself of normal things for so long that they are beginning to attain "fantastical" status. And these are things that are readily available, you just have to go out and get them. They can be reality. I suppose that I could just roll out the door and down the street to the local bakery to pick up a carrot-cake cupcake. But, I wont. I kinda prefer the fantasy to my boring reality. Maybe there is a Cupcake Fairy...Maybe I will come upon the glory that is a carrot-cake cupcake one day, sitting loft on my desk. Maybe not. But at least in the fantasy, I don't gain wieght. That cupcake is pure protein, yo! Thanks Cupcake Fairy!!
Addendum: I just discovered this web site. Should you ever want to be my personal Cupcake Fairy, you can go here to order the cupcakes (I never said you had to make them).
http://fairycakesbakery.com
Who says fantasies can't come true! Oh, and don't worry...I wont tell anyone that you are really a Fairy.
As a result of my nutritional obsessiveness, I don't really eat much of anything that is bad for me. Most of what I eat is low calorie, low carbohydrate, somewhat low fat. Well, except for the bacon and the double bacon cheeseburger (NO BUN) that I get a few times a week from 5 Guys Hamburgers. So let me rephrase, although I may eat crap, it's all low-carb crap. It seems to work for me! But that cupcake...It is haunting me in my sleep. I promised myself I wouldn't eat anything remotely resembling a cupcake until I had reached my "goal" weight. I am only about 10 pounds away...But, dude! I waaaant the frickin'-frackin' cupcake! I actually have this fantasy where a Cupcake Fairy leaves me a carrot-cake cupcake on my desk at work. There are several things wrong with this fantasy: One, it doesn't involve sex (that's just sad...And you call yourself a fantasy, you should be ashamed). Two, it takes place at work (that's just weird). Three, there is no Cupcake Fairy.
I still believe that fantasies can come true. I have to...they are just about all I have. This particular fantasy has me a little stressed out, however. I am afraid that I have been depriving myself of normal things for so long that they are beginning to attain "fantastical" status. And these are things that are readily available, you just have to go out and get them. They can be reality. I suppose that I could just roll out the door and down the street to the local bakery to pick up a carrot-cake cupcake. But, I wont. I kinda prefer the fantasy to my boring reality. Maybe there is a Cupcake Fairy...Maybe I will come upon the glory that is a carrot-cake cupcake one day, sitting loft on my desk. Maybe not. But at least in the fantasy, I don't gain wieght. That cupcake is pure protein, yo! Thanks Cupcake Fairy!!
Addendum: I just discovered this web site. Should you ever want to be my personal Cupcake Fairy, you can go here to order the cupcakes (I never said you had to make them).
http://fairycakesbakery.com
Who says fantasies can't come true! Oh, and don't worry...I wont tell anyone that you are really a Fairy.
Hip Hip Hooray! It's Hurricane Fay!
Oh goody. Now is the time in Sprockets when we get lashed by multiple hurricanes. Would you like to touch my monkey?
We got so lucky last year (by "we", I mean those of us here in Florida) and missed major tropical activity. This year looks to be a bit more rainy. Or to use my sister's least favorite word, moist. She hates that word. Therefore, I try to incorporate it into as many sentences as I can. For example, "the bugs are in here because it's moist outside", or "I can't go to bed with this moist hair, I will catch a cold", or my personal favorite, "I have pre-moistened this lollipop for you". I personally don't find moist to be an offensive word, unless we are using it to reference a condition of the below-the-belt anatomy. Then it's kinda yucky. I get that you can become moist "down there", I just don't really want to know about it. And that reminds me of a word that I do not like... smegma. We all know what that word means, and there is no need to talk about it. Ever. Well, now that I have given everyone the heebs, I suppose I should move on...
So, hurricanes. They aren't fun...Just talk to anyone who has ridden out a hurricane, regardless of the category. I have learned a few tips over the years that can make hurricane ride-out a bit less stressful. It should be noted that the following are not advised for anyone who is faced with the impact of a Category 2 or greater hurricane, is in a low lying or coastal area, lives in a trailer park or who's conditions do not lend themselves to "laughing about it later".
1. Buy beer early. It is inevitable that you will run out and you need to be prepared. In Florida, they place a moratorium on alcohol sales for 24 hours after a hurricane has passed. This is just to annoy us. Actually, I think this is to prevent chainsaw wielding drunkards from decapitating their neighbor while they were trying to get the tree off the Camero.
2. Do not attempt to cook a frozen pizza on a grill. It does not go well. The bottom will burn to a crisp, and the cheese topping will never quite melt to your satisfaction. It's yucky.
3. In the off-season, buy a generator. It doesn't have to be big and fancy. I can assure you, the only thing you will want to be able to power up once the power goes down is the refrigerator. I don't care how many cans of tuna you bought in order to be prepared for the power outages that are gonna occur...After 12 hours of eating tuna you will be praying for ANYTHING else to eat, spoiled or otherwise. Plus, after eating all that tuna, you and everyone else around you is gonna smell, well, like smegma.
4. Batteries. Buy lots and lots of batteries. Buy what might seem like at the time an inordinate amount of batteries. You will use them all, then later wonder, "where the hell are all those batteries I bought"? You will need to power any number of things for God knows how long. Oh, and the Energizer Bunny doesn't seem so freaking long-lasting when you have to power the kid's plastic camping lantern for 8 straight hours because their night-light isn't working...'cause there's NO POWER.
5. When the Power Company says that power will be restored in a few hours, do not listen. If you fall for their lies, the disappointment when the power does not come back on after said few hours will devastate you. It just isn't worth the heartache. Save the heartache for when your insurance company drops you, or you have to shell out $20,000 for a new roof.
6. Be prepared. In all seriousness, watch the news. Check out the NOAA web site for regular updates on the storm's projected path. If you have the time and the ability, and you are in that projected path, get the fuck out. Don't stay in a high risk area. Mother Nature is one unpredictable bitch, and she don't play. If you have to stay, because you are non-ambulatory, have no phone to call someone to get you the heck out, or are otherwise just plain stubborn, plan accordingly. Have lots of water, batteries, a storm radio, and an abundance of tuna. That way, when the rescuers are out looking for your ass, they can follow the scent of your nasty, stinky tuna breath. Then, for the rest of your life, we can call you smegma-face.
It will be fun!!
We got so lucky last year (by "we", I mean those of us here in Florida) and missed major tropical activity. This year looks to be a bit more rainy. Or to use my sister's least favorite word, moist. She hates that word. Therefore, I try to incorporate it into as many sentences as I can. For example, "the bugs are in here because it's moist outside", or "I can't go to bed with this moist hair, I will catch a cold", or my personal favorite, "I have pre-moistened this lollipop for you". I personally don't find moist to be an offensive word, unless we are using it to reference a condition of the below-the-belt anatomy. Then it's kinda yucky. I get that you can become moist "down there", I just don't really want to know about it. And that reminds me of a word that I do not like... smegma. We all know what that word means, and there is no need to talk about it. Ever. Well, now that I have given everyone the heebs, I suppose I should move on...
So, hurricanes. They aren't fun...Just talk to anyone who has ridden out a hurricane, regardless of the category. I have learned a few tips over the years that can make hurricane ride-out a bit less stressful. It should be noted that the following are not advised for anyone who is faced with the impact of a Category 2 or greater hurricane, is in a low lying or coastal area, lives in a trailer park or who's conditions do not lend themselves to "laughing about it later".
