Dream State

So I posted the following on a friend's Facebook page this morning. Once it was all written out, I just KNEW I had to share it with you, too. It's just that bizarre. Its a wonder I get anything done with crap like this exploding from my subconscious. Here are some clarifications that make this whole thing even more weird, (weirder?) because I know you're looking for the reasons.

1. The person (Jim) I had the dream about is a friend from college. A good friend, but not a confidante. So, no one with whom I share conspiratorial ties, woken up (is that grammatically correct?) next to in jail, none of that. Just a friend. I haven't physically seen him for almost two years.
   
2. Britta is another friend from college. We've only become close in the last few years. The two of us "pranked" Jim's FB page in August when we happened to be together. We were staying at a friend's house in Dallas. We were up late. Giggly. Had a few drinks in our systems, but not many to warrant a prank attack. Just decided to post over 75 comments on Jim's wall. Hilarity ensued. At least for us.
   

I had the craziest dream last night. Just thought I'd share. Bet you NEVER thought you'd see THAT on your FB page.

Ok, so.......

I was on a cruise ship, and I kept telling people who I didn't even know that I didn't particularly like to cruise but I was here to see the on-board entertainment which just happened to be Britta.

No, but get this....the dream took a random and twisted turn (like it hadn't already) because YOU appeared with a casserole, while I was toting a pistol in one hand and a leatherman in the other, saying we needed to head to the life boats. We apparently needed to get a move on because we were expected at a security bunker in a secret location to provide classified information. You were worried your casserole would get cold.

(But we had to get to said location by cruise ship first?? And we had to use a life boat because those are speedy modes of transport?? :o/)

(No, I don't know what kind of casserole it was, but I vaguely remember mention of Hatch green chilies so I'm positive it was spectacular.)

(I know I don't own a gun, but I was packing heat in my dream.)

(I think using Britta was my cover story.)

So many questions, I know.

And yes, I booked my first appointment with a therapist.

And then I canceled it because I figured it was some voodoo you practiced as punishment to me for pranking your FB page back in August.

I'm looking for an agent now. I'm thinking book deal. Then movie franchise.

I think karma was playing a prank on me. She's sneaky, that Karma.

Bucket List?

I was inspired by this today and thought I should write down my list. But I'll have to get back to you on that. I want to really think about what I want to include and not get sucked into writing the first things that pop into mind. Which, as you should know by now, could get quite scary/alarming/boring/random.

Uh, I wanna see YOUR list(s), too!

Rock, Paper, Scissors

I've always identified with the paper in the game Rock, Paper, Scissors. Why? I could go into a long analysis of the symbolism and how I'm the type of person who tries to envelop a something solid (the rock) and unmoving, trying to soften its shell, change it's outer layer into something permeable (the paper) yet easily cut into by sharp edges (scissors)...but I think I'd lose you in the BS.

Actually, if you've known me longer than five minutes you would probably already know about my unhealthy attraction to all things shiny and stationery. The paper kind...not the unmoving, stationary kind. Learn the difference, there's a clue in the spelling. ;o) I admit to it. I have a totally unnatural obsession with paper, pens, cards. If it's colorful, whimsical, cutesy, bright, different...heck, if there's an adjective at all in front of "stationery," I'm sold. So, when it came time to order my wedding announcements, you can only imagine what it was like for me to HAVE AN EXCUSE to go to card shops.

I can't even go into a Hallmark shop without dropping double digits in cards, wrapping paper, ribbons, photo albums, etc. Craft stores and office supply chains always here "cha-ching" when I walk through their doors because it's a GIVEN that I'm not leaving without some sort of pen, scrapbooking paper, or other unnecessary piece of writing paraphernalia in my hot, little hands.

So, today, when I was perusing P-Dub's website (yet another addiction I need to control) and came across the Fresh Press site, it was all over. She had me at "peacock."

