The black keys

During a podcast interview with Bear yesterday, he brought up a trait of mine that stuck in my head. It was the fact that I love the smell of the ocean’s low tide.

The low tide smells include “soup mud”, as clammers call it – the black, briny, silty stuff at the bottom of the inlets and bays. There’s the salty tang of seaweed drying in the sun. Mixed in with that, the pungent aroma of ex-crabs, clams, or fish in their various stages of decay. If you are close to a marina, then you’ve got the smells of boat fuel, freshly painted hulls, and the like. It’s the smells most people would classify as “unpleasant” that, to me, make it really interesting and enjoyable.

Where music is concerned, it’s the same…. I like “the black keys” – the notes that make the melancholy sounds, the sad music. Bright, happy tunes are like cupcakes. Nice, but can’t have too many at once. Give me a haunting, sad, yearning tune any day of the week. It provokes so much more inside my head – memories, feelings, a sort of kinship with the composer.

Movies? Same thing. I enjoy a fluffy romantic comedy same as most people, I suppose, but it’s the heartbreakers that really get to me. Out of Africa. Dangerous Liaisons. Titanic. Legends of the Fall. Even Edward Scissorhands. There’s just something about the sadness that grabs me, and makes me feel.

I like things that look perfectly blended – with at least one incongruous color to wake up the brain.

I respect the one kid in the crowd who wears a purple mohawk and black fingernail polish.

Sugar is just all right. Spice? Now you’re talking.

I refuse to “go along” with most pre-set ideas. I refuse to wear nametags. If someone gives me a blank sticker and a magic marker – you just never know what you’re gonna get. But you can bet it won’t be my name, worn on my lapel.

I like the black sheep of the family, the one who goes the wrong way down a one way street, the one who refuses to wear fad clothing because it’s fad clothing.


Oscar Wilde had it right...

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"Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much."

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination."

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"Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter."

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"Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."

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"The aim of life is self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly - that is what each of us is here for."

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"Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live."

I could easily become a hermit

And so, after a long week of nearly sleepless nights, stressful events, and no money whatsoever, the weekend finally came. I made up my mind to go nowhere, and do nothing, that required the expenditure of money.

Initially, I'll admit, this seemed very limiting. What? Can't go to a movie, can't go out shopping, can't... hey, wait a minute! That means I can sleep in, and not have to go out at all? I can curl up on the couch in my comfy clothes, pop in seven or eight CDs in a row (each Harry Potter book is about eight CDs long) and just crochet and eat popcorn all day? WHEEEEE! I listened to "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" in its entirety today. That would have taken me weeks normally, a bit before and a bit after work, etc.

I'm thinking now that I could easily become a hermit. Hermitess. Whatever. Just be, in my own little world. Gardening, puttering around the house, listening to books on CD (free!) from the library, playing music, whatever.

Being in a financial pinch reminds me in some ways of the two years that Bear and I were without television. We found so many other things to do! We played chess. We read stories to each other. We ... well, you know. A lot!

Part of what added to the hermit-like feel of this weekend is the fact that I accidentally (or maybe "freudianly on purpose") left my cellphone in my desk at work. No beeping, buzzing, whirring, chirping.... sometimes just being alone is really good for you.

I'd love to have a herbarium like Brother Cadfael in the stories by Ellis Peters... spend my days tending the herb gardens, mixing potions and healing balms, tending the fire and living with the circle of the seasons as they weave in and out.

Come Monday, I'm back in the rat race, of course... but I still have a day and a night left of my "hermitude", and I intend to enjoy it.

The Hermit holds the light for us to stay upon the path in times of darkness. He reminds us that our thoughts form our reality. Ruled by Mercury, The Hermit is associated with dedicated service, unconditional love and spiritual ecstasy. He is the figure of elder wisdom; an experienced guide, well versed in natural and spiritual law. He teaches us to make use of solitude to question our beliefs, to become conscious of universal cause–and-effect and to discern wholeness. Confer with the Hermit whenever you need guidance.

My week: in pictures

Hi, mom? Sure, we're doing just fine. We don't have two cents to rub together, but we're fine, really.

Sorry, you haven't read the meter in two years, and now you expect me to pay HOW MUCH???

Wheeee! Imagine how much fun it will be to live in a homeless shelter! The people we'll meet! The conversations we'll have!

Oh, yay! The boiler broke down and there's no heat in the front house? Wonder how many hundreds of dollars that we don't have THIS will cost?!?!? Won't it be FUN???

Yep, we'll just keep on forging ahead..... no matter what. Do we really have a better choice?

Sometimes what you don't know WILL hurt you.

Blimey, I'll never do THAT again!

The other day, I was at work (read "work") and, as usual, was fucking around reading my daily Angelina Jolie news updates. There's this really cheesy online "newspaper" (imagine the acid sarcasm dripping from my fangs) that hosts nothing but the most insipid and moronic tidbits on celebrity life.

Why do I read it, you ask? I don't. I only go there to add pics to my Angie collection. Usually they're just hack reprints of pics I've already scarfed off of real news websites, but every once in a while I find a new one.

There was a movie ad running alongside the articles that kept catching my eye. It showed an older woman with a huge dog (think Marmaduke) on a leash. She waves her free hand, clutching the leash tightly in the other, and the dog takes off. You see her get jerked off her feet, out of the frame, and the clip ends. There's a friendly invite to "click here to see how the movie ends!"

Being the ever-hopeful believer in human goodness that I am, fueled only ever so slightly by unconcern due to the fact that I was on my work computer and not my home computer, I clicked.