1. Buy beer early. It is inevitable that you will run out and you need to be prepared. In Florida, they place a moratorium on alcohol sales for 24 hours after a hurricane has passed. This is just to annoy us. Actually, I think this is to prevent chainsaw wielding drunkards from decapitating their neighbor while they were trying to get the tree off the Camero.
2. Do not attempt to cook a frozen pizza on a grill. It does not go well. The bottom will burn to a crisp, and the cheese topping will never quite melt to your satisfaction. It's yucky.
3. In the off-season, buy a generator. It doesn't have to be big and fancy. I can assure you, the only thing you will want to be able to power up once the power goes down is the refrigerator. I don't care how many cans of tuna you bought in order to be prepared for the power outages that are gonna occur...After 12 hours of eating tuna you will be praying for ANYTHING else to eat, spoiled or otherwise. Plus, after eating all that tuna, you and everyone else around you is gonna smell, well, like smegma.
4. Batteries. Buy lots and lots of batteries. Buy what might seem like at the time an inordinate amount of batteries. You will use them all, then later wonder, "where the hell are all those batteries I bought"? You will need to power any number of things for God knows how long. Oh, and the Energizer Bunny doesn't seem so freaking long-lasting when you have to power the kid's plastic camping lantern for 8 straight hours because their night-light isn't working...'cause there's NO POWER.
5. When the Power Company says that power will be restored in a few hours, do not listen. If you fall for their lies, the disappointment when the power does not come back on after said few hours will devastate you. It just isn't worth the heartache. Save the heartache for when your insurance company drops you, or you have to shell out $20,000 for a new roof.
6. Be prepared. In all seriousness, watch the news. Check out the NOAA web site for regular updates on the storm's projected path. If you have the time and the ability, and you are in that projected path, get the fuck out. Don't stay in a high risk area. Mother Nature is one unpredictable bitch, and she don't play. If you have to stay, because you are non-ambulatory, have no phone to call someone to get you the heck out, or are otherwise just plain stubborn, plan accordingly. Have lots of water, batteries, a storm radio, and an abundance of tuna. That way, when the rescuers are out looking for your ass, they can follow the scent of your nasty, stinky tuna breath. Then, for the rest of your life, we can call you smegma-face.
It will be fun!!
Friday, August 15, 2008
Why, Thank You...I Will Take That Bow
Hello Readers! And a big sticky, sweet "hello" to all you new readers.
I am so excited to share that I have reached a personal milestone of 200 "unique" readers. And by "unique" I don't mean readers who are quirky and odd looking...I mean individual readers. 200! In my little bloggy world, that is a whole heck-of-a lot! So, I thank all 200 of you for reading.
Anyway, on to tonight's blog:
As I previously blogged, I attended an American Cancer Society fundraiser last night. It was a blast...Raised money for cancer research, got free drinks, and hooted at men who would no sooner be interested in me than I would in eating a cockroach... Speaking of bugs, my office has an infestation...It's nasty. We were privileged today to learn the nature of the infestation, if not the source. These little tiny bugs, that I am convinced have been slowly eating my left arm (I am right handed, you know, and I think they viewed the left arm as a bit of a weak link), are called Phorid flies. Not familiar with the Phorid fly? Well, according to Wikipedia, this is the joy that is the Phorid Fly (have you eaten recently? Yes? Then don't read...):
"Phorid flies are found worldwide, though the greatest variety of species is to be found in the tropics. They are frequently found around flowers and moist decaying matter, although they can be found throughout the house. Several species have the common name of the coffin fly, because they breed in human corpses with such tenacity that they can even continue their life cycle within buried coffins. For this reason they are important in forensic entomology. More generally, the larvae breed in a numerous variety of locations, such as dung, fungi, decaying plant matter or drain pipes. Most commonly they feed on decaying organic matter. Because they frequent unsanitary places they may transport various disease-causing organisms to food material."
Oh, but the tasty goodness just keeps on coming...
"Phorid flies also represent a new and hopeful means by which to control fire ant populations in the southern United States, where fire ants were accidentally introduced in the 1930s. The genus Pseudacteon, or ant-decapitating fly, of which 110 species have been documented, is a parasitoid of the ant in South America. Members of Pseudacteon reproduce by laying eggs in the thorax of the ant. The first instar larvae migrates to the head. The larvae develop by feeding on the hemolymph, muscle tissue, and nervous tissue in the head. After about two weeks, they cause the ant's head to fall off by releasing an enzyme that dissolves the membrane attaching the ant's head to its body. The fly pupates in the detached head capsule, requiring a further two weeks before emerging. The phorid flies have been widely introduced throughout the U. S. Southeast, starting with Travis, Brazos, and Dallas counties in Texas, as well as Mobile, Alabama, where the ants first entered North America."
Oh, so they are a good thing, then? Err, well...okay...I guess.
Wait, what was I originally planning to blog about? Oh yeah! The Gay Bachelor Auction...How easily I get sidetracked! So, anyway...I had a great time at the event last night, except for one little thing...I am not a big fan of people entering in to my personal space. I do NOT enjoy unsolicited touching. And that applies to all people of all sexual orientations. Now, I know it's not fair for me to assume that people would know this, as I do not wear a tee-shirt that says "DO NOT TOUCH ME. I WILL KILL YOU." Although, if you know where I can get one, please e-mail me...I would be very interested in purchasing said shirt. I do have a similar shirt that says "I DON'T LIKE YOU" on the front, and "STOP CRYING" on the back. I think it sends the same message. However, I was not wearing that shirt last night, and as a result was repeatedly groped by the same (allegedly) gay man, all night. Finally, I bent his thumb back until he whimpered like a sick puppy. Then he stopped touching me.
As you might imagine, most people pick up on my invisible wall. I stand with my arms crossed, and often scowl. (I do have a very short list of people that are approved for touching). I am still a person, though. I don't HATE other people...I just choose not to get too close to them, physically or emotionally. However, I still want to be touched...by the right person...and still want to connect with other people (of my choosing, because I am a snot). Sometimes the other people are too busy doing other shit to pick up on the subtleties of my "please touch me" vibe. Apparently, I need to get yet another statement tee that says, "TOUCH ME NOW, GOD DAMMIT, BEFORE I KICK YOUR ASS". Although I am unsure if that really sends the right message. What can you do?
So, in honor of ALL my fabulous readers, a video. I love this song, and they played it last night at the ACS Event. It's a bit ironic, since the name of the song is "Untouched"...But take a listen...It's a Damn Good Song. Plus, it has a "unique" dark haired guy in it (and by unique, I DO mean quirky and odd looking)...And I am a fan of "unique" dark haired guys, after all. Maybe I can even get one to touch me. Maybe.
I am so excited to share that I have reached a personal milestone of 200 "unique" readers. And by "unique" I don't mean readers who are quirky and odd looking...I mean individual readers. 200! In my little bloggy world, that is a whole heck-of-a lot! So, I thank all 200 of you for reading.