And then I saw these:

I lost a good chunk of my afternoon wishing I had reason to order about 50 items. But, alas, I don't. Luckily. Because that habit could be expensive it I indulged too often!

And I'm loving the address labels that wrap around the envelope. I might have to get some for my Christmas cards this year. Too cute.





Must. Look. Away. Now.

My State of Mind

It's a little running joke between the hubster and me that I want to be Welsh. Yeah, I have a thing for accents and easily slip into the Welsh one without really thinking about it after watching a "Gavin and Stacy" marathon. I've completely lost y'all, haven't I? No matter. The viral video below will help you understand...what a great sense of humor they have about their town of Newport. It's now a must visit the next time I'm in Wales.



There are so many jokes in here that I can't even start to explain! So FUNNY! To me.

Coffee

Coffee

This reminded me of that one time in New Orleans. At Cafe du Monde. Around three in the morning. With beignets. I miss NOLA.

Twitterati Beware!

Another surprise purchased by the hubster for me was this sleek little devil:

I'm like a kid with a new toy. Except I don't know how to use the new-fangled gadget yet! I'm quickly learning, because it REALLY is über-user-friendly...and fun to use. K doesn't social network, I think he's allergic to it all because he breaks out in hives and his throat closes up at the sheer mention of Facebook, Twitter and even the "less social more professional" LinkedIn, and so when he asked me about tweeting a while ago, I made some smart-assed remark about being on sabbatical until I got an iPhone because I NEVER use the internet on my go-go-gadget phone...it was kind of a pain. Now with an iPhone I don't really have that excuse to fall back on...so how do I explain it's because I have no life and I'd rather be a voyeur to the tweets of the rich and famous rather than be a twitterer myself?? I guess now I'll just have to make up my own fabulous life... where to begin???

What's New??

So, I was sick from the Friday before 4th of July (that was the 2nd) until last weekend. I ran fever for days...and I'm not a fan of being hot to begin with so when I can't do anything about it, well, it just plain sucks!

Okay, so enough about the moaning and groaning about being sick. One good thing to come of it was that I lost 10 pounds in a week. I can only imagine how much I'd lose if I was on Survivor! And the BEST thing to come of it was that the hubster bought me a new "fancy Dan" camera. I'd been lusting after a digital SLR for years and had been looking online at photos and reviews for the last several months. But while I was sick, K thought it would be a nice get well surprise. I am so excited to go out and shoot again...it's been years. I've forgotten everything I used to know about ISO and f-stops and ...

Nikon D-90, you and me are gonna be inseparable!

A Parent, Leeee

Sorry for the title suckage...my creativity is on sabbatical in a galaxy far, far away.

Any whey...I saw this and it suddenly summed up what life for Joshua will be like come fall. It's a good thing I can still claim him on my insurance.

Just Another Title

So, I just finalized all the paperwork on my end for my baby to get an apartment.


No, he's not literally a baby. That would be weird.

And no, I'm not kicking him out. He just doesn't want to live in the dorm come Fall 2010.
Spoiled much? Probably. Okay, yes.

But even though he's (gulp!) nineteen years old and holding down a full time job this summer, I'm not quite ready to admit that he's an adult. I was just getting used to the "empty nest" that he left me and K with last fall. And I haven't seen much of him since classes let out in May. In fact, once he moved back into the family home for the dog days of summer, he hasn't spent much time here. The first couple of weeks he hadn't started work yet, but he had to cram in visits to and from all his friends that were home as well; some were only home for a couple of weeks before they headed back to classes, internships and the like. Then there were a couple of weekends dedicated to training, so the few weekdays he had left before "the old grind" claimed his freedom, he spent swimming, playing and an impromptu camp trip.

Gone are the days of lazing in bed until mid-afternoon, because he's out the door by 7:30 a.m., unless it's his week for pre-camp pick-ups which has him leaving closer to the butt-crack of dawn. Okay, more like 7a.m., but for this night owl it may as well be dawn's early light! And, yes, I'm up just as early because I'm making a lunch for him to take with him. 'Cause I'm a good mom like that. (Read: sucker!) Actually, I feel like it's the least I can do especially since I get up to prepare K's lunch anyway. (Read: DOUBLE-sucker!)

