Friday, June 30, 2006
All of a sudden, I was transported back in time ... back to when I lived at home, and my dad would be cloistered in the bathroom. On such occasions, one might hear him shout out, "Hey Jan [my mother's name]! We need more bum fodder!"
Mom would elicit one of her sighs and walk over to her grocery list where she would write TOILET PAPER.
My dad has a name for everything, most of them irreverent, and as I told my mother later on in the day today that I'd remembered bum fodder, she just rolled her eyes and did THE SIGH. I had to giggle.
I'm still giggling ... at both the name bum fodder and my mother's reaction when she reads this entry. You know, mom, you have only yourself to blame. You married the man! :)
Happy Bum Foddering one and all!
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Okay, wait! Get your mind out of the gutter! It's not dirty. According to the Webster's New World Dictionary (3rd College Edition), a bibliophile is "a person who loves or admires books, especially, rare ones ... or ... a collector of books."
It hit me like a cleansing rain last night, as I sat among a group of women discussing our current book club read SNOW FLOWER AND THE SECRET FAN (a depressing read, but easy enough to read through). We sat in Amy's sun room for almost three hours discussing books (and then movies, I think a natural inclination for a bibliophile) and then finally, a digression into the seedy world of celebrity gossip. We could have all sat there for another three hours, I think, and come full circle, discussing the seedy world of celebrity gossip, a regression to movies and finally landing on books once again.
Amy started the group by asking what everyone was reading. Not one of us there named just one book! We all had at least two books going as well as countless magazines, etc. Yes, we are all bibliophiles, I do believe.
And you know what, I'm completely okay with my sickness ... my disease. This is definitely a cross I'm willing to bear!
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
I must ask you, JK. Is it not enough that I will go through a mourning period when the series comes to its inevitable end? Must you also kill off a hand-full major characters as well?
Well, I guess I should get the psychiatrist in the Rolodex now ... in the spirit of planning ahead. I detect some major sessions ahead of me.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Sadly, they failed to recognize the assaultive potential to the rest of humanity's senses ...
Sunday, June 25, 2006
So, you can imagine the reaction I had when I listened to the following voice mail on my cell today:
Dad with evil grin on face, I imagine: Uh, hi Meg. I just thought I'd call and tell you that we're sitting outside of Coldstone Creamery in Lexington eating a COFFEE LOVER'S ONLY [insert evil chuckle here]. I just thought you'd wanna know. Talk to ya later [insert another evil chuckle here] ... bye.
Now, I'm sorry, but that's just plain mean!
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
IT IS SO ON!!!!!
You've pooped on your last sofa slipcover. I swear, if you set your bird butt near my laundry line one more time, you are a goner!
You were waiting for me to hang the slipcover back on the line (AGAIN) this morning, weren't you!?
You don't know the can of whoop-a$$ you've opened up when you decided to squirt blueberry colored avian excriment all over my khaki-colored slipcover! There is no wrath like a slipcover scorned. You will see; mark my words!
Wednesday, 11:15 p.m. ... tornado warning finally expires. Bad weather has passed by. Feel it's safe to finally go to bed.
Wednesday, 11:30 p.m. ... cursing my decision to have a cup of coffee AND a big bottle of Pepsi in attempt to get rid of a BAAAD headache via caffeine.
Wednesday, 11:45 p.m. ... Maddie the cat, who, up to this point, had been sitting in the bedrooom window watching the "nightlife," takes a flying leap and lands on my bed like a sack of potatoes! The nice drift I was finally beginning to feel is lost as my cat tromps across my chest. I groan loudly while Sadie the dog snores.
Thursday, 12:32 a.m. ... am startled awake by yet another cat fight in my neighbor's backyard. Maddie the cat flies off my bed to see what she can do to "help." Mumble, "I swear to you, cat, you land in a heap on my bed again, I'm going to drop kick you across my room!" Maddie sniffs, knowing I'm too weak to attempt the drop kick.