Not surprisingly, the next window did not, in fact, show me the end of that video clip. It said "for a free ringtone for your cellphone, just enter your name and email address here!" So I quickly typed "John Smith" and "JSmith@whatever.com"... still believing that eventually I was going to get to see the last of that video clip.

Alas, earwax!

What I got for my trouble was eight billion popup ads that not only annoyed the bejeebers out of me, they also fucked up any chance in hell I might have had of ever getting ANY work done on that computer ever again.

Great.

Using my immense and superhuman powers of deduction, I noticed that both the browser I had been using at the time and the browser hosting all of the popups was (big surprise here, folks - be ready for it) Internet Explorer. So I quickly deduced that by going to "Add/Remove Programs" and removing Internet Explorer, all my troubles would be over!

It was not to be.

Instead, the popups came as plentifully as before. In my frantic search for a solution, I found that Microsoft only offered spyware removers for those who had Int. Exp. upgraded. It's impossible to upgrade something that you don't have, and Int. Exp. 5.x is no longer available to download for free...... so I was screwed.

For the moment.

I spent approximately five hours today searching out techie websites (with Bear's helpful input via email) to get rid of the "secure32.html" virus - which is what I had acquired. I felt so dirty - so used! Oh, there's a cure, chillens, there's a cure - but it takes a bloody long time to complete all eighteen hundred steps (including several reboots in "safe mode" which take forever and keep you from working on other things like, say, YOUR JOB, in the meantime).

But complete them I did.

I finally did all the stuff the techie said, which included downloading not one, but FOUR different spyware removal programs. They all had to be accessed in a specific order, and I had to get up and turn around three times counterclockwise, spitting on the floor and chanting "spambegone... spambegone... spambegone" while rolling my eyes back in my head until only the whites showed. I'm not sure that last part helped get rid of the virus, but it kept my boss from coming into my office without knocking again.

After all was said and done, the dragons were vanquished, and I was able to access my work files once more in a mad dash to get five payrolls completed in two hours, I realized something.

I don't give a flying FUCK what happened at the end of that stupid video.

Postscript: I am not usually a violent person. However, I would like to suggest that the purveyors of such vile mayhem and destruction, those spreaders of computer viruses, be hung up by their thumbs from steel hooks, rolled in egg wash and pork rind crumbs, and suspended over a ravening pit of Atkins dieters.

Ah, for a key to Gringott's......

Ah, here it is... the one modern, newfangled, fad fan item that I would dearly love to purchase - (never mind that it costs over $500.... as long as I'm dreaming, money is no object.)

It's an iPod that bears the Hogwarts crest (below) and the entire Harry Potter book collection (so far) on digital audio....


Damn, how cool is THAT?

I am so falling under Harry's (or is it J.K. Rowlings'?) spell again... pun intended. I've already put a request in for the first book, "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" in CD format at my local library. I intend to listen to them all, in effect "reading" them again - there is so much info in each one it's nearly impossible to keep everything straight in your head. I love the movies intensely, but they don't - they can't possibly - encompass all the plot twists that occur in the books.

I have to admit, I fantasize about some really rich dude or dudette somewhere funding a project to create the books in their entirety on film, nevermind the cost or the length of the finished product. It would be bloody amazing to have a series of 300 hour movies that encompasses each book cover to cover!

I wonder if the actors could handle that much work. Now that we've got digital everything, and the ability to start a movie at whatever scene we like, why do we have to limit movies to 3 or 4 hours? Does every movie that's made have to be shown in theaters?

It's........ridikkulus!

My 007 morning

Deeedlooooo....... 5:00AM. Alarm rings. I fling myself into a sitting position just long enough to silence the screeching alarm. The cat looks up from my shins, annoyed at the intrusion. Out of bed, I scream through a shower and makeup, into my new pinstripe business suit, and I'm out the door.

Deeedlooo....... 6:00AM. Sitting in my truck, warming the engine. Shit. I forgot to bring the directions with me. Can I remember the way there? Everything but one turn - is it right, or left? Damn. Back in the house, fire up the computer, get the directions, print them out. Hope traffic is light this morning.

Deeedlooo...... 6:39AM. Sitting in my truck, at the job interview. Nobody is there yet. Am listening to NPR, eyeballing every car that pulls in the lot. Wonder if I'll recognize the guy. I decide I won't, and follow other employees through a side door. A mechanic greets me and tells me Mr. Interviewer is not in yet, but I'll know him right away by his crutches. Good investigative work, M!

DeeedlOOOOOO..... 7:00AM. Sitting in the office with Mr. Interviewer. Interview goes very well, from my point of view. Hoping he feels the same. We're talking about a decent salary hike here, and the promise of raises on the horizon. He says if I'm in, I'll hear from him within the week. I'll be waiting. I'll be ready.

Deeeedl... shit.... 8:00AM!!!! I'm supposed to be AT my other job right now, am just leaving the parking lot from the interview. Turbo boosters activated, helmet on. VRRRRROOOOOMMMM!

DeeedleeeEEEE...... 8:30AM. I pull up in front of the office building, scanning for other employees. Nobody in the immediate vicinity. I yank a bag full of regular clothes out of my floorboard and sprint for the office. Grab the bathroom key, made it! Change clothes quicker than Superman in a phone booth (bathroom is approximately the same size) and dash back down to my vehicle, carefully arranging the plastic bag to completely cover my attache case, which has never seen the inside of this office building. And never will.