So, the prospect of him living in his own digs come August has gotten me all melancholy for the days of yore.
The days when he'd strip down to his Blue's Clues Underoos because his pants were "disturbing" him. Halloween nights of "trick-treatin'" (he never could remember the "or"). Singing Barney songs over and over and over..."play it AGAIN, Momma!"..."Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease."


Days when he'd march into the living room with Scooby Doo skivvies and mimic Yul Brynner in "The King and I" proclaiming "Etc.! Etc.! Etc.!"

Days surrounded by Pokemon cards and viewing operations on Discovery Channel.

Times when he'd just call me "Momma" (or "MOM!") and not "Guarantor." Well, he hasn't actually called me "guarantor" yet...and personally, I hope he never does. I much prefer "Mom."

If You Aren't Dreaming Big, You're Doing It Wrong

Catch!

Actually, that should be catch-up. 'Cause this post is just that. I told you way back when about some new furniture we purchased but I never shared the photos. I know you're dying to see...no? Well, humor me then.

The formal living room at the front of our house had been empty for three years before we finally got around to painting and furnishing it. We bought three bookshelves, two side tables, a leather sofa, matching chair and ottoman, as well as a table lamp and a floor lamp.


Remember, when I say "painting," I really mean "hiring someone for the job." I love that color. I'm glad the reverse psychology worked on the hubster and "he" talked me into it. ;o)


I had that photo framed a while ago. It was signed by folks who worked with my dad and was given to him as a send-off gift when we left Beale AFB, CA to go to Maine. I thought it was a neat memento to remind me of my dad.


To be honest, my OCD kicks in every time I look at this photo or step into that room because I want to re-organize those books. Is it weird to use the Dewey Decimal system in your private "library"?


Don't get used to seeing those framed photos on that top shelf. That's not where they're going to live. The leather is sooooo soft and you just melt into it. I feel very grown up in there.

We also purchased a sectional, coffee table and side table for the gameroom upstairs. Finally! More seating to go with the three barstools. We can finally put the folding chairs away.

Those tables give me an urge to play the bongos. Random? Yes. Very.


See that space between the speakers above the sofa? That's where I'm going to hang the photos that I'm storing on the top shelf of the bookcase. When I say, "I'm going to hang," I really mean, "I'm going to ask my father-in-law to hang." Just so we're clear.

Now for knick-knacks. Tchotchkes. (Spellcheck thinks I mean latchkeys, hopscotches, crotchless, and/or hotcakes. I mean none of those. At this time.) Baubles. And the like. That's the stuff I hate to buy. Because I like a lot of nonsense. And that's difficult to shop for. Or for which to shop, if you'd like to be grammatically correct about it.

Okay, nothing else to see here...move along people. But come back. Because I'll miss you.

-Strology

Now, I'm not New Age-y...but I think I'm pretty in touch with the world around me, in tune with my body and know when my chakras are outta whack, even though I'm not sure what a chakra is. (And now I'm giggling because spellcheck apparently hasn't got a clue about chakras either.)

Moving on...
I do know some people who are VERY into all that kinda stuff so I hear about this spirit guide or that healing crystal and maybe even smell a bit of aromatherapy on occasion, because generally I'm all about "to each their own." So, when a friend of mine posted the link to this after I had seen it randomly through something else, I thought it was a sign. A sign from Blog.