Thursday, 2:00 a.m. ... am startled awake by the sound of a baby crying LOUDLY. Disregarding the urban legend that men will tape record the crying of a baby, set it on the porch, and wait for you to open the door and then attack you, I open my front door to see what the problem is. No baby. Just two STUPID cats sitting out in the middle of the street making some gosh awful horrible noise and sitting in a Mexican Stand-off of sorts. I curse them as I slam my front door closed. Maddie the cat rushes past me in the hallway to see how she can "help."
Thursday, 5:45 a.m. ... Maddie pounces on the bed, finally ready to go to sleep. I groan loudly. Sadie the dog takes that as a sign that she can start begging to go potty. "I hate both of you..." I moan as I stumble out of bed.
Thursday, 6:00 a.m. ... Just nicely get settled into bed and hear Sadie the dog scratching to get in. Maddie the cat is purring softly on the bed. "I really hate you ... " I say to her.
Tursday, 6:25 a.m. ... after a belly full of food, Sadie stands at theside of the bed begging to be pick up and put in it. "You two are killing me!" I hiss. Maddie the cat is still purring self-righteously.
Thursday, 6:37 a.m. ... "Oh screw it!" I shout. "I'm wide awake. Might as well get up and get coffee." Stupid animals stay in their furry balls on the bed. "You two make me sick!" I shout as I head to the kitchen.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Why do you hate me so? There I said it! I want to know why.
I've done nothing but revere you ... encourage you to come and visit me in my backyard. I planted flowers that will call you here. Still, you disrespect me.
I've had a complex bird feeder thingy-ma-jig built so that you would have plenty of options for bird seed. Yet, you still show me no love.
I have provided you with a plethora of options as far as your bird seed goes ... and not just the cheap stuff either. I'm putting primo black oilers in there!
Still you sit on my freshly laundered sofa slip cover (khaki-colored) and crap all over it!
Why? Why, I ask you!!!!
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
"Kidman, Urban in Sydney to Wed"
It was on all the news reports this morning as I listened to the radio ...
Allow me to go on record as saying WHO THE HECK CARES!?!?!?!?
In case you hadn't caught it, I don't care.
I wonder about a lot of things in this life, but whether or not Keith Urban and Nicole Kidman get married this weekend is not one of them. Come on, folks! They are celebrities. Give it five minutes ... they'll come to their senses and realize they were under some sort of yoga-induced, psychotropic stupor and get a quickie divorce!
Instead, I would rather wonder why the lady up the street from me moans so LOUDLY (like a cow in heat ... can cows go into heat??) when she's walking up her drive way that I can hear her in my bedroom -- and actually thought it was an injured animal outside my window!
Or why my neighbor next door NEVER does anything with his lawn until he has to practically bale it with a hay baler ... and then he does it without a shirt on, which is almost as bad as watching his grass grow to immeasurable heights!
Or why the squirrels in my backyard live to torment me.
Or why my pets are the laziest animals known to man!
Or why first graders enjoy picking their noses so much.
Or why it's so hard to find a summer job.
Or why Keith Urban and Nicole Kidman are so much more important than the two captured 101st soliders, whose bodies were found today.
Our world is an interesting place ... sometimes, it befuddles me.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Last July, my family and I traveled to my mother's childhood home, Ripley, New York. We spent a relaxing week on the shores of Lake Erie. My parents and my sister enjoyed days in the sun and surf. I enjoyed days in the shade, trying desparately not to scratch the skin off of my body. I also spent the first night of our vacation in the emergency room at Westfield Community Hospital ... blessed poison oak!
Here are a few photos of the trip ... ah! If I close my eyes, I can still hear the water lapping on the shore.