Dun, dun dun, dun, dun-dun, DUN...... 8:39AM. Whew. I sink into my chair, turn on my computer, carefully wiping the last of the corporate lipstick off my mouth.

Mission accomplished.

Time for some coffee.

Chew on this

I have an endless well of deep, meaningful prose inside me. I swear I do. I want nothing more than to sit for hours, writing and sighing, with a glass of red wine on the table next to me - poring over my innermost feelings and divulging them in witty, memorable ways.

However, I only have a few minutes until I am OUTTA HERE (work) and so this is what you get.

It's my favorite gum. It's yummy. Chew on this.

Droman Thugshot

If you watch the news on television every day, you will see the same crimes being committed by different people, over and over and over again. Is this because the legal system is not doing its job well enough to discourage people from going ahead with the crime, or is it because people are basically just shitheads?

If someone makes a critical remark, but that remark is completely justified, does that mean the person making the remark is a critical person, or just that they are right?



When I see a TV or movie personality in an interview, and they come across all smarmily perfect, friendly, and wonderful, I wonder what skeletons are in their closets - what secrets are they hiding? Do they drink milk straight from the container? Do they wash their hands after using the restroom? You know, important stuff like that.




When someone tries to sell me on a conspiracy theory, my gut reaction is to deny it and change the subject. Not because I don't think that there are cover-ups happening every day - I'm quite sure there are. It's because I dread becoming one of those people who go around spouting unprovable bullshit in order to stir up people's emotions. They remind me of "Heraldic" Rivera, and he's the biggest asshole that ever got air time. It's also because I know that "proof" can be created with smoke and mirrors, and photoshop.



Sometimes I really get into the idea of a plan - a plan to go somewhere, or do something - and then when the moment comes to actually get ready and go, I realize I would really rather curl up on the couch with a good book, a movie, or my crochet hook. If I don't go, then I feel like I've cut class and am getting away with something, even though it was my own plan to go. How stupid is that? Reminds me of the phone commercial where the CEO tells the assistant that he likes his phone plan because he thinks of it as his way of "sticking it to The Man", and the assistant says, "but you ARE The Man", and the CEO says, "I know", and the assistant says, "then you're sticking it to yourself", and the CEO says, "Maybe". Okay, that was one major run-on sentence.




Have decided to take the bullshit by the horns and actually open and read the Weight Watchers kit that my mom gave me. It's supposedly this amazingly easy way to lose weight by eating according to the "points" that WW has assigned to every imaginable kind of food. You can eat whatever you want during the day, but you must keep the point level under the limit - which is set by another chart they developed based on your height, weight, and activity level. I guess I figure I've pretty much failed every time I've tried to lose weight on my own, so it would be pretty stupid to not even try to do this, since the kit is sitting right here staring me down. Of course, I have a pepperoni, cheese 'n cracker, chips 'n dip, popcorn, and pretzel fest scheduled for this afternoon, so I won't be starting this WW thing until Monday. Isn't procrastination just the best of all vices? I know, you'll tell me tomorrow.




Saw one of the best news stories ever this morning - some asshat in California tried to hold up a convenience store with a blow torch. He plopped a canvas shopping bag on the counter top and said, "Fill it." The clerk calmly took out the baseball bat he had under the counter and said, "Fill it yourself, motherfucker!" and proceeded to give the guy a thorough ass-whipping from the store all the way into the parking lot with the bat. As if that isn't great enough, when the clerk was interviewed by the news team, he said, "Man, I'm Samoan. You should know better than to mess with a Samoan." Damn, ain't that the truth! Woo hoo - I love it when the bad guy crashes and burns and the good guy kicks ass! Especially if he's Samoan.



Went to see one of my all-time favorite live performers last night. Cathy Kreger. She's got a voice like molasses pouring out of a handcarved wooden ladle - smooth, heavy, and sweet. She sings cover tunes from folks like the Doobie Brothers all the way to Melissa Etheridge, but my favorites are the ones she wrote herself. Check out her website - she's got CDs and downloadable songs, etc. When I first heard her play, she was a solo act - just her accoustic guitar and her voice. Now she's got a drummer (her girlfriend Jamie), and that's expanded what she can do onstage - she's ramped up her repertoire a bit, to include some stuff with a kickin' beat. Honestly, though, she doesn't need any instruments at all. If she just stood on an empty stage and sang, you'd be thunderstruck. We hadn't gone to hear her in a long while, since her gigs are usually way west of here - but last night she was singing in my old stomping grounds on the north shore. As it turns out, the owner of the restaurant is the brother of one of my old classmates, the chef was a guy I used to work with in an Italian restaurant and had such a blast with, and a couple of the patrons were people I recognized from school or someplace in town. It was a great evening out - Bear and I really needed that!




I'm really excited about a new opportunity that is on the horizon... I went for a job interview on Friday, with a big successful company, for a position of some power, at a higher salary than my current one.... and before I got back to my house from the interview, the interviewer had paged me to call me back for the second interview with the VP of the company. Thank goodness I bought two new business suits instead of just one yesterday morning in my pre-interview "holy shit I have nothing to wear" shopping harouche. I'm also grateful that my credit card had just enough airspace at the top to purchase them without maxing it out. But it's close.

No worries - I just bought the winning Lotto ticket. By tomorrow, all my financial worries will be over.

And now someChuck completely different...

You know sometimes you feel kinda depressed but you don't know why? That's because Chuck Norris is asleep.