I had already done this once, but went through the steps again to find my color. It's kinda spooky, but I've been seeing the color of my month EVERYWHERE. It's kinda freakin' me out because this color is calling out to me. It wants to be a part of my world. For it to be symbolic of wisdom, truth and vision doesn't sound like me at all. Or does it?? ;o)

So looking at the blurb for December, it said that Pagoda Blue is a "useful aid in dealing with others who have alternative points of view." Hm... that's very "to each their own," isn't it? Looking at my birthday, the color described as Caribbean Sea, you'll never believe what it said. Read this:

Your hearty personality is an inspiration to others. You are warm and loving and everyone seems to want a piece of you. Taking time for yourself is imperative to your well-being and will help you guard against being taken for granted or being pushed and pulled in too many directions. There is far more to you than meets the eye and there may be times when you feel that few people know the real you. Wearing, meditating or surrounding yourself with Caribbean Sea helps you release negative emotions so you feel continually replenished and refreshed.

I AM an inspiration to others.

I AM warm and loving and everyone DOES seem to want a piece of me.

Etc.

Ha! Sorry, I couldn't go on with the ego. It just felt wrong. But I do love the color(s).

I wonder what your color says about you...

Stolen!

Yeah, I'm a thief. But if it's free, is it really stealing? And if someone stole it before I stole it, then can't I call it "liberated"?? It sounds more fancy then. And you KNOW I like fancy. And I'm not talking about the girl I know from high school whose name is fancy because it IS Fancy...that's a different Fancy. See? It's capitalized. Different.

Pardon my rambling. It seems to happen when I'm really tired. Bored. And on days I wake up before 7am. Although not limited to only those things. But those are the reasons du jour.

Ok...so...back to the thievery, er, liberation!

That cat by the bar, Miss Bee, has totally hooked me on "Fill In The Blank Fridays" which are just the little things we do. Are you still with me? Keep up with the tour.

Even though it's not Friday, I still wanna do it. And I wanna do it my way. Themed. 'Cause you know me...I LOVE a theme. Oh, I stole that, too. Well, poo. I guess I'll just do the movie-themed one from a couple of moths ago then:

1. My absolute favorite movie of all time is dependent on my mood the day you ask me...today it's "The Birdcage" because Agador Spartacus makes me laugh. Every time. But I've been known to go on and on about other movies, their cinematography, dialogue, make-up, costumes, set designs,...

2. My favorite movie as a child was anything with Abbott & Costello. As you know, readers, I have FEW childhood memories. I don't know if I repressed them or it's all the drugs I did in the 60's*, but I DO remember eating grilled cheese sandwiches on Saturday afternoons and watching Bud and Lou get into all kinds of silly predicaments between morning cartoons and Battlestar Galactica. Not the predicaments, the time I was actually watching Bud and Lou.

*I was born waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay after the 60's in... 1970, so I didn't actually do drugs in the 60's. Heck, I didn't even do 'em in the 80's. And EVERYONE was doing 'em then!

3. The best movie quote ever is from Hope Floats,"Beginnings are usually scary and endings are usually sad, but it's everything in between that makes it all worth living." Yeah, I realize I'm probably the only one here who saw that movie.

4. My favorite actress is Natalie Portman. Not that she's always made the best character choices, but mostly I find myself liking her in whatever movie I'm watching. Ever since I watched her in "Leon: The Professional," I've always thought she was believable and versatile.

5. The movie I could watch over and over is "The Princess Bride." I know it's a kid's movie and an old one at that, but there are so many fun characters and lines to quote. Plus it brings back good memories for me, some from a distant past and some relatively new ones.

6. My favorite movie genre is thriller/suspense. According to Netflix, I (well, we since the account is in K's name) love dark thrillers. I think one time it said that we watched a lot of foreign mind-bending thrillers. Sounds about right.

7. A movie I'd like to watch this weekend is "The Road" or "Red Baron" which are the two we currently have on hand from Netflix. But "Crazy Heart" is in our queue and I think I'd rather see that, so I'm hoping it comes since we're getting one this week.

Does It Really Matter?

Ok, so...I'm a sucker.

I'm a sucker for the stories that pull at the heart strings. Maybe it's because I'm partly a cynic and I need constant reminders that even through all the flaws in our world, I should remember the good bits, too.