Anyway, on to tonight's blog:
As I previously blogged, I attended an American Cancer Society fundraiser last night. It was a blast...Raised money for cancer research, got free drinks, and hooted at men who would no sooner be interested in me than I would in eating a cockroach... Speaking of bugs, my office has an infestation...It's nasty. We were privileged today to learn the nature of the infestation, if not the source. These little tiny bugs, that I am convinced have been slowly eating my left arm (I am right handed, you know, and I think they viewed the left arm as a bit of a weak link), are called Phorid flies. Not familiar with the Phorid fly? Well, according to Wikipedia, this is the joy that is the Phorid Fly (have you eaten recently? Yes? Then don't read...):
"Phorid flies are found worldwide, though the greatest variety of species is to be found in the tropics. They are frequently found around flowers and moist decaying matter, although they can be found throughout the house. Several species have the common name of the coffin fly, because they breed in human corpses with such tenacity that they can even continue their life cycle within buried coffins. For this reason they are important in forensic entomology. More generally, the larvae breed in a numerous variety of locations, such as dung, fungi, decaying plant matter or drain pipes. Most commonly they feed on decaying organic matter. Because they frequent unsanitary places they may transport various disease-causing organisms to food material."
Oh, but the tasty goodness just keeps on coming...
"Phorid flies also represent a new and hopeful means by which to control fire ant populations in the southern United States, where fire ants were accidentally introduced in the 1930s. The genus Pseudacteon, or ant-decapitating fly, of which 110 species have been documented, is a parasitoid of the ant in South America. Members of Pseudacteon reproduce by laying eggs in the thorax of the ant. The first instar larvae migrates to the head. The larvae develop by feeding on the hemolymph, muscle tissue, and nervous tissue in the head. After about two weeks, they cause the ant's head to fall off by releasing an enzyme that dissolves the membrane attaching the ant's head to its body. The fly pupates in the detached head capsule, requiring a further two weeks before emerging. The phorid flies have been widely introduced throughout the U. S. Southeast, starting with Travis, Brazos, and Dallas counties in Texas, as well as Mobile, Alabama, where the ants first entered North America."
Oh, so they are a good thing, then? Err, well...okay...I guess.
Wait, what was I originally planning to blog about? Oh yeah! The Gay Bachelor Auction...How easily I get sidetracked! So, anyway...I had a great time at the event last night, except for one little thing...I am not a big fan of people entering in to my personal space. I do NOT enjoy unsolicited touching. And that applies to all people of all sexual orientations. Now, I know it's not fair for me to assume that people would know this, as I do not wear a tee-shirt that says "DO NOT TOUCH ME. I WILL KILL YOU." Although, if you know where I can get one, please e-mail me...I would be very interested in purchasing said shirt. I do have a similar shirt that says "I DON'T LIKE YOU" on the front, and "STOP CRYING" on the back. I think it sends the same message. However, I was not wearing that shirt last night, and as a result was repeatedly groped by the same (allegedly) gay man, all night. Finally, I bent his thumb back until he whimpered like a sick puppy. Then he stopped touching me.
As you might imagine, most people pick up on my invisible wall. I stand with my arms crossed, and often scowl. (I do have a very short list of people that are approved for touching). I am still a person, though. I don't HATE other people...I just choose not to get too close to them, physically or emotionally. However, I still want to be touched...by the right person...and still want to connect with other people (of my choosing, because I am a snot). Sometimes the other people are too busy doing other shit to pick up on the subtleties of my "please touch me" vibe. Apparently, I need to get yet another statement tee that says, "TOUCH ME NOW, GOD DAMMIT, BEFORE I KICK YOUR ASS". Although I am unsure if that really sends the right message. What can you do?
So, in honor of ALL my fabulous readers, a video. I love this song, and they played it last night at the ACS Event. It's a bit ironic, since the name of the song is "Untouched"...But take a listen...It's a Damn Good Song. Plus, it has a "unique" dark haired guy in it (and by unique, I DO mean quirky and odd looking)...And I am a fan of "unique" dark haired guys, after all. Maybe I can even get one to touch me. Maybe.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
I Went to the Gay Bachelor Auction, and All I Got Was This Lousy Matchbook!
Cancer sucks, so I spent my Thursday night at The Parliament House & Team in Training sponsored Gay Bachelor Auction to benefit The American Cancer Society. Now, I am neither gay nor a bachelor, but I am a self-professed "fruit-fly", so any opportunity to spend an evening with good-looking, artistic and fashionable gay men is one I will take. I also really hate cancer.
In honor of all people who have been affected by cancer, I bring you a previously blogged post. If you have read this one before, read it again. Say a quick prayer, or do whatever it is you do, for my Grandma. She is battling cancer right now, and she is winning. But it is a long fight...too many people loose the fight. Whether or not your idea of a good time is a Gay Bachelor Auction...who cares! I think we can all agree that raising money to fight the war against cancer is something we can all get behind. Get behind...Get it? Gay bachelor auction...Behinds...Oh, nevermind.
Originally Blogged 6/18/2008
Yes, my friend...It's true. Rectal Cancer Sucks. My rectum doesn't know this from personal experience, but it is assuredly true. In fact, any kind of cancer sucks. Rectal cancer is hitting a little close to home these days, as my Grandma was just diagnosed earlier today. They thought it might have been colon cancer, which is apparently worse. Instead, it's a combination of diverticulitis and rectal cancer. Bleh.
A few months back I had attempted a colon cleanse. I watched an informercial proclaiming the massive health benefits of colon cleansing. Eagerly, I started the process, hoping for combined benefits of weight loss and improved digestion. After a few days of shitting out the entire contents of my intestines, I determined it was not for me. Not being able to move ten feet from the nearest toilet makes it really difficult to exist in the manner I have become accustomed to. You know, cleaning up OTHER PEOPLES shit.
Anyway, after doing some research on the subject of rectal cancer, I discovered that some so-called "medical professionals" suggest that a quarterly colon cleanse can act prophylactically against the various and sundry cancers that can plague the poop-shoot. I am seriously rethinking the colon cleanse. One of the most interesting things about the cleanse, wasn't so much it's medicinal benefits, but that at some point in the cleanse I would "pass" any of the parasites that are living in my intestines. Mmmm.
Anyway, I am saddened by my Grandma's diagnosis. She is 78 and I know that the radiation therapy they are prescribing for her will be difficult, given her advanced age. When I was 7 years old, my Mom and I moved in with my Grandma for a few years. It was one of the best times in my childhood. She made me waffles with ground pecans on top. She would make the BEST ham sandwiches, and she always had pickles. She let me play in her makeup. She would take me to the library and wouldn't even raise an eyebrow when I would check out the same book week after week. She let me nap in the afternoon and took me with her on the days she volunteered at the American Cancer Society "Ladybug Boutique". Most of all, she spent time with me and supported me when I was an awkward and lonely kid. She was, and still is, an amazing woman. I wish I had more time to spend with her. I wish I lived closer so my girls could know how amazing she is, too. I hope, and I pray, that we still have that kinda time.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Isabella, Child of Grace...She is One Hot, Hot Mess
I actually think this picture says is all. Volumes, really. Sweaty, dirty, more vanilla milkshake on her face than in her tummy. See that dirt on the boat? Yah, she threw that.