One of the things I just love to do when I visit a Great Lake (or any lake, but especially the Great Lakes) is to look for beach glass. These are little bits of glass that have been smoothed by endless years of sand and surf. I have a bowl full that I've collected over the years, most of it along the Lake Erie shoreline! This place is LOADED with beach glass. For those of us that collect it, it's the MOTHER LOAD! So, if you're ever near water and I come to mind, please bring me back some beach glass!
I'm obsessed with sunsets! There are no two alike. I think my appreciation of them began as a child at my grandparents' cottage on Carp Lake. The entire family piled onto the beach to watch the sun slip below the horizon, leaving a brilliant smattering of color as it did. We ran down to the beach a number of times while in New York. You can almost hear the sizzling as the sun slips behind the clouds and into the water.
c. July 2005, This is Papa and Ann. They are posing at the War Veterans Memorial at Riverside Cemetary. It's the best seat in the house for viewing the 4th of July Fireworks.
You won't see any photos of me here as I was covered in Poison Oak at the moment of picture-taking and just not photo-worthy. It was pretty frightening.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
My mother has tried desparately to refine the sorry lot of us, but it just is such a lost cause. Her dream of a proper ladies died the minute our dad got his hands on us.
Papa, as I lovingly call him, is ... he's ... well, he's a one-of-a-kind sort of guy. He's taken a pretty irreverant approach to raising daughters. For instance, I can remember the night we were having a sex ed. talk at the dinner table, and he broke out into song (yes, he had a jingle) about condom use: "Don't wrap it; bag it with Baggies!" I know my mother is shrinking in her computer chair at this very moment, saying, "No, she did not just publish this to the world wide web!" Sorry, mom. :)
I also remember a time, up north at Grandma and Grandpa's cottage. I was trying desparately to get the bathing suit off my Barbie doll. I'm not sure where my mom was at that particular moment (mom was the Barbie doll expert), but I couldn't find her. So, misguided in my youth, I went to Dad and asked him to help me. It was a struggle, but he managed to peel the thing off of Barbie. Then, in an effort to make sure I was properly educated, he pointed to Barbie's chest and said, "You know what these are?"
"Those are boobies."
"MOM!" I hollered. "Daddy just called these boobies!"
My mother, who has the best disapproving look ever, shot one at my dad and said, "Now, why did you tell her that?"
Ah! Good times!
Dad also created a new way to wash a daughter's hair. At this same lake, mom sent him out with me to wash my hair. He had me lay down on the dock, head hanging over the edge, just like mom always did it, and scrubbed my blonde locks. Then, he took me by my ankles, and, with me screaming, dunked me up in down, head first into the lake.
Dad was also the one that convinced me Amish pigs had beards, Canadians spoke a foreign language (because it was, after all, a foreign country), and that Free Methodist Churches were called Free Methodist, because they didn't take an offering.
He has nicknames for EVERYTHING ... heaven help me if I ever try to buy Anus Candy (rather than Anise Candy) at a store ... or order Hog Rotten Potatoes rather than AuGratin Potatoes at a restaurant.
Some kids had fathers that were prim and proper and would never consider being anything but highly appropriate in front of their children. I'm glad I have the parents I have. I would rather laugh until I wet my pants over something as silly as an indiscreet "pants cough" (my father's phrase) in public than dying of embarrassment over it. Life is suppose to be fun, and my parents gave us permission to enjoy it by acting the way they did.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Yesterday, I was driving through town on my way to the post office and saw this ridiculous looking teen with his pants down to his knees (no joke!). Okay, I realize I'm really clinging to the edge of fuddy-duddy here, but I had to really fight the urge to hang my head out the window and scream a direct quote from one of my former students, "DON'T NO ONE WANT TO SEE YOUR UNDERWEAR!"
A fly in the mini-van ...
On Wednesday evening, my mom, sister and I traveled to a nearby town for a Pampered Chef party (I'v blogged on the party already). If only you were a fly on the interior of that mini-van, you would have heard the following conversation:
Ann: Where are you going?
Mom: To M's house.
Me: Why are you going this way?
Mom: Dad always goes this way.