Those of you who have ever spent more than an hour with me will know that laughter comes easy but so do tears. I can't help it. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm not afraid to...and I take the ridicule in good stride. Or at least most of the time. When I'm not in a middle of my own personal breakdowns.

A friend of mine emailed this to me...it's from a co-worker and was written by the co-worker's sister-in-law about her niece. Well, that's what my friend's email said...but does it really matter who wrote it?

Can't we all glean a little wisdom from it??

Shouldn't we all care a little more about the people around us??

First Grade Race Day

Every now and then, by the grace of God, something inside of us says: Remember this. Remember the purple sundress and the bare feet, the wide grin missing four teeth, the blonde bob haircut. Make note of how she looks walking away and ringing her friend’s doorbell. Don’t forget how she skips back to the car and says with that wide jack o’ lantern grin, “She liked it!” Remember, because soon she’ll be grown and then she’ll be gone and this is a story you’ll want to tell her because it reveals, on some base level, who she is and it is important to be reminded of who we really are once we’re let loose in the world and everyone else has an opinion of us.

She’d come home from school concerned about a friend. “Ashley didn’t turn in her car today.” I had been afraid this might happen. Ashley is having a hard time, a harder time than any six-year-old should ever have. Her parents have split and there has been violence and then both parents were gone and her grandparents have stepped in to try and take care of her and her younger brother. She has shared stories at our house in a matter of fact way that make me want to cry and scream. All I can do is listen and pretend they aren’t as outrageous as I know they are, even as I also know such stories are all too common. The car was due today. The assignment was to make a car, “Be Creative!” the note home read. “Make sure your first grader does most of the work and you supervise.” Yeah, right. “We will race the cars on Friday, parents are invited to attend. Those who do not have a car or parental permission will not be able to participate and will go to a special classroom during the race.” Yes, let’s punish those children whose parents, for whatever reason, aren’t up to the task. And, as I feared, Ashley is one of those children. My daughter is worried about her friend, “Mrs. Wilson didn’t cut Ashley any slack, Mom. I don’t want her to miss the race, and the permission slip HAS to be turned in tomorrow!” I want to intervene in some non-intrusive sort of way but I am not sure how. Besides, we had a hard time with this project, two parents, both college educated and more, unable to construct, I mean supervise, the construction of a car that would actually roll. We gave up and my husband took our daughter to our neighbor’s house, our handy neighbor who owns a table saw and wood and washers and bolts and has the skill to put all of these together and come out with a little, awesome car. I am sure our first grader was well supervised when the table saw was employed. But my child is concerned for her friend and so I mumble, “We’ll figure something out.” without a clue as to what that “something” will be.

We get home and the evening progresses as it normally does: homework, housework, dinner to get on the table. My little girl surfaces and asks for tape and scissors. I give them to her. She returns and asks if I have a small box. I do. I am curious as to what she is up to but I am too busy to give it a whole lot of thought. She is happily occupied. This allows me to get a few things done. Hence, I don’t ask questions. Once again she comes and finds me. “I made Ashley a car,” she says. I look and, yes, she has made Ashley a car. “It isn’t the best,” she acknowledges, “but at least she can come to the race.” I want to cry. She has cut the wheels out of paper plates and taped them together four plates thick. She has cut a flap in the top of the little box that once contained four pieces of chocolate. She has folded the flap forward to make it look as if the car has a windshield. The wheels, not exactly perfect circles, have been affixed to the box with four push pins. “Now,” she says, “will you drive me to her house because she needs to turn it in tomorrow and I need to tell her grandmother to look in the front pocket of her folder and sign the permission slip?” My daughter has thought this through. She has worked something out, without even my supervision. What is there left for me to do but chauffer her around the block?