Isabella is, quite literally, one of the best parts of living. Both my girls are. There is just something about Isabella, her resilience, her free-spirit, her inability to roll her eyes...I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is just something about her. I think it must be somehow easier to be a second child. It certainly seems easier to raise a second child. The first child is almost forced to carry the burden of all the parents neuroses. Don't eat that! It was on the ground! Wear your jacket! You'll catch cold! Don't climb on that! You will fall! Blah, blah, blah...I was horrible with Amelia, in that respect. If I could have put her in a bubble like a really big gerbil, I might have! I lived in fear everyday that she would get hurt, kidnapped, turn ugly...whatever. All of those fears began to fade away the day Isabella was born. I no longer felt compelled to obsess over Amelia the way I used to. I know a lot of it had to do with now having two children to care for, but in spite of that, I had somehow, miraculously, mellowed. As a result, Isabella is a whirling dervish. She wasn't burdened by all of my projected issues. She attacks everyday with fervor. She quite literally, throws herself in front of disaster, and somehow skirts it, every time. And if she should get a little too close to danger, and get a bit of a scare...she gets right up and keeps on truckin'. Although she can be just a wee overzealous at times, we can all take a page from Isabella's book. Live everyday to its fullest. Enjoy every moment. Laugh at things that really aren't all that funny, and celebrate the little things...like making it to the toilet in time, and not peeing on the floor. Especially that last one...that one is a lesson for the ages.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Good Stuff
Trent Reznor...
He is angry and hot. What a fine combination in a man. I have always loved NIN, even when I was much younger and less jaded.
I must be a closet EMO. Scary! Well, at least I have enough pairs of Manolo Blahniks to balance any goth tendancies I might harbor.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Who Am I Kidding...
Generally speaking, I try to stay somewhat light and somewhat humorous when I blog. The following blog is neither light nor humorous. If slightly depressing chronicles of my life bring you down, then you may want to consider moving on to "It's Lovely, I'll Take it...A Collection of Poorly Chosen Photographs From Real Estate Listings", as available to the left in the "My Favorites Sites" section...Otherwise, don't say I didn't warn you. This is after all, my free therapy. I don't have time to worry about your issues.
So, today I got sick. Well, I should say I am starting to get sick, something that I dread. I am perfectly aware that nobody really likes to get sick, except maybe hypochondriacs and people with Munchhausen's Syndrome by Proxy (although what they really want is for other people to get sick). I dread getting sick for two main reasons: One, I still have to go to work. I hate calling out sick for work. When I am not at work I feel like I am missing out on something, plus, I know that when I am not there, they talk about me. They talk about me when I am there, but at least I get to hear it first hand. And two, when I am sick, nobody takes care of me. I am the chief caregiver in this house, and when I am down for the count, everything else just goes wildly out of control. Some of this is my doing, I understand. I am the ultimate micro-manager. I have set the standard...a bar that couldn't possibly be that high... that no one can do it (whatever it may be at the moment) as well or as efficiently as I can. Therefore, no one tries. Which leads me to tonight's point to ponder...At what point do people stop trying? Where is the proverbial line in the sand? I am certain that the threshold is different for everyone, but I am still puzzled by what makes a person simply give up, and just stop trying.
Oh, but who am I kidding? I think we all know that I gave up trying a long time ago. And I am pretty sure that the reasons not only escape me, but were not that puzzling to begin with. But why? Will I ever try again? Did I ever really try to begin with? Ahh!! Too many questions! Seriously though, I have never been one for doing anything that is too "hard". I procrastinate on things that I consider too difficult, or even too time consuming, until they become a burden. I coasted my way through a good percentage of my youth because I didn't feel like trying. I wonder what I could have accomplished with my life if I had actually put effort into anything I did when I was younger. My Mother often laments that I have wasted whatever misperceived skills and talents I may have had on my particular brand of laziness, or not-gonna-tryness. And, you know, it's true. I am a big fan of instant gratification. If I have to work intently at something to achieve it, there is a pretty good chance I wont really want it that bad. The things that come "easily" to me or require very little true work or thought are the measures I use to rate success and desire. I am only able to micro-manage my family because I have intimidated them all into thinking that I know what is best. Again, who am I kidding.
Is it really any wonder then, why I am where I am? This is indeed the Summer of my Discontent. And damn it, that is not what I want, but all of the effort that must be put out to be content is just too much. And if attempting to commit to contentment just makes you frustrated than please explain to me, "what's the point"? I think the point is medication, but I don't like that about as much as I don't like trying. However, because I am smart enough to realize all of this is psychotic, I am going to go out on a limb...and try...
Tomorrow is the first day, the tiny baby step, in the long walk that is trying. Effort. Maybe a sense of accomplishment...It will be in sharp contrast to the rattling around that I do in my giant "So-called Life" pinball machine, but I am thinking it will be worth it. Will I make it? We shall see, but I can't continue in the manner in which I have grown accustomed. It was never my plan to make those around me share in my discontent, but you know what they say about misery and company. So, I am committing to try. If you see me around, look for the difference...I wonder if you will see it? I wonder what it would even look like if your could see it. Maybe I will smile at you instead of looking at the ground, maybe I wont roll my eyes at anything that seems to require effort. Maybe I will just seem happy. Not that I am unhappy, per say, but if you know me, then you know what I mean. But that is all behind me now! I am finding the cure for my malaise! Starting tomorrow! Well, tomorrow really isn't a good day for me, I have some meetings in the morning, and I have to stay late at work...Later on this week is no good, I have some evening plans, and some things I need to help my Mom with. Maybe next week! Well, no...the girls start school next week, so next week is out...Hmmm
Oh, fuck it. I give up!
So, today I got sick. Well, I should say I am starting to get sick, something that I dread. I am perfectly aware that nobody really likes to get sick, except maybe hypochondriacs and people with Munchhausen's Syndrome by Proxy (although what they really want is for other people to get sick). I dread getting sick for two main reasons: One, I still have to go to work. I hate calling out sick for work. When I am not at work I feel like I am missing out on something, plus, I know that when I am not there, they talk about me. They talk about me when I am there, but at least I get to hear it first hand. And two, when I am sick, nobody takes care of me. I am the chief caregiver in this house, and when I am down for the count, everything else just goes wildly out of control. Some of this is my doing, I understand. I am the ultimate micro-manager. I have set the standard...a bar that couldn't possibly be that high... that no one can do it (whatever it may be at the moment) as well or as efficiently as I can. Therefore, no one tries. Which leads me to tonight's point to ponder...At what point do people stop trying? Where is the proverbial line in the sand? I am certain that the threshold is different for everyone, but I am still puzzled by what makes a person simply give up, and just stop trying.
Oh, but who am I kidding? I think we all know that I gave up trying a long time ago. And I am pretty sure that the reasons not only escape me, but were not that puzzling to begin with. But why? Will I ever try again? Did I ever really try to begin with? Ahh!! Too many questions! Seriously though, I have never been one for doing anything that is too "hard". I procrastinate on things that I consider too difficult, or even too time consuming, until they become a burden. I coasted my way through a good percentage of my youth because I didn't feel like trying. I wonder what I could have accomplished with my life if I had actually put effort into anything I did when I was younger. My Mother often laments that I have wasted whatever misperceived skills and talents I may have had on my particular brand of laziness, or not-gonna-tryness. And, you know, it's true. I am a big fan of instant gratification. If I have to work intently at something to achieve it, there is a pretty good chance I wont really want it that bad. The things that come "easily" to me or require very little true work or thought are the measures I use to rate success and desire. I am only able to micro-manage my family because I have intimidated them all into thinking that I know what is best. Again, who am I kidding.