Things that greatly increased my enjoyment of Valentine's Day

1. Finding the above pictured items awaiting me when I walked in the door from work, even though we had "agreed" not to "waste" money on such frivolities. HE SHOOTS, HE SCORES!

2. Enjoying a romantic dinner at our favorite tiny Thai restaurant. The bill plus tip came to EXACTLY the amount we're getting paid from the marital study at the university. HAH!

3. A wonderful back/neck massage from my big, strong Bear.

4. Bear got "In Her Shoes" on DVD from the library, and watched it with me. He even got weepy during the right scenes! Now THAT'S a real man.

5. Ate almost half the box of chocolates during the movie. I'm so sugardrunk I may never go to sleep tonight. The crash is gonna be nasty!

Happy Valentine's Day to all my fellow bloggers!

Things that did not increase my enjoyment of Valentine's Day

Someone or something peed on the carpet directly under my desk at work. I have been subjected to wafting pee smell all day. I got a couple scoops of coffee grounds and sprinkled them around. Sure, it made a mess, but wtf? What's with peeing on the carpet? Do I get paid enough to put up with that? I think not. It's not like the carpet has been replaced since 1959, in any case. Disgusting. It's bad enough that I had to check the bottoms of my shoes and the seat cushion of my chair (doesn't that create a lovely mental image?) to ascertain exactly where the smell was coming from. I guess I should be grateful that it was coming from the rug, because if I had smelled pee on the seat cushion of my chair after I'd been sitting in it most of the day, I think I would have been seriously sick.

Had another joyful bout of calls back and forth with my realtor today, during which they tried to foist another completely unsatisfactory bunch of people on me and my newly renovated apartment. NOT.

Had to listen to putrefying '70s music coming from co-worker's computer. I'm talking the "la la la la la(X3) Loving Youuuuuuu is easy cuz you're beautiful" song, and Barbra Fucking Streisand, not to mention Barry Manilow.... I wanted to walk out and never come back. The combination of '70s music and pee smell was almost too much to bear.

Got a call from The Employee Who Never Shuts Up. This girl calls the office every so often, asks to speak to me, voices her concerns, and then refuses to stop talking so that I can explain why she's not going to get paid for the time she's not on the clock. She gets into this hyper-circular-talking thing. She never inhales. She continues to repeat her one point over and over again. If she shows signs of slowing down and I do actually get one word out, she takes a quick breath and plunges back in again - but at a higher volume and rate of speed. I would dearly love to reach through the phone and shove 2 chocolate covered bananas up her nostrils simultaneously.

All of the above have aggravated my sore neck/shoulder to the point that I may start twitching momentarily. I desperately need a Bear/bare massage.

When it hits you just right

Followed a blog to another blog, and found this post. Damn. That was good. Fucking brilliant, if I do say so - and I do, and I did.

Intellijumpt Girl!!! (Or: How to Scare Your Spouse Senseless)

Some stories require a short background. This is one of them.

There are a few important (to this story) lines in the movie "A Christmas Carol". They come toward the end of the movie, when old Scrooge has already been through all the ghostly visitations. As Scrooge is leaning out of his window, he spies a little boy running through the streets. His purpose is to ask the boy to run and buy the big turkey in the butcher's window, in order to give it to Tom Cratchet and all the assorted Cratchets.

While he's in the midst of doing the asking, he mutters things like, "wonderful boy, delightful boy, pleasure to talk to, intelligent boy" under his breath.

Okay - that's the background. Well, almost. Bear and I have a little game between us where he will start saying things like, "wonderful girl..... pleasure to talk to.... delightful girl...." but he refuses to say "intelligent". He keeps teasing until I say "intelligent". Usually I mispronounce it so that it sounds like "intellijumpt". Don't ask - that's a whole 'nother background story, and I'm not even sure if I remember what it is.

Last night, as we curled up in bed to drift off to sleepy land, he put his arm over me and said, "wonderful girl..... delightful girl.... excellent girl....."........ and then he didn't say anything else. I was waiting for another tease, but it didn't come.

I took a huge, slow breath, and then yelled, "INTELLIJUMPT GIRL!!!!" at the very top of my lungs.

His arm, which had been across my waist, completely vaporized. It just disappeared. He levitated up off the mattress - his entire body all at once - and yelled, "What the hell!?!??!"

He had fallen asleep while in the midst of the teasing game. I hadn't realized it, and had basically just scared the bejeebers out of him, ripping him from sleep in the rudest and most obnoxious way possible. (Maybe - there might be ruder ways....)

I laughed until I had tears streaming down my face, and I curled up around my stomach, which was still sore from laughing when I woke up this morning.

Poor Bear! Guess he was right to leave off the "intellijumpt" part... hee hee!

Rats! (Or, bring cheese to go with this whine)

Haven't been to the gym in over a week. Am amazed to discover that the dizzying momentum of weight loss created by two weeks of frenzied gym attendance does not, in fact, carry you through two subsequent weeks of sitting around on the Couch - of - the - Busted - Springs and eating chips and oh - so - healthy - made - from - fresh - veggies salsa and some green onion dip made with sour cream! Who knew?

The neck and left shoulder are "out". Out to lunch? Out of the closet? Out for the count? Out enough to preclude me from making a second attempt to raise the kitchen window (ouch) without help from my big, strong husband. Aspirin does not touch this pain. Alcohol touches it somewhat, but makes me stupid enough to attempt things like opening the kitchen window (ouch). Muscle relaxants sure as hell touch it - no, actually they body slam it (and me) right into bed for twelve hours.... but when I wake up again.... (ouch)! I know. I know. Go to the chiropractor, who will then bawl me out about not going to see him REGULARLY so that THINGS LIKE THIS WOULDN'T HAPPEN (ouch).