We get in the car, turn the corner, and pull into Ashley’s driveway. The grass is high and there is a car, without license plate, parked in the middle of the yard. There are pieces of siding missing from the house and I think that it looks as sad as the little girl who lives there. “Come right back,” I instruct. “I know, I know,” my daughter says, exasperated with me. She walks with confidence to the front door, little car in hand and something in me says: Remember this. Remember the purple sundress and the bare feet, the wide grin missing four teeth and the blonde bob haircut. Remember this because she needs to know this story someday. Remember this because it reveals on a deep and pure level who she is and she is so very good. I see her standing at the door and soon it opens. The woman who answers bends down and listens. She turns and calls. Ashley appears. The two girls hug. My daughter comes skipping back to the car, gets in and says, “She liked it!” Again she says, “It isn’t the best. It may not go very far. It may come in last place, but at least she can be in the race.” And all I can think is it is the best car ever because it was made from pure, unsupervised, unprompted love and that means what place it comes in is absolutely irrelevant. I need to remember that. I need to remember this, my girl, the car, the wounded house, the hurting child, the struggling grandparents and the unexpected grace that comes in the midst of it all. I am pretty sure Ashley will never forget it because it means she got to be in the race and everyone should have a chance to at least be in the race.

I Know My Serial Killers

I kinda hafta dedicate this post to my friend's husband...maybe it'll inspire her to share the story of their first date.

Ok, so...anyway...last night the hubster and I were watching "Lie to Me" (it's listed as Season 2 Episode 25: Sweet Sixteen). If you've never seen the show, here's a quick lowdown. There's this dude named Cal Lightman and he's like a human lie detector because he can read the micro-expressions that you don't even realize you're making when you tell a lie. He's a lot like me. But that's a different post. Regardless of the show's story for the week, there comes a point where they cleverly flash photos of famous people with the same expression as the character being caught in a lie. So I bring you our conversation as it occurred during last night's viewing...it may or may not have been worded exactly as follows.

K: I don't even know who those people were.

Me: You don't? I did.

(At this point he pauses the DVR and looks at me expectantly.)

Me: Yeah, that first one was one of the Menendez brothers, I never know if it's Erik or the other one. And the next photo was of Ted Bundy.

K: Wow. We could sit here for hours trying to figure out what other show or movie we've seen familiar actors in, but you just come right out with the serial killers without a second thought. I don't know if I should be impressed or scared.

Me: What? I can't help it. I know my serial killers.

By the way, the other Menendez brother's name is Lyle. I know. It was bugging me, too.

Only in Texas

...But I give him props for making morning weather less clinical.
There's a few more on the YouTube if you just can't get enough.

Green. Envy Not Involved

Ok, so...I was having a little look-see at Sarahenity's post and it reminded me of this page that I saw recently in Austin Monthly Home.

What does it mean when you have two of the things listed?? I have had the apron for years and bought the stackable wine glasses about two weeks before I saw this page. Does that mean I have good taste? Or that I'm predictably fashionable??

I don't really care either way...just curious.

PORT Authority

So, here's a PORT (point of random today):

I totally wish that the fancy screen in my car that shows me the sat-nav, audio, et al a.k.a. "stuff" also had a button for "karaoke."

I'm always driving around singing along to the radio, and every once in a while there comes a point where I don't know the lyrics. Be it that it's a new song and I'm still learning it or the lead singer has slipped into teenage mumble mode. Sure, I could use the gadget to add lyrics to my iPod, but that doesn't really help me when I'm driving...the screen's too small when I'm trying to keep one eye on the road as well. I use that sing-along feature on road trips when the driver pleads with me to keep them awake. That'll teach 'em.

If you want to delve into the world of misheard lyrics, by now you should know about this site. Some are really funny...some notsomuch. I offer it to those who work at offices where they've blocked social networking sites. Or people with a lot of time on their hands. Or the curious. Surely all of you have a funny story you'd like to share now, so feel free!

New and Improved?