Is it really any wonder then, why I am where I am? This is indeed the Summer of my Discontent. And damn it, that is not what I want, but all of the effort that must be put out to be content is just too much. And if attempting to commit to contentment just makes you frustrated than please explain to me, "what's the point"? I think the point is medication, but I don't like that about as much as I don't like trying. However, because I am smart enough to realize all of this is psychotic, I am going to go out on a limb...and try...
Tomorrow is the first day, the tiny baby step, in the long walk that is trying. Effort. Maybe a sense of accomplishment...It will be in sharp contrast to the rattling around that I do in my giant "So-called Life" pinball machine, but I am thinking it will be worth it. Will I make it? We shall see, but I can't continue in the manner in which I have grown accustomed. It was never my plan to make those around me share in my discontent, but you know what they say about misery and company. So, I am committing to try. If you see me around, look for the difference...I wonder if you will see it? I wonder what it would even look like if your could see it. Maybe I will smile at you instead of looking at the ground, maybe I wont roll my eyes at anything that seems to require effort. Maybe I will just seem happy. Not that I am unhappy, per say, but if you know me, then you know what I mean. But that is all behind me now! I am finding the cure for my malaise! Starting tomorrow! Well, tomorrow really isn't a good day for me, I have some meetings in the morning, and I have to stay late at work...Later on this week is no good, I have some evening plans, and some things I need to help my Mom with. Maybe next week! Well, no...the girls start school next week, so next week is out...Hmmm
Oh, fuck it. I give up!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
And the Bottle Let Me Down Yet Again...
Something bad is happening to my body chemistry. It seems that I either don't like, or can't drink, beer anymore. I understand that you might be wondering how that is a problem, but trust me, it is! I am from Alabama, after all! All my people drink beer! My friends drink beer, my family drinks beer, my 6 year old daughter once asked me when she could drink beer. (I advised her that she best wait til she is 21, or she would end up in a state-run Women's Detention Facility...She may NEVER drink.)So, for me, drinking beer is more like a social statement. It says, "hey, I am a cool girl, I drink beer. I don't gotta be classy." And although I do enjoy a glass or two (or three) of Cabernet, I still always go back to beer...or at least, I used to. I think I might be able to trace back to the night that beer stopped being my friend, but I am not sure I really want to relive it. It involved vomiting. I am in my 30's and drinking to the point of vomiting is really no longer acceptable. I can remember a time when I would drink excessive amounts of beer, enough to induce the dreaded room-spinning sensation, go puke, then continue drinking. The next morning I would eat Taco Bell, and all would be right with the world. Ahh, good times.
Those good times are long since past, and I am faced now with the inevitable task of acting like an adult. For the most part, I do act like an adult. I work, take care of my children, argue endlessly with my spouse, etc...Sometimes, though, I don't want to act like an adult and drinking beer reminds me of my youth. And I am talking YOUTH people...Like 18, 19, 20...A little history of me: I got married at 23 and had my first of two children at 25. Although both the marriage and the child were meticulously planned and eagerly anticipated, while I was wedding and birthing, a good many of my friends were still partying. Now, don't misunderstand, I don't really want to go out and party anymore. Once during my partying years, I went home with this "pharmaceutical representative" that I met at a bar called "The Booth", and it's a miracle I didn't end up in the trunk of some abandoned car...So youth + partying doesn't always = good decisions. I don't really have any explicit desire to relive that nonsense. I think it's just the promise of wild abandon that I often long for. Trust me, if I drink 3 or more Stella Artois, wild abandon is what you will get! It's not pretty. And the next day, well, that's just plain ugly.
So, I just might be giving up the beer-addled ghost for good. It makes me sleepy, gives me a hang-over, and causes me to gain weight at a rate that is just not cool. Nobody wants to see a beer belly on a woman...Men can get away with this anatomical disturbance, but women just can't seem to pull it off. I know several men with very impressive beer-bellies, and they are still good-looking guys. In fact, I kinda like that they are chubby...It makes me feel much better about myself! But no matter, Miller Time is up, and there is no more High Life in store for me...Sigh. And that was the champagne of beers, too. All of this blogging about giving up my youth has really stressed me out...
I think I need a beer.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
My Love Affair with Sleep-Deprivation.
Ahh. Exhaustion, we have known each other for some time now. You have been with me night and day, through thick and thin, and yet...I am thinking something is missing from our relationship. Oh, yes...That's right. Rest. I have been missing our old friend, Rest. After that falling out that the two of you had, Rest really hasn't come around much anymore. I would really enjoy spending some time with Rest right about now. It's not that I don't love you, Exhaustion...In fact, I really thrive when you are around. I am able to multi-task like a strung-out, hallucinating tweeker when you are with me. Granted, I don't seem to accomplish any of said multi-tasks with much attention to quality (that whole, if you're gonna do it, do it right thing just goes right out the window), but it's really amazing the quantity of things I attempt to do.
You have helped me achieve just the right pitch when I am screaming that only dogs can hear...I believe this to be true, because my children certainly don't seem to hear me...
Exhaustion, since you are here I might as well thank you! Thank you for helping me realize that showers really aren't necessary when the alternative is an extra 10 minutes of sleep. And although I know you really do begrudge me that little bit of time I spend with Rest, it is you who goes to Starbucks with me. Every morning. Who is by my side when I deliberate whether or not to wear a bra to Starbucks? No one other than you, Exhaustion. And really, what better way to start my local Barista's day than with the lovely vision of me...No shower, no bra, no Rest. Isn't it great the way we are always thinking of others?
I am certain that my co-workers enjoy having you come to work with me, Exhaustion...Although they have not said it in so many words, I know that when you are with me it really makes their day brighter. It has been suggested that I can be assertive and argumentative, but I know that when you are with me, I just don't care to argue. Really then, don't we all win? And the amounts of company bought coffee that you and I go through is mind-boggling. With Rest, I would have never consumed those copious quantities of caffeine, and where is the fun in that?!
But lately, Exhaustion, I have grown concerned about the direction our relationship is headed. I am worried that you have grown too...lets just say...co-dependant. It's almost as if you couldn't exist without me, and that's just scary. Plus, I think Mark might be on to us. When he comes to bed at night, and I explain that I am too tired to talk, I know he wonders if we have been together. I don't want to lie to him anymore, Exhaustion. Yes, I know that he has spent a lot of time with his beer drinking buddies, Frustration and Temper-Tantrum, but he has assured me that those days are behind him (although now that I think about it, I am beginning to wonder if all of those late-night phone calls are from Temper-Tantrum...). All he can do is try, Exhaustion. All he can do is try...
I guess what I am trying to say is that I can't be a part of this relationship anymore. It is just too difficult for me to live this way. I know it always goes back to Rest, but I really need Rest in my life. I am sorry if you feel betrayed, but I just know there is someone else out there that will nurture you the way I did. No, no...Don't cry...I know that when it comes to break-ups, Exhaustion, you make everything seem 100 times worse than it actually is...So, I'll make a deal with you...I will meet you ONE MORE TIME at Starbucks. Tomorrow, 8:00 am. But then that's it, Exhaustion. You will be out of my life for good.