In other news: Bear and I have started our official participation in a marital survey being hosted by a local university. It's pretty cool! We have two in-person interviews with the head of the program, and sandwiched between those interviews are a week of completing questionnaires on take-home PDAs that they loan us.

So far, the strangest (yet not unexpected) thing about the study is our almost complete lack of compatibility with the line of questioning. There have been questions like, "If you planned to have an evening in with your partner, but he says he's going out with his friends, how would you feel?" and "Your partner asks you to go to a company dinner with him. You've been to a few before, and you were bored. How would you feel?"

First of all, Mickey Mouse could count the number of friends we have on one hand.

Secondly, I cannot imagine going to any party of any kind and being bored. Really, I mean it. Throw me into a swarm of life insurance salesmen, and I will find a way to make it fun. I find people fascinating, and if I can get people to talk about what it is that they do, why they do it, or why they'd like to run screaming and never do it again, then I'm not bored. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I can safely say that anyone who has ever met me at a party would never describe me as bored (or boring, for that matter). I'd be the one getting everyone to belly dance, including the elderly company president.

So answering some of these questions takes a lot of imagination on my part - and I told the interviewer so. We're just not your typical couple, in any sense of the word.

Bear does not have a bevy of beer-guzzling "boys" that he prefers to hang with instead of me. I do not have a horde of lactating female friends who are begging me to shop with them at the Baby Super Store instead of spending time with him.

We do not consider separate vacations a victory - they are a defeat of the whole point of vacations, which is to get to spend uninterrupted time together.

We do not hide our feelings from each other in order to spend hours spilling our innermost thoughts to other people. We go to each other for the moral and spiritual support that we need.

We do not have a "tit for tat" financial setup. There is no "HE got to buy the band saw, so I get to buy eighteen new pairs of shoes" action here. We just don't have that dynamic. First of all, we're not wired that way, and secondly we'd have to actually have MONEY to act like that. Heh.

But back to the survey - it's for a good cause, and we get a free relationship review at the end, so we're pretty excited about being part of it. Oh, yeah - and they give us $50 to have dinner with. Isn't that sweet?

Oh, man - Bear just sent me a cell phone picture of a bottle of Dr. Pepper sitting next to what I think is an eggroll.... and I'm sitting here with my stomach rumbling, having just finished off 2/3 of the healthy snack foods that were supposed to last me all day. It's not even much past noon yet. I'm craving some sort of REAL FOOD that preferably involves high heat and grease of some kind. I sense impending dietary doom. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!

Evil banana, smarmy apple, damned granola bar - you are the scourge of my culinary being! You drain the very life blood from my appetite, but not the teeth. Oh, vain and wondrous cheeseburger - oh, glorious roast pork egg foo young - come and rain down your supercaloric wonder on me! Bathe my tastebuds in your steamy, cheesy, gravy covered goodness!

The individual sized sugar free apple sauce sits in the mini fridge and waits for me, snickering cruelly. The last straw that will drive me over the edge........

The fragility of mental peace

So it snowed a shitload today, on through the evening. Bear went out to shovel this afternoon, and within an hour or two, the snow had more than filled the areas he shoveled. It looked as though he'd never even gone out there. We pretty much decided that tomorrow is a snow day. There's a couple of feet of snow out there, and we only have one shovel and only one of us is well enough to shovel, and well, there you have it.

I was all snuggled in, watching Harry Potter movies and eating popcorn, and Bear saw the answering machine light blinking. I couldn't believe that someone had called and we hadn't heard it, because we've been in all day long. But there it was - so he checked it. It was my dad. He'd called at around 11:40 this morning to let us know his power had gone out.

So it was around 7:30 this evening when I got the message, and decided to give him a call. Big mistake. Dad starts grilling me about whether I'll be at work tomorrow. I say I'm not sure. Then he starts a barrage of "you've got a 4 wheel drive vehicle" and "if I was driving, I'd be able to get out of the driveway, I don't care how much snow there was" and "just turn on Channel 12 - they'll tell you right now how the road conditions are".

My blood pressure shot up instantly.

First of all, it's not a question of whether I think I'm able to drive through the snow into Nassau County. I'm sure I can. What I'm afraid of is the assholes on the road who think "hey, I've got 4-wheel drive - let's go FASTER!!", and jacknifing semi trucks, and etc.

Secondly, if I wrap my SUV around a light pole, I don't have the money to buy another one. This one is so old and used up that the insurance money wouldn't buy me a new moped. And there's no guarantee that my head wouldn't also be wrapped around the light pole. I'm not a psychic - apparently I didn't inherit that trait from my father, who knows absolutely that I will be fine driving to work in the 29 inch drifts of snow.

Thirdly, my job has absolutely no urgency on Mondays... if I never went to work another Monday in my life, I would still get my job done by Thursday afternoon, no questions asked. When I called my dad, my boss answered the phone. She said, "But I have you opening the office tomorrow." I said that was a pretty bad idea, considering there's a blizzard and I'm the person who lives the farthest from the office. She said she'd have to call someone else and have them open (someone who lives a couple of bus stops from the office). What a great idea - now that's using your noodle, boss.

Fourth and not least, how does my dad think he'd feel if he pressured me to drive when I didn't think it was safe, and I really did get into a horrific accident and lost a limb or worse?