Ann: This is so out of your way.
Me: Yeah, why not go M-60 to Spring Arbor Road?
Mom: I don't know that way.
Me: Let us take you.
Mom: I don't trust you two.
*** approximately 10 minutes later ***
Me: Turn right on the swervy thing.
Mom: (sqwuaking) Swervy thing?!?
As we pass by it, Me: Yeah that swervy thing.
Mom: What kind of a description is "swervy thing?"
*** approximately 5 minutes later, as we travel up the hill into M's neighborhood ***
Mom: The man that designed the roads in this place should be shot!
Ann: It's kind of like being in Kentucky in the Daniel Boone Forest .. we're never going to get out."
Me (playing out the scenario in my head out loud): 9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
Ann: (taking my lead and running with it) "We're driving around the top of Snob Knob, and we can't get off."
Mom: (trying to pretend she isn't amused) Shut up, both of you!
*** as we are getting out of the mini-van ***
Mom: Well, we're here. Not sure how we are going to get out of here.
Ann: We could spend the night ....
I wonder how many trees I really am killing sending out all my resumes I've sent out this week ... is it more than the amount of licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop?
Morning breath ... please, if you are eating, put your food down.
When I was a junior in high school, my parents got Cricket, a chihuahua/daschund mix. She was the best dog ever, second only to SADIE THE DOG, the world's best dog. Cricket had a lot of personality, but like most dogs, she had some pretty crazy habits. One of the habits that was just downright disgusting was that she LOVED my dad's morning breath. He would blow in her face in the morning, and she would sit and lick violently trying to get at the stink. One was so horrified at the display, you both laughed and fought the urge to yak on your slippered feet.
Sadie the Dog has a better reaction to morning breath. When she has lost her patience waiting for you to wake up, she will quietly come to the side of the bed, place her chin on the bed (she's getting too old to hop up on the bed and shove her snout in your face), and sniff excessively, trying to decide if I'm really sleeping or just fake sleeping. It's just too darn funny when she does this, and I have to fight the urge not to giggle, which gives me away.
This morning was no exception, so I carefully blew in her face. She took a giant sniff, backed away from the bed, and sneezed violently as she shook her head. I laughed so hard I almost wet the bed!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
So, I'm showing you a compare and contrast. Here's my new attitude (thanks, in part, to the new hair) as seen on June 15, 2006 at approximately 2:15 p.m.
By contrast, the photo below is from last year at around the same time. I don't know about you, but I see a definite difference (beyond the messiness of the desk in the background). It's called, EMBRACIN' IT, GIRLFRIEND!!!!! EMBRACE THOSE CURVES ... EMBRACE THAT SMILE ... EMBRACE THAT LIFE AND HAVE FUN!!!!
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
This should have been the warning sign as I entered the house of a woman hosting a Pampered Chef party earlier this evening. The Pampered Chef consultant saw me coming, I'm here to tell ya. Within 15 minutes of my butt making contact with the seat, she whipped out the MIRACLE GADGET .... the GADGET OF ALL KITCHEN GADGETS ... the HOLY GRAIL OF GADGETS ... [drum roll, please] ... THE FOOD CHOPPER.
Well, that thing can dice -- it can chop -- it can mince -- it can slice, and, if pressed, it could probably do the dishes when it's all said and done.
"I have to have that," I turned and said to my sister, who, herself, was salivating with the glazed-over look of a crack addict. My mother was a goner the minute we walked through the door!
If that wasn't bad enough, the consultant unveiled her Julienne Peeler. Someone should have pointed to my prone body and shouted, "STICK A TEFLON-COVERED FORK IN HER, SHE'S DONE!"
Have I ever julienned anything in my life? Uh ... that would be a negative! But for some unknown reason, I was mesmorized by it's craftiness and the fancy, thin slices of zucchini and carrots. Never mind that I can't stand the taste of zucchini. I HAD to have that julienne peeler much like Carrie Bradshaw must have the newest Minolo Blahniks (this is a SEX IN THE CITY reference, for those of you not sure).