And, no...I will not meet you without my bra.
You have helped me achieve just the right pitch when I am screaming that only dogs can hear...I believe this to be true, because my children certainly don't seem to hear me...
Exhaustion, since you are here I might as well thank you! Thank you for helping me realize that showers really aren't necessary when the alternative is an extra 10 minutes of sleep. And although I know you really do begrudge me that little bit of time I spend with Rest, it is you who goes to Starbucks with me. Every morning. Who is by my side when I deliberate whether or not to wear a bra to Starbucks? No one other than you, Exhaustion. And really, what better way to start my local Barista's day than with the lovely vision of me...No shower, no bra, no Rest. Isn't it great the way we are always thinking of others?
I am certain that my co-workers enjoy having you come to work with me, Exhaustion...Although they have not said it in so many words, I know that when you are with me it really makes their day brighter. It has been suggested that I can be assertive and argumentative, but I know that when you are with me, I just don't care to argue. Really then, don't we all win? And the amounts of company bought coffee that you and I go through is mind-boggling. With Rest, I would have never consumed those copious quantities of caffeine, and where is the fun in that?!
But lately, Exhaustion, I have grown concerned about the direction our relationship is headed. I am worried that you have grown too...lets just say...co-dependant. It's almost as if you couldn't exist without me, and that's just scary. Plus, I think Mark might be on to us. When he comes to bed at night, and I explain that I am too tired to talk, I know he wonders if we have been together. I don't want to lie to him anymore, Exhaustion. Yes, I know that he has spent a lot of time with his beer drinking buddies, Frustration and Temper-Tantrum, but he has assured me that those days are behind him (although now that I think about it, I am beginning to wonder if all of those late-night phone calls are from Temper-Tantrum...). All he can do is try, Exhaustion. All he can do is try...
I guess what I am trying to say is that I can't be a part of this relationship anymore. It is just too difficult for me to live this way. I know it always goes back to Rest, but I really need Rest in my life. I am sorry if you feel betrayed, but I just know there is someone else out there that will nurture you the way I did. No, no...Don't cry...I know that when it comes to break-ups, Exhaustion, you make everything seem 100 times worse than it actually is...So, I'll make a deal with you...I will meet you ONE MORE TIME at Starbucks. Tomorrow, 8:00 am. But then that's it, Exhaustion. You will be out of my life for good.
And, no...I will not meet you without my bra.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Oh, Darlin' I...I Can't Get Enough of Your Blog, Baby...
Now you will be humming that tune all night long. No, no, you can thank me later, it's cool.
I have some things that I cannot get enough of. Blogging has become one of them, but there are others. I would like to list some of those things here, if you don't mind...Well, I don't really care if you mind or not. It's MY blog:
1. Fage Greek Yogurt. Pronounced Fay-yeh (I think pronouncing it fag-ee is more fun, if not especially politically correct), I like the version with strawberries. The strawberry goop is portioned away from the actual yogurt so you can add as much or as little as you like. I like to add it all, cause I am a glutton like that. The yogurt is so creamy and rich, it's almost like eating Cool Whip right from the tub. I eat it (the yogurt, not Cool Whip) everyday for breakfast. It only has 120 calories and 17 carbs. Try it. I promise you will like it, and if you don't I will eat your leftovers (again with the gluttony), as long as you don't have any active cold sores.
2. L'Oreal Skin Genesis Deep Action Night Complex. I work for *whisper-whisper, mumble-mumble*, so I have access to the very finest (and most expensive) skin care products in the world. I have tried many of them. Through the grace of genetics, I have very sensitive and youthful skin (that's right, hate me later), and most of the fancy-schmancy products are too intense...they just make me look red and scary. The L'Oreal is not only very gentle, it has visibly diminished my pores and has given me smoother and more supple looking skin. I am not making this up. L'Oreal is giving me no freebies, although they can, if they would like, but they almost wouldn't even need too...this stuff only costs $17 at Target. Amazing.
3. Tweezerman Tweezers. I am obsessed with the care and grooming of my eyebrows. Quite frankly, I am obsessed with the care and grooming of your eyebrows, too. Go get some of the angled Tweezerman Tweezers. STAT.
4. Yoga Toes. Yoga toes are these crazy looking silicone toe dividers (for lack of a better description), that forcibly separate your toes to help improve circulation in your feet and legs, and reduce the dreaded (and nasty) hammer-toe effect that comes from wearing towering high-heeled shoes all day, like I do. I, however, do not suffer from hammer-toe. I wear my Yoga Toes religiously, plus, I have nice feet. I am sure that when I am 60, 70 or 80 my feet will look like the cloven hoof of the Devil...but by then I simply will not care. My vanity plans to leave me by age 45...I know this, she told me so. Until then, we are BFF!
5. Johnny Depp. He is just fine in every movie he is in. I am not sure that this placement in my list isn't somehow influenced by the fact that I am watching Chocolat right now, but who really cares...It's Johnny Depp! I love Edward Scissorhands, all of the Pirates of the Carribean movies, Willie Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow...You name it. I even quite like Corpse Bride, and that was just his voice. To be honest, though, I have been living and would continue to live without him if required to do so. So, scratch number 5 then. Erase it from your mind...You are getting sleepy...Give me all your money...
6. Bacon. Really, there isn't much more I can add to that. I can't get enough bacon.
I hope that you have enjoyed my list of "favorite things", such as it is. I may not be Oprah, but I hope that you will give some of these things a go, I think you will be quite pleased with them! Especially bacon. You are gonna LOVE bacon!!
I have some things that I cannot get enough of. Blogging has become one of them, but there are others. I would like to list some of those things here, if you don't mind...Well, I don't really care if you mind or not. It's MY blog:
1. Fage Greek Yogurt. Pronounced Fay-yeh (I think pronouncing it fag-ee is more fun, if not especially politically correct), I like the version with strawberries. The strawberry goop is portioned away from the actual yogurt so you can add as much or as little as you like. I like to add it all, cause I am a glutton like that. The yogurt is so creamy and rich, it's almost like eating Cool Whip right from the tub. I eat it (the yogurt, not Cool Whip) everyday for breakfast. It only has 120 calories and 17 carbs. Try it. I promise you will like it, and if you don't I will eat your leftovers (again with the gluttony), as long as you don't have any active cold sores.
2. L'Oreal Skin Genesis Deep Action Night Complex. I work for *whisper-whisper, mumble-mumble*, so I have access to the very finest (and most expensive) skin care products in the world. I have tried many of them. Through the grace of genetics, I have very sensitive and youthful skin (that's right, hate me later), and most of the fancy-schmancy products are too intense...they just make me look red and scary. The L'Oreal is not only very gentle, it has visibly diminished my pores and has given me smoother and more supple looking skin. I am not making this up. L'Oreal is giving me no freebies, although they can, if they would like, but they almost wouldn't even need too...this stuff only costs $17 at Target. Amazing.
3. Tweezerman Tweezers. I am obsessed with the care and grooming of my eyebrows. Quite frankly, I am obsessed with the care and grooming of your eyebrows, too. Go get some of the angled Tweezerman Tweezers. STAT.