Gone was the comfort of my evening - gone the snuggly assurance that all I needed to think about was keeping the popcorn bowl filled and ice cubes in the glass. That conversation just irked the living shit out of me, and now I feel all itchy and jumpy and annoyed.

And - I don't even GET fucking Channel 12 because I'm not a cable subscriber - and the fuckers at Channel 12 (I hate them anyway, for other reasons) won't let you access their gadam website unless you are a cable subscriber! Imagine the size of those brass balls - they want to charge me monthly to access their website. Bite me, fuckwads. (There's a lot of fuck in this post - and not the good kind.)

The only things that made me feel just a little better were these:

1. Bear is on my side in this, and my mom phoned and completely took my side as well.

2. I sent an email to my father that went something like this:

This guy has 4-wheel drive, too

Give us this day our daily Loaf

And what better image for a blog called "Mental Meatloaf"? I ask you. Thing is, today is just one of those muddled, mixed up days where a million things are going through my mind as I watch the snow blowing past the windows horizontally.

First off, there is a muscle just underneath my left shoulder blade that decided to revolt yesterday. It knotted up painfully, and then caused the connecting tissues between it and my head to light on fire, making me feel like my neck was in danger of being singed to a blackened rope.

Didn't really want that to happen, so I took a couple of muscle relaxants, and avoided the glass of red wine that I was so looking forward to in the evening. I suppose that deep down I'm afraid that those little warning labels on the side of medicine bottles are some cosmic test.... kind of like the forbidden tree in the garden of Eden. Don't eat the fruit of this one tree.... don't drink alcohol if you take this medication. You're going along, in a daze because of the pain you're in, you reach for that one glass of wine, and *POW* your head blows up to three times its normal size, or your ears fall off, and when you get to the emergency room, they shake their heads and say, "Didn't you read the warning label on the side of the bottle? Tsch."

As it turns out, I didn't really miss the glass of wine because I passed out cold on the couch. While we had a friend of ours over to visit. I tried a few times to make conversational sense, but realized it wasn't working, so I excused myself and went to bed. No vitamin taking, no tooth brushing (gasp!), no face washing, just a quick weasel and straight into the la-la-land of dreams.

Woke to a white world outside the windows of our cottage this morning. I was itching to get outside and brush the snow off the vehicles, but Bear takes good care of his girl and wouldn't hear of it. My back is still rather fucked up, and he knows my tendency to try to ignore my physical weaknesses and soldier on, to the detriment of my condition, usually. We made a deal - he would go shovel snow, and I'd clean up the kitchen and have a hot cup of coffee waiting for him upon his triumphant return. Two birds with one time span - excellent!

And so. One of the presents I got Bear for Yule was a set of "Nightmare Before Christmas" bedsheets. Only I'm so completely brainbollocksed that I can't ever remember what size our bed is... full? Or queen? Full? Queen? Dunno. Of course, there is no tag on the mattress that tells you what freakin size it is, and I couldn't find a tag on any of our sheet sets, either. So I ordered "full." Of course, we have a queen. So - the fitted sheet doesn't fit the bed. How annoying is that? I'm trying to think up a way to cut the corners and re-sew the thing so it fits on the bed (it very nearly fits, it's just an inch or two shy). Barring that, I'll probably just buy a black fitted sheet to go with the set, and make two more pillow cases out of the non-fitting fitted sheet. It has a really cool pattern of white Jack Skellington heads (with several different facial expressions) on a black background - too cool to throw out, for sure.

The other night I caught the last half of an interview with Garth Brooks about a new album of "lost tracks" that he's putting out. It was a good interview, in that Garth sat with his guitar on his lap, and every once in a while instead of trying to describe a song, he'd just start playing and sing some of it. At one point he was talking about this old song by Ed McCurdy, called "Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream". It's a simple, sweet melody, perfect for a single guitar and a single voice.

These are the lyrics:

Last night I had the strangest dream
I'd ever dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war

I dreamed I saw a mighty room
Filled with women and men
And the paper they were signing said
They'd never fight again

And when the paper was all signed
And a million copies made
They all joined hands and bowed their heads
And grateful pray'rs were prayed

And the people in the streets below
Were dancing 'round and 'round
While swords and guns and uniforms
Were scattered on the ground

Last night I had the strangest dream
I'd never dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war.

As he sang the song, Garth started to smile and look toward the ceiling. When I lived in Nashville, I played in a lot of bars at a lot of songwriter nights, and I knew that smile immediately. There's a smile that you smile when you're singing, and you realize the song you're singing is about to make you cry. You smile because you know you can't just stop singing, and you smile because you are going to cry anyway, and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop it.

He kept singing, and he kept smiling, and after he sang the last word, he leaned back in his chair and put his hand over his eyes. The camera stayed on him for one long quiet moment, then cut away to a commercial. I could barely see the television screen through the tears in my eyes. Just writing about it is making me cry right now. There is no question in my mind - Garth Brooks is the king of country. He affects me so powerfully that I have never bought his albums. I listen to him on the radio occasionally, but only when I can afford to ruin my makeup. Damn, that man can sing a song like no one else I've ever heard.

The last thing that my family did together before my parents' divorce was to attend a concert at Westbury Music Fair. It was a Kenny Rogers holiday concert, with some guy named Garth Brooks opening the show. I remember walking through the lobby with my sister and my parents saying, "Garth?!? What the heck kind of name is Garth? What a weird name! Garth????" But once he came out on stage and climbed up on that tall stool in the middle of the white spotlight, his name and everything else just melted away. When he sang "If Tomorrow Never Comes", we all cried, Dad included. We all knew tomorrow was coming, and that my parents were never going to say those words to each other again.