The three of us stumbled out of the house, dazed and delirious and with a few dollars less than we came with, but we are the proud owners of some pretty fancy kitchen crap!
I have to scoot ... I need to make a list of all the items I can chop, dice, slice and julienne!
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
I walked into my salon last Wednesday, my hair in a giant knot on the top of my head and said to Stan, "Stan, I want something with pop!"
Stan and I have been together for a long time, and he's accustomed to my pronouncements. So, this particular Wednesday was nothing new for him. He wrestled with the aforementioned knot as he watched me flail my hands around the general vicinity of my head, describing, poorly, the pop I wanted.
My hair was a knot because I never bothered combing it out that morning after I got out of the shower. I merely gathered it up quickly and tied a rubber band around it haphazardly, bee-bopping out of the door pleased with the overall METH LAB ADDICT look. It's a wonder Stan doesn't pay me NOT to tell people where I get my hair done ... not that they ask, what with me as a walking advertisement for what not to do with hair.
Stan nodded as he continued trying to untangle the rubber band with me, all the while babbling nonsense ... that I want to keep letting it grow, but "it needs some umpf, and I'm just not sure how to get it and how to even describe it to you, Stan, and, by the way, I have a question for you."
By this time, Stan, who has the patience of Job where I'm concerned, bypassed my POP comment and went right to my question ... and here's the thing, I showed him a picture and wondered aloud about a weight line, and in seconds, we had pop! Well, a verbal pop anyway.
Choppity, chop, chop ... a dab of this and spritz of that ... a few manuevers of the curling iron ... a few more spritzes of that, and voila! I have pop!
I've got brand new hair, and I have to tell you, I'M FRIGGIN' LOVIN' IT!!!
New hair has given me freedom ... and motivation ... and the feeling (misguided as it may be) that I can do anything!
**I can bag MR. WONDERFUL because I have new hair!
**I can find the PERFECT job because I have new hair!
**I can make my cat behave because I have new hair!
**I can grow money on a tree because I have new hair!
**I can run for president ... and win ... because I have new hair!
**I can solve world hunger because I have new hair!
**I can leap over tall buildings in single bound because I have new hair!
It's just amazing what a great cut can do for girl!
For my male readership, I apologize, but just so you are forewarned, this will be a GIRLIE ENTRY.
Ladies, I gotta tell ya, I LOVE BRONZER. I'm not talkin' the self-tanner crap. No, I'm referring to the powder stuff that you dust over your face. This stuff is like a miracle. I've got a healthy glow all day long.
So, I've decided that if I'm stranded on a desert island somewhere and could only take 5 things with me, one of them WOULD BE MY BRONZER!!!!
Monday, June 12, 2006
See, Friday marked the end of something in my life ... the end of an incredible experience teaching. Something that, up to this point, I'd not really had. Don't get me wrong. I've had some wonderful experiences as a teacher, but this one at Wattles Park Elementary was incredible!
Friday also marked the beginning of something ... the beginning of a life filled with what ifs and may be nots and why nots and perhaps maybes all over again. These types of things always send me into an emotional tail-spin the likes of which are devastating for me as well as those that happen to wander aimlessly into a 50-mile radius of me. Usually, the safest thing to do is put up orange cones all around my life and speed out of the way ... FAST!
As I walked to my truck (which I now own, by the way ... well, after about 48 payments!) on Friday, I determined, with each flip-flopped step, that I was not going to let this get me this time. It did last year. Not this year!
I continued mulling over this new attitude over the weekend. Could it work? Would it work?
I've decided it can with a few items that I must embrace and own:
Item #1: I will now and forever more embrace my curves. I've got them ... bottom line. Do I need to shape up for my health? Yes. Should I be cognizant of the exercise I get and the food I eat? Yes! But I will no longer be defined solely by my body. I am who I am, and you either accept it, or you don't.