I'm thinking I need to clean-up my blog a bit. Since I've been gone for so long, I just now realized that Blogger has made some updates which have messed with the managed chaos that is my blog world and some of the links aren't working now. Don't they know I'm no techy genius??? So, having said that, consider it roughly as an invitation to return and see if I've made any changes or if I'm just nagging myself again to no avail.

I'm sure the bookies are making money on that as I type.

I just tried to add a poll, but it didn't work so I guess I'll just have to ask you here instead:

Question: Are you even interested in the movies I watch and the books I read since I offer no reviews (unless asked)?

Answer 1: Leave the list, sometimes I'm looking for a distraction.
Answer 2: Take it off! I can't afford movies and I've been banned from public libraries.

Kindly let me know how you feel as this will aid in the clean-up. Danke schoen! (That is the extent of my German but NOT my extent of "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" knowledge. Just so we're clear.)

That's all I've got today, people. Come back soon!

True Eccentric

I read an article today and came across this description:

Amy was short and thin, with graying red hair and sharp dark eyes. She was a rural mail carrier for 23 years and a true eccentric. She listened to a police scanner in the kitchen, fed raccoons on her porch, spoke nearly every word she ever thought, cussed a good deal of them and laughed until she started hacking.

She lived alone — her husband died eight years ago — with a poodle named Jake and so many cats my nose was grateful when she lit up a smoke.

She pulled out two photos for me. The first showed her filling a giant beige bra before she had a double mastectomy a few years back.

I wanna be a true eccentric when I grow up. I'm going to invest in a police scanner. I guess I'll have to get a poodle at some point and live out in the boonies so that I can feed raccoons on my porch.

I wanna be a true eccentric when I grow up....but I'm not a redhead. ;o) Love you, 'Risa!

I Stalked a Blog Today

This wouldn't be news since I was pretty religious at blog-stalking, but as of late, I've been distracted by other shiny things that I haven't been seeking the entertainment of my effervescent fellow bloggers. Never fear, like a fat kid to chocolate cake and French fries (not together, 'cause that would be kinda yucky...or a foodfest experiment waiting to happen), I found my way back to those blogs I've found comfort in over the years.

Most recently, I had a root around in the "Older Posts" section of "Lady Steele, modern superhero and pink warrior!" It had been so long since I had ventured her way that the tagline had been updated to add the PINK WARRIOR bit. Warrior INDEED!! You go, MrsG! I especially agreed with her post titled "I'm a MEXICAN?!" so much so that I'm adding the comment that I shared with her here for your entertainment as well:

As a proud, and possibly the only one you'll ever meet, Poli-pino (that's Polish-Filipino, if you MUST ask), I am STILL seeking my demographically correct little box. My son finds it even MORE difficult finding the Poli-pinasian (Poli-pino + Caucasian) box on forms he has to complete. Don't you worry, friend, I married a "foreigner" to blur the lines further...only to be told that my efforts were in vain since my husband is "only" British. Dammit. Foiled again.

I guess you'll just have to read it for yourself to get the full effect.

Another friend of mine, got me thinking about the truly important things in life and got my own blogging juices flowing. That post will be shared soon. I won't link to that specific blog/post because when I asked in the past for permission to share, she didn't feel comfortable enough to grant it since she felt her blog too personal (more for family/close friends to peruse) and I TOTALLY respect that. And I love her for it. She has some other neat tips that I'll share with you...kind of like re-tweeting, but sometimes it'll be for my own personal use and the fact that
my memory is holier than Swiss cheese (holier in the literal sense, as in "full of holes" rather than
the spiritual sense of "marked by an air of superior piety or morality").

Along the same lines, another blogging buddy is subtly reminding me to appreciate the ones I love for the little things by sharing this tidbit of romance. Now I'm not saying that the hubster doesn't reveal his lovingness to me ever. In fact, those of you who are friends of mine on Facebook, know that just last month he ordered the third book in a series for me from the UK because he knew it wouldn't hit US shelves before I finished the second. I was stoked! And have since finished the series. As much crap as he gives me when I return home from Costco with another one or two (or five...it's happened ONCE, but I can't promise that it won't happen again) books in hand, this was a big leap in feeding my biblioholism. (That MUST be a word. There's a book on it. Swear.) He's an enabler, folks. He really is.