***

If Tomorrow Never Comes

Sometimes late at night
I lie awake and watch her sleeping
She's lost in peaceful dreams, so I turn out the lights and lay there in the dark
And the thought crosses my mind -
If I never wake up in the morning
Would she ever doubt the way I feel about her in my heart?

If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her?
Did I try in every way to show her every day
That she's my only one?
And if my time on earth were through
And she must face this world without me
Is the love I gave her in the past
Gonna be enough to last
If tomorrow never comes?

'Cause I've lost loved ones in my life
Who never knew how much I loved them
Now I live with the regret
That my true feelings for them never were revealed
So I made a promise to myself
To say each day how much she means to me
And avoid that circumstance
Where there's no second chance to tell her how I feel

If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her?
Did I try in every way to show her every day
That she's my only one?
And if my time on earth were through
And she must face this world without me
Is the love I gave her in the past
Gonna be enough to last
If tomorrow never comes?

So tell that someone that you love
Just what you're thinking of
If tomorrow never comes

All because of the asparagus

She stood at the kitchen counter, preparing dinner. The knife slid deftly through the blue elastic band holding the asparagus spears together. She took each fresh spear into her hands, enjoying the feel of the firm, smooth flesh beneath her fingers as she bent it cautiously, allowing it to break at the perfect point - separating the soft, ripe flesh from the ropy, sinewy part at the bottom.

As she chose another spear, it occurred to her that there was another firm, smooth flesh that felt wonderful in her hands... though it was definitely not for breaking off. It was for sliding between her thighs - an area which suddenly made her aware of its readiness by becoming very warm and very wet.

Her head tilted slightly to the side... and she hummed to herself as she rinsed her hands beneath cold water at the kitchen sink. She set aside the cutting board, and walked through the living room to the stairs. From here she could hear him, tapping away diligently at his computer keyboard.

She climbed the stairs and entered the room where he sat. He was leaning forward, headphones on, completely engulfed in the world of ether and imagination that is the internet. He caught sight of her movement through the room out of the corner of his eye, and leaned back in his chair to smile at her.

She smiled back, and moved closer, placing her foot between his feet, bringing his head into her chest. He wrapped his arms around her and nestled against her, enjoying the closeness.

His head was turned to the side - else he would have smothered in her bosom. She slid her hand up her body, smoothing her shirt upward and exposing the breast he was facing away from. Then she leaned back slightly, inviting him to turn back toward her. He saw the soft invitation in her eyes, and leaned to kiss her breast. Her nipple hardened under the warmth of his tongue, and she drew in her breath sharply. Her hands reached behind his head, drawing him to her. As he made dizzying circles with his tongue on her flesh, she slid her shirt up over the other breast, turning slightly to tease him to this as yet unexplored region.

Her eyes closed of their own volition. She could see fireworks behind her eyelids, and her hips curled toward his chest in yearning. His hand slid slowly up the inside seam of her jeans, unerringly finding the source of her heat.

Suddenly she turned, moving away from him. He stood and followed - an unspoken plan had formed between them. She shed her clothes as she walked, and reached the darkened bedroom first. She crawled on hands and knees, past all niceties, past all foreplay, and remained on all fours as he followed, throwing sweatshirt and pants to the floor in quick succession.

He moved behind her, and into her, in one fluid thrust. She cried out and braced herself against the wall, welcoming the onslaught of his lust like a desert dweller welcoming the rain. He had no defense against her - could not resist her demand, could not slow the passion that she poured on him like gasoline on a bonfire - and he made no attempt to slow the mounting desire as he charged like a freight train through her slick, wet tunnel. He came fast and hard, and she screamed her approval into the pillow beneath her face.

Turning her on her side, he curled himself behind her and began to work magic on her with his hand. Her fingers joined his, as she pleasured herself from without while he pleasured her from within. He knew the intricacies of her. He was a pirate, a treasure seeker, who knew exactly where the jewels were hidden. He coaxed, teased, and drew her steadily toward the edge of the abyss with sure strokes.

There was no need for her to cry out as she came - no need to tell him when the wave struck her, taking her composure, her self control. He was inside the power source - he could feel her contract on his fingers, as the pleasure pulsated through her.

But cry out she did, beyond caring whether the neighbors could hear, beyond everything except the feeling of her body rejoicing in his touch.

And so it was - and all because of the asparagus.


This post was made possible by Jake's Fault Shiraz. One of the tastiest wines (and the coolest websites) I've ever sampled.

One of those black leather days

Today was bill paying day. This day comes every month, just like bleeding out the crotch, with the exact same tendency to put me in a rarified mood.

I was tearing through the pile of bills, opening them up and tallying the amount, to compare it to the (nearly inadequate) money available, and came across an energy bill for seventeen fucking hundred dollars. Seems the good old boys down at the energy company can't be bothered to come and check the meter any more. So they just stopped. And now, suddenly, they started up again... and (just like the water company) sent me a vaginormous bill.

I know, I know. I should read the meter myself. It just irks the living shit out of me that I'm PAYING THEM TO DO THIS SERVICE and the only way I can get the bills right is to do it myself? Wouldn't it be nice if I could just decide I don't want to perform my regular duties at work, and just sit back and get paid anyway? Damn, I should be working for LIPA or Keyspan. Or the Suffolk County Water Authority. Fuckers.