Item #2: I will no longer define myself merely by what I do for a living. This is a difficult one, because at our very core, teachers live, eat, and breathe their craft. However, when that craft is taken away from you by politicians trying to save money, what is left? I will tell you ... someone devastated by the loss and crippled by that devastation. I am so much more than just a teacher, noble a calling as it is.
Item #3: I will no longer seek my defining moments through others. Ah! Men! Gotta love em, but they are giant pimples on our collective butts when they are doing nothing more than playing with our emotions to fill their own egos. And ladies, let's face it, when we are at our most vulnerable and weakest moments, we seem to attract those gems! Okay, so at least I do! So, I resolve never to look for companionship in attempt to define who I am. NOPE! That Mr. Wonderful better pony up and realize I am a catch all on my own ... I'm not perfect. Who is? Certainly not him. If he seems perfect, back up three steps, ladies, and take a real hard look! There's usually something glaringly obvious, and I'm telling you, it saves a lot of heartache when you practice this backward examination early.
Item #4: Eye contact and shoulders back. I'm telling you, it's like the cure for cancer! People's responses are so much different! Now, this means the boobs are more "in your face," but you know what! So what! I've got them, and there are women out there that pay big money for what I have. So, I'm embracing those bad girls, too!
I am a writer ... a sister ... a daughter ... a child of God ... a teacher ... a curvy chic with a butt and some thighs to go with it ... a lover of life ... a thinker ... a ponderer ... a friend ... a secret admirer ... a questioner ... a philosopher ... a cook ... an obsessive dog owner ... an apathetic cat owner ... an animal lover ... a jaded political participant ... a college graduate ... a woman ...
I'm all these things and more. It makes me multi-faceted and many-layered. It makes me worthy ...
Friday, June 09, 2006
My sister and I started out on our nightly walk this evening, and Ann spied a cool, old door laying on the top of a pile of junk. We were just down the street from my house, so she turns to me and says, "I've gotta have this. Let's walk it back to your house."
I don't dress very fashionably when we walk, so I really did look the part of a rag picker! It works well with the image I'm currently crafting ... that of the RECENTLY OUT OF WORK TEACHER/WELFARE CANDIDATE.
Have door, will travel.
For as long as I can remember, my town has been sponsoring a Garbage Pick Up Day. You can toss anything off of the "approved list of junk to be tossed" onto your boulevard where, at the appointed time, a fleet of BFI trucks will come through and rid you of your unwanted items.
I must admit that I was a little excited when I realized it was time, because I've started a pile of approved crap to be tossed myself, and I've been itching to get it out of my garage.
Top on the list was an old patio glider I inherited when I moved into this house. It was very cool and retro, but it needed a lot of TLC ... in the form of cash money. With the lack of a steady job, I was not in the position to provide it with it's needed TLC (in the form of cash money). So, I made the very difficult decision to put it ON THE PILE.
My dad came over this afternoon to help me move it out there.
Now, one thing that is ALWAYS entertaining is watching the junkers come and pick through your junk. As kids, we were just fascinated by what people would take from our pile that our parents thought was worthless. My sister and I would sit on the sofa and watch the action. Much of it would be picked off the pile minutes after mom or dad set it there. As we got older and could tell time (and understood the wagering of bets), we would try to see who could come the closest to guessing how long an item would stay on the pile! It was great fun!
As an adult, it became a sort of validation of your junk. If something you thought a picker would think valuable actually sat on the pile until Garbage Pick Up Day, it almost felt like an affront. To have something picked off the pile minutes after it had been placed there was, and still is, the highest form of flattery!
As my dad and I were positioning the glider on the boulevard, a neighbor of mine passed by in his mini-van, slowing down as he did so.
"I give it twenty minutes," I said to my dad.
"Oh, I don't know. I would give it a day, maybe."