4. Yoga Toes. Yoga toes are these crazy looking silicone toe dividers (for lack of a better description), that forcibly separate your toes to help improve circulation in your feet and legs, and reduce the dreaded (and nasty) hammer-toe effect that comes from wearing towering high-heeled shoes all day, like I do. I, however, do not suffer from hammer-toe. I wear my Yoga Toes religiously, plus, I have nice feet. I am sure that when I am 60, 70 or 80 my feet will look like the cloven hoof of the Devil...but by then I simply will not care. My vanity plans to leave me by age 45...I know this, she told me so. Until then, we are BFF!
5. Johnny Depp. He is just fine in every movie he is in. I am not sure that this placement in my list isn't somehow influenced by the fact that I am watching Chocolat right now, but who really cares...It's Johnny Depp! I love Edward Scissorhands, all of the Pirates of the Carribean movies, Willie Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow...You name it. I even quite like Corpse Bride, and that was just his voice. To be honest, though, I have been living and would continue to live without him if required to do so. So, scratch number 5 then. Erase it from your mind...You are getting sleepy...Give me all your money...
6. Bacon. Really, there isn't much more I can add to that. I can't get enough bacon.
I hope that you have enjoyed my list of "favorite things", such as it is. I may not be Oprah, but I hope that you will give some of these things a go, I think you will be quite pleased with them! Especially bacon. You are gonna LOVE bacon!!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Can One Live on Fruit Roll-Ups Alone? I Think the Answer You Are Looking For is...NO!
My children want to eat nothing but crap. They want to eat crap in the morning, crap in the afternoon, and crap at night. In between their regularly scheduled, pseudo-healthy meals, they want to snack on...you guessed it, crap. I would like to believe that most little kids are like this, but I have seen other people's children eating healthy food without so much as a cross, sidelong glance from the attending parent. So, I am thinking it's just mine. And I don't really know how we got to this point...well, actually I do know, but Mark has enough guilt in his life as it is...So, this morning, after our daily 15 minute cuddle session in the bed, Isabella expressed a desire for breakfast. She said she wanted Toaster Strudel. I know that Toaster Strudel is just plain bad, but I am not capable of cooking a complete breakfast every morning, so get over it. I mostly like to make breakfast for dinner, and that is because I am not capable of cooking a complete dinner every evening. (you can see how this vicious cycle perpetuates, right? Right.) So, I dutifully made the Toaster Strudel and Isabella dutifully licked off all the frosting and decided she didn't want the remainder of the pastry. She then requested a piece of cinnamon toast. She licked off all the cinnamon, and didn't want the bread. This was followed by a request for a fruit roll-up and then for a granola bar (before you get excited, it had chocolate chips). Yes, I let her have them. I am a baaaad Mommy.
Believe it or not, I actually work very hard to provide healthy food/snack choices for the girls. There is always fresh fruit in the fridge and Isabella’s favorite cracker is the Triscuit, and although I too love the Triscuit, it is much like eating a basket. I have committed to cooking dinner every night for the girls, (even though some nights, like tonight, dinner = breakfast) to avoid falling in to the dreaded Kid Cuisine rut, and I will call Mark two (maybe three) times a day to find out what he has fed the girls for lunch. Generally, I am unimpressed.
Despite all of my efforts, I encounter tears (TEARS, for Pete's sake) over denying them chocolate, gummy worms, and my personal favorite, spraying Redi-Whip directly in to their mouths. When did having these things become normal? Even now, at 10:00 pm, my oldest daughter is standing in the hallway begging me to rewind the Addams Family themed dark chocolate M&M's commercial. That's just sad. So, we are focusing on making snacks the exception, not the rule. I actually blame all of this on my Mother. Partly because she is not here to defend herself against this liable, but also because it's true! When Amelia was younger, we could not (COULD NOT) go out to eat with out the obligitory ice cream dessert...regardless of how much nutritional food was eaten during the meal, there was always dessert. My Mom would justify this by stating "it's because Abba is visiting". Well, Abba...You're not here right now, and I am still expected to pony up the dessert! Why? Why would you do this to me? Oh, that's right...I remember now. I have suddenly flashed back to my youth, sitting in my room pouring Pixi Stix in my mouth and chasing it with Dr. Pepper...Mmmm. I remember the rush when the fizzy goodness hit the back of my tongue, the excitement over getting the next fix, the panic when I realized all the Pixi Stix were gone!! Shit, now I am hungry.
Well, I gotta go now, there is some Ben & Jerry's in the freezer, calling my name. And although Abba isn't here right now, she is out there somewhere, and she says eating ice cream is okay...even if you don't eat a proper dinner. Thanks Abba. I'll do that.
Believe it or not, I actually work very hard to provide healthy food/snack choices for the girls. There is always fresh fruit in the fridge and Isabella’s favorite cracker is the Triscuit, and although I too love the Triscuit, it is much like eating a basket. I have committed to cooking dinner every night for the girls, (even though some nights, like tonight, dinner = breakfast) to avoid falling in to the dreaded Kid Cuisine rut, and I will call Mark two (maybe three) times a day to find out what he has fed the girls for lunch. Generally, I am unimpressed.
Despite all of my efforts, I encounter tears (TEARS, for Pete's sake) over denying them chocolate, gummy worms, and my personal favorite, spraying Redi-Whip directly in to their mouths. When did having these things become normal? Even now, at 10:00 pm, my oldest daughter is standing in the hallway begging me to rewind the Addams Family themed dark chocolate M&M's commercial. That's just sad. So, we are focusing on making snacks the exception, not the rule. I actually blame all of this on my Mother. Partly because she is not here to defend herself against this liable, but also because it's true! When Amelia was younger, we could not (COULD NOT) go out to eat with out the obligitory ice cream dessert...regardless of how much nutritional food was eaten during the meal, there was always dessert. My Mom would justify this by stating "it's because Abba is visiting". Well, Abba...You're not here right now, and I am still expected to pony up the dessert! Why? Why would you do this to me? Oh, that's right...I remember now. I have suddenly flashed back to my youth, sitting in my room pouring Pixi Stix in my mouth and chasing it with Dr. Pepper...Mmmm. I remember the rush when the fizzy goodness hit the back of my tongue, the excitement over getting the next fix, the panic when I realized all the Pixi Stix were gone!! Shit, now I am hungry.
Well, I gotta go now, there is some Ben & Jerry's in the freezer, calling my name. And although Abba isn't here right now, she is out there somewhere, and she says eating ice cream is okay...even if you don't eat a proper dinner. Thanks Abba. I'll do that.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Native Americans Really Needed All Those Accessories, Mommy!
Ah, Kaya. You are SO the coolest American Girl. Well, you are so the Native American girl, which I guess makes you the most authentic of the American Girls, at the very least.
Amelia chose Kaya above all the American Girls, and can I tell you, I was quite proud of my little munchkin...Appreciating and celebrating all cultures! If you aren't familiar with American Girl, it is just about the best (and easily most expensive) doll program out there. The franchise is so gigantic, it's been on Oprah, and even my Dad knows all about it (that should tell you something right there, on birthdays and holidays the man still sends me $40 gift card to stores that aren't even in my tri-county area). I have even schlepped my daughter all across NYC on a weekend long American Girl themed birthday extravaganza...Once bitten, twice shy.