Okay, so. I guess this means I'm officially "back." I was so far out there I didn't know I was gone until I dusted off the blog and looked at the last entry date. Yikes. I've always got tons of randomness swirling around like a whirling dervish in my head so I'm thinking I need to share more of it here, rather than other places. Remind me why my husband doesn't want me to Facebook anymore, 'k?

An Open Letter to Myself

Dear Self,

I know you get distracted by pretty things, things that shine, things that glitter, things that are red, things that smell nice, things that make you wanna sleep...I see this list is getting long, so we've pretty much established...you get distracted.

Well, um, it's been three months since your last blog post. That's like a fiscal quarter. That's 1/4 of a year. That's ridiculous.

I know your life is not that exciting. I know you share all most of your random thoughts to your friends on Facebook. But this blog was supposed to serve as a "journal" of sorts, too. And a place to share photos because we all know if you post them on FB then FB owns them. You need to get back on track. Seriously.

Okay, enough nagging. Promise me you'll start blogging again. Soon?

Your fellow slacker,
Self

Doppelgangers Beware!!

This collage was sent to me by my BFF in response to my status update/complaint that I didn't have any doppelgangers so I couldn't participate in Doppelganger Day/Week/Fad of the Moment on FB.

Um, I hate to break it to you but no amount of alcohol is going to make my beer goggles get fuzzy enough to allow me to think that I look like ANY of those women. Just ain't gonna happen.

I know I've regaled you with numerous tales of when I'm shaking my groove thang out in public only to be mistaken for Beyonce, but then people look at my lack of junk in the trunk and are instantly convinced that I ain't lyin'. But I'm a survivor, I'm not gon' give up...etc.

Carrie Underwood?? Yeah, we get mistaken ALL the time in the H-E-B...it makes it difficult for me to buy groceries. Those crazed country fans drop their tabloids as soon as they see me round the corner of the produce section and immediately pull out their Sharpies and autograph pads as if they had just stepped out of a line waiting to meet The Princess and/or The Frog at Epcot. Sheesh.

Elisha Cuthbert?? As funny as it would be to show up to parties and explain to people WHY I would appear on a show like 24 ONLY to get kidnapped by different people for three seasons or how I could possibly agree to being locked in an animal trap and not even tempt a wild cougar (as in feral not the over-40-seeking-boy-toy kind) to eat me as its next meal, I just can't justify it.

And as much as I would love to look like Garcelle Beauvais Nilon, I can't keep a tan like hers through the winter months. (Although this has been argued by the hubster as untrue, but I would have to endure a tanning bed and/or the risk of turning the shade of George Hamilton orange by using a creme. Personally, I don't think the possibility warrants the risk.)

The only things that Regine Velasquez and I share are our birthplaces, birth years and Filipino heritage. Although, let's be honest, there's always a chance that I might be mistaken as "one of the pioneer[s] of [the] music industry of the Philippines."

To Sarit Hadad, I apologize, but even I had to Google you since my knowledge of Hebrew/Israeli singers is a bit scant.

Although Rosario Dawson makes choices to appear in films as varied and sometimes as questionable as the ones I opt to watch, that's where our similarity ends. Apparently.

Catherine Heigl? I know that Universal Pictures didn't believe it when they sent an agent around to my house, after Knocked Up was such a hit, and I tried to explain that I just didn't like Seth Rogen (or Judd Apatow, for that matter) like that. Nor could I take that royalty check because I JUST WASN'T HER. Same thing with ABC...do you know how many times I had to talk to accounting when they tried to pay me for all her Grey's Anatomy appearances? Ridiculous.

How can I expect YOU to believe it, Dear Reader? I don't care what everyone else says about you, I believe that you know better.