Dad climbed into his truck, and I walked into the house. As I passed by the microwave, I made a mental note of the time ... 2:51.
The phone rang about that time, and I ran to grab it. However, I was stopped in mid-run by the doorbell.
"Is that glider free to take?" the freckle-faced red-head standing on my porch asked as I whipped open my front door.
"Yep! It's yours." I said, smiling back.
My neighbor from up the street got out of his mini-van, and he and his son loaded it in.
The glider was gone in under ten minutes! MY JUNK IS POPULAR!
Now, if you will excuse me, I have more stuff to put out on the curb ...
Thursday, June 08, 2006
... because I had a call from the Governor today on my answering machine. She was inviting me to join her at the LONGEST BREAKFAST TABLE IN THE WORLD on Saturday. Well, I would, but I fear two things might happen:
1. The legs of the table the Governor and I would be sitting at would buckle due to the shear force of my presence at a politically-laced function.
2. She wouldn't want to be my friend after I ask her why I still can't find a permanent teaching position in Michigan, "What are you going to do about it, Governor?"
Yeah, I have a feeling, she doesn't really want me there.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
The DJs had just asked the governor what impact MIS has on the Michigan economy.
Her response? "Oh, wow! MIS brings in about 4 ... well, millions of ... well, I mean, they bring in more money that I could count each year!"
I visibly cringed in pain. Did none of her advisors give her that number prior to the interview? Or perhaps they weren't awake yet ... At any rate, that little ditty did nothing to help her credibility in the eyes of the public. That is why politicians pay advisors ... to help them talk intelligently about subjects, because no one can talk intelligently about everything ... thus the "more money than I can count" comment.
And it's stuff like this that has made me the jaded political follower that I am today.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
I am positively, absolutely, beyond the shadow of a doubt, attracted to men that are, at their very core, IDIOTS. Refer to earlier rants and raves regarding the JACKASS GENE.
For whatever reason ... the law of grativity ... the laws of motion and force ...the laws of physics in general ... the theory of Venus vs. Mars ... whatever, I am always attracted to the aforementioned men. The poor Joe Averages of the world are left standing in my dust as I squeal my tires and gun it toward the next JACKASS GENE KING OF THE JUNGLE.
I feel really sorry for these Averge Joes, because, when I look in the mirror, I don't see COVER GIRL OF THE CENTURY staring back at me. I see a girl with lots of flaws chasing after men way out of her league in a desparete search for what? I'm not what you would call A CATCH, so I sit here confused as to why I think I have the right to be so choosy.
Shoot! Heck if I know ...
If I knew the answer to this eternal question, I could solve world peace or world hunger or, at the very least, figure out, finally, how many licks until you get to the center of a tootsie roll pop!
Monday, June 05, 2006
Every once in a while, I get so overwhelmed by life circumstances, decisions, opinions, work loads, the lack of life circumstances ... and ... and ... and ... I'm forced out onto a ledge where I'm left to traverse the complicated twists and turns that is my life ... or until someone talks me down, which ever comes first.
My parents and sister are down in Kentucky, and via their phone conversations and emails, I've been made more than a little envious with tales of all about their cool adventures: picking around caverns and caves, riding ski lift-like devices, taste-testing wines and bourbon, investigating quaint little towns (or not so quaint), exploring out of the way places ... meanwhile, back on the ledge, I'm curled up in the fetal postion, drooling and moaning uncontrollably while student assessments and report comments pile up around me and my unfinished job applications and cover letters. To top things off, I think a pigeon just pooped on my head!
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Gutts & Butts ... yes, this is the title for a brand new exercise class beginning at a local hospital's wellness center. While I have both a gutt and a butt that seem to be growing at alarming rates, I'm not sure this "in your face" advertisement is a ringing endorsement that will encourage me to attend. In fact, it seems to have the opposite effect. I want to run screaming from the room.