Anyway, Amelia slept with an American Girl catalogue for weeks before Kaya arrived. She was so set on that doll, that even my very best attempts to make her want Kit Kittridge fell on deaf ears. Before you send tribal warriors my way, it wasn't because I was opposed to Kaya, it was simply because I liked that Kit and Amelia looked alike. Yah. I am one of those Moms now. You know, the kinda Mom that allows her child to have one of those creepy-ass dolls that is like a mini-doppelganger. Shoot. When did that happen, and how do I make it stop! Well, at least I don't let her wear smocking, or embroider her initials on her underpants. Nothing but Juicy Couture, Burberry and Kors/Michael Kors for my Diva-in-training...Recognize!
So, I was super stoked that Amelia was so into her Native American Girl. I took every opportunity to talk to her about Native American people, their heritage, buffalo, etc...We bought her all the Kaya books and didn't stop there...Even still, Amelia is campaigning for all of Kaya's accessories. I mean ALL of them. She already has the tee-pee, the tall horse, the dog with the sled, the cold-weather clothing, the Native American food-stuffs...Today she has decided that she needs the slightly smaller horse and the chickens. The chickens. I have scoured the American Girl website and the catalogue, and I see nothing about chickens or how to purchase them. I have also spent the past two hours cutting out Kaya's paper doll likeness and all of her assorted bits and pieces...There have been no chickens to note. Any suggestions as to where I can get some mini chickens to complete Amelia's vision of true Native American living? Oh, just so we are clear, that vision also includes a cheerleaders uniform, a Hawaiian lei, swimsuit and ukulele, a small scooter, several pairs of shoes and a pink American Girl bed...You know, I wouldn't want you to get confused...Kaya is a MODERN Native American girl. In retrospect, I am thinking that Kaya and Amelia are more alike than I may have initially thought. It is quite possible that Kit Kittridge might just be too old-fashioned, I mean, she wears penny-loafers for goodness sake, and Amelia did not see any of those in the Fall Burberry catalogue.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Summer's Here! It's Hot!
Originally posted 6/01/2008
When I was younger, my Summer Break consisted of; sleeping until noon (possibly later), sitting around the house, eating cheetos & trying to find ways to get in trouble (trouble was situational to age at time). This summer, my older daughter has actvities planned up to the week before school starts. She has Summer Camp, Summer Camp with enrichment, Karate Camp, Science Center Camp and Swimming Camp. It's absolutely out-of-control! Am I wrong for glomming all of these activities on to her? She claims that she wants to do them, and that staying home with me is boring...which is totally true.
This summer, I will likely enjoy some sleeping...not likely the cheetos, and I somehow doubt the trouble. And you know what, I am kinda sad about that. I miss both trouble and cheetos. I remember the Cheetos Paws, they were these awesome, cheetah paw shaped (hence the name, right?) blobs of cheeto-ee goodness. They only came in the smallish bag, and were highly coveted by all members of my family, most specifically, my Mom, and Siska, the family dog. Siska was a wild (as in CRAZY) Siberian Husky. Cheetos were just one of her favorite treats. She also enjoyed day-old underpants, dirty socks, and anything she could fish out of the bathroom trashcan. She was gross. My Mom, not so gross, but sure loved HER cheetos paws. And they were, in fact, HERS. She did not approve of the kids eating the paws. She did not approve of the dog eating the paws either. She also did not approve of me getting in trouble.
So, one night, I was up to my usual shenanegans. I had a mad, huge party at my house in Montgomery. There were people dialing long distance, people throwing cheerios in the ceiling fan (oh, that was my sister, I forgot), and underage people sharing beer with my overage next door neighbors. So, the next day, after the party was mostly over, we began the cleaning process. Somehow, in all the frenzied cleaning cafuffule, Siska got her paws on THE PAWS and went berzerk. She was so desperate to get away from us, she tore through the screen door and out in to the backyard. She ran in circles with those damn cheetos in her mouth for 15 minutes or more. When we finally got her, and wrangled the Paws from her mouth, Mom was due home in just an hour. We forgot all about the rest of the cleaning, and spent about 30 minutes WIPING CLEAN THE CHEETOS PAWS WITH NAPKINS. We put the Cheetos back into the bag. No doggie slobber or dirt to be seen.
Mom, I am sorry. We let you eat the Cheetos Paws. The Cheetos Paws that were in the mouth of the dog that ate dirty panties and socks and God knows what grossness from the bathroom trashcan. I am so sorry. You understood about the ripped screen door and the stain in the hallway and even the cheerios that we found for years later in the cracks and crevices of the living room. But you would have never understood why we ate all the Paws. Never.
When I was younger, my Summer Break consisted of; sleeping until noon (possibly later), sitting around the house, eating cheetos & trying to find ways to get in trouble (trouble was situational to age at time). This summer, my older daughter has actvities planned up to the week before school starts. She has Summer Camp, Summer Camp with enrichment, Karate Camp, Science Center Camp and Swimming Camp. It's absolutely out-of-control! Am I wrong for glomming all of these activities on to her? She claims that she wants to do them, and that staying home with me is boring...which is totally true.
This summer, I will likely enjoy some sleeping...not likely the cheetos, and I somehow doubt the trouble. And you know what, I am kinda sad about that. I miss both trouble and cheetos. I remember the Cheetos Paws, they were these awesome, cheetah paw shaped (hence the name, right?) blobs of cheeto-ee goodness. They only came in the smallish bag, and were highly coveted by all members of my family, most specifically, my Mom, and Siska, the family dog. Siska was a wild (as in CRAZY) Siberian Husky. Cheetos were just one of her favorite treats. She also enjoyed day-old underpants, dirty socks, and anything she could fish out of the bathroom trashcan. She was gross. My Mom, not so gross, but sure loved HER cheetos paws. And they were, in fact, HERS. She did not approve of the kids eating the paws. She did not approve of the dog eating the paws either. She also did not approve of me getting in trouble.
So, one night, I was up to my usual shenanegans. I had a mad, huge party at my house in Montgomery. There were people dialing long distance, people throwing cheerios in the ceiling fan (oh, that was my sister, I forgot), and underage people sharing beer with my overage next door neighbors. So, the next day, after the party was mostly over, we began the cleaning process. Somehow, in all the frenzied cleaning cafuffule, Siska got her paws on THE PAWS and went berzerk. She was so desperate to get away from us, she tore through the screen door and out in to the backyard. She ran in circles with those damn cheetos in her mouth for 15 minutes or more. When we finally got her, and wrangled the Paws from her mouth, Mom was due home in just an hour. We forgot all about the rest of the cleaning, and spent about 30 minutes WIPING CLEAN THE CHEETOS PAWS WITH NAPKINS. We put the Cheetos back into the bag. No doggie slobber or dirt to be seen.
Mom, I am sorry. We let you eat the Cheetos Paws. The Cheetos Paws that were in the mouth of the dog that ate dirty panties and socks and God knows what grossness from the bathroom trashcan. I am so sorry. You understood about the ripped screen door and the stain in the hallway and even the cheerios that we found for years later in the cracks and crevices of the living room. But you would have never understood why we ate all the Paws. Never.
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