I'm obsessed. I readily admit it. If there were a 12-step program for flip-flop wearers, I would be a founding member. I love flip-flops!! If I could get away with wearing them all year round, I would. However, snow, sleet, ice, and blizzards prevent such nonsense. So, from the time the first, fragile blades of grass peak through the soggy ground in Spring until the first snow flake flies (and there's definite possibilities of frost bite) in the fall, I live in flip-flops.
I must also admit to my loyal readers that I currently own 12 pairs of flip-flops (two of which are at my sisters house -- much to her annoyance -- waiting for me to provide her with more "stuff" with which to embellish them), and I have been secretly eyeing a few more pair in the past few days. It's a sickness, yes, but it's one I'm more than willing to live with.
I have plain flip-flops, colored flip-flops, sequined flip-flops, low flip-flops, and high flip-flops. I even own flip-slop t-shirts and a flip-flop hat! I discovered this website (http://www.flipflopstyle.com) today and am currently salivating over all the different kinds!!! In fact, I've fallen in love with these ADORABLE pair of star fish flip-flops! http://www.flipflopstyle.com/myststarfishpink.html It's a good thing that I can't afford $79.95 a pair!
My physician told me, after I visited her a few years back with a case of achilles tendenitis, that I needed to cut out the flip-flops. Hmph! NEVER!!! I'm perfectly happy envisioning myself as a hobbled 70-year old flip-floppin' down the street in my jaunty flip-flops ...
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Yet, I'm guessing the better, and more logical explanation, is that I was scratching my allergy-ridden eyes throughout the night and bruised myself.
It's the mystery of me ...
Even more disconcerting is having a cannon go off near you. Beyond the initial impulse to duck for cover, I thought I could hear the distant of call of charge from the bugler. Eerie ...
I stopped to get a Jamochaccino ... a yummy concoction of all the wrong things for your body: espresso, ice (the only thing of any redeemable value in the drink), whole milk all blended with chocolate, caramel and whipped cream! Of course, what would an enjoyable Jamochaccino experience be without some of it dripping out of the container and falling squarely on one of my boobs! Yes, the t-shirt I was wearing was fresh out of the laundry ... and a good one to boot! AND one of my favorite flip-flop t-shirts ...
Speaking of flip-flops, yes, I am obsessed, but that is a subject for another blog. In the meantime, I realized this morning that I have a fantastic tan ... on my feet! Yes, that's right, a tan on my feet. Apparently, the time spent out on the playground at recess has afforded my feet some tanning time. I have some pretty decent flip-flop lines as well. Ah! Summer!
Priscilla Presley is in my little ole town today ... in fact, she's probably here right at this very moment. Yep, she's gracing us Midwestner schmucks with her ... well, pretty scary prescence as she helps dedicate a drug treatment/rehabilitation center that has just opened up in town. Have you seen that woman recently? She's a poster child, I'm afraid, of what not to have done when going under the knife for plastic surgery. As I made my way out of town on my little jaunt this morning, I passed by the facility (it's really rather fancy) and witnessed the set up for the festivities. Big doings in such a little town. I couldn't help but wonder, "what must that woman think of this little podunk place?" Then it occured to me, "her face looks like it was cinched back by a giant rubber band. What do we care what she thinks?"
Finally, I saw protesters protesting ... what else but the Iraqi War. Somebody was waving a rainbow-colored flag while others sported different sorts of anti-war propoganda on various posters. I wonder if it was purposely timed for the Civil War muster? And then it occured to me, some things never change, and I guess that's what makes this country so great ... we all have an opinion and have the freedom to state those opinions out loud and in public places ... and whether any of us like to admit it or not, that freedom was guaranteed to us by a few, proud, brave individuals willing to scarifice a life not yet lived for the rest of us.
So, I say WEAR FLIP-FLOPS, SPILL COFFEE DRINKS ALL OVER YOUR CHESTS, ENJOY THIS LIFE GRANTED TO US AND BE THANKFUL FOR IT!