So, this was how my morning began. I drank a cup of coffee, and put on my black biker boots, jeans, a black tee shirt, and my black leather jacket. I slicked my hair back in a ponytail, and put my sunglasses on. Then I got in my truck, lit up a clove cigarette (whoooooa, what a bad ass) and hit the road. I hit the radio seek button, looking for the loudest, most aggressive rock 'n roll I could find. When I found it, I cranked it up but good.

I went to the laundromat and dropped off a bag of laundry so large that it would have crushed a human in a better mood than I was. I smiled, and was very polite to the laundry lady, as usual. Then I went to the grocery store. Then I went to 7-11 to buy a Lotto ticket for me, and a few tickets for my mother-in-law, who called Bear specially to request it. (See what a bad-ass I am, smoking AND gambling! Arrrrgh, come any closer and I'll rip yer head off and scream down yer neck hole....) After each of these banal and mind-numbing activities, I flung myself back in my truck and cranked up the tunes once more.

I know that in actuality I was just performing the typical middle class suburban housewifely chores. Yeah, I know that.

BUT

In my mind, I was smoking real cigarettes and swigging from a pint of Jack Daniels, hauling ass down a dirt road somewhere in Wyoming, in an old, beat up Ford pickup truck, with a huge Doberman sitting in the passenger seat, wearing a spiked collar and hanging his head out the window, watching the wind ripple the prairie grass. I was skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust in the front yard of a farmhouse. I was stalking to the barn, flinging open the door, and throwing a leg over my HD Night Train, and thundering off into the distance.

It was just that kind of day.

Sim bull izzum

This is one of my favorite symbols. Not only because the band that uses it kicks ass, but also because it represents my world view. This is a layered combination of major religious symbols. It even includes pagans - just for a change. To me, it represents my belief that there are many paths in life, but they all lead to the same place. One religion is not more "right" than any other. We're all on this spinning mudball together - whatever faith stirs us to live the best life we can is the one we should choose. And that is the way it is supposed to be.

Look at nature and how things are. There is not only one kind of flower that blooms. There is not one season of the year. There is not one nationality of people. Everything, everywhere, is varied.

So it is with the life paths of people. Is a hyacinth the only "right" flower? Are daffodils doomed to hell? Is the poodle more in god's favor than the iguana? Sounds ridiculous! I believe it's the same with people. No one "type", be it race, color, or creed, is better than, or above, the others. There are shitbags within every faith. There are also gems of humanity within every faith. Each individual person sets his own value by the way he lives his life - by the choices he makes. Our religion or spiritual path does not represent us - we represent our religion by the way we act.

If Joe eats food and it makes him break out in a rash, then that's not the food his body needs to be ingesting. If Joe follows a religious path and is not living a better life - if it does not help Joe to be a better person, then he is not following the right path for him.

Many people live a lifestyle they know is harmful to their health. Similarly, many people stay stuck in a religious rut because they're either too comfortable with the ritual and/or they're too afraid to strike out on a new path - afraid of what their friends and family will say, etc.

I don't judge a person based on the religion they claim. I judge them based on who they are inside. If someone is an asshole, it doesn't matter to me what religion they affiliate themselves with. The same goes for genuinely great folks.

Religion is a very personal thing. I treasure my spiritual path, and I keep it close to me. I would never dream of trying to force it on someone else, and I demand that same respect from those I come in contact with.

I celebrate the diversities in life - I love it that we all have different faces, different colors of hair and skin, and different cultures. If there were no ethnic foods, or exotic foreign lands, or diverse languages, this world would be such a boring place! I celebrate each and every faith, as well. I give thanks that there is a path for each of us - as different and as natural as the flowers in a field.

Scrumpdillyumptious

ROTFLMFAO!!!!!!!

(Help for the clueless: that was "Rolling On The Floor Laughing My Fucking Ass Off")



CHUCK KNOWS!

Oh, ye gods and little fishes.... I just found Chuck Norris' actual website! And not only does he KNOW about the "random facts about Chuck Norris", he actually approves of them! Finds them amusing! *SNORT!!*


Here is the blurb that appears on ole Chuck's site:

***
IN RESPONSE TO THE "RANDOM FACTS" THAT ARE BEING GENERATED ON THE INTERNET I'm aware of the made up declarations about me that have recently begun to appear on the Internet and in emails as "Chuck Norris facts." I've seen some of them. Some are funny. Some are pretty far out. Being more a student of the Wild West than the wild world of the Internet, I'm not quite sure what to make of it. It's quite surprising. I do know that boys will be boys, and I neither take offense nor take these things too seriously. Who knows, maybe these made up one-liners will prompt young people to seek out the real facts as found in my recent autobiographical book, "Against All Odds?" They may even be interested enough to check out my novels set in the Old West, "The Justice Riders," released this month. I'm very proud of these literary efforts.

~ Chuck Norris

***

Even funnier than that is the menu bar that runs down the left side of Chuck's page... it has a section labeled "Christian Area". I guess he thinks it's a good idea to keep them corralled.

Oh, man, I just want to fall on the floor next to my desk and howl! I also want Chuck to write more about his knowledge about "boys being boys"... I just know that would be so enlightening. I wonder how ole Chuck knows it was a boy who wrote these random facts. Does he think that girls only write about kitties and puppies? Maybe the girls are only found in the "Christian Area" in Chuck's World.

I can do nothing, however, other than to include yet another little-known random fact about Chuck Norris. ...Okay, ten!

1. Guns don't kill people. Chuck Norris kills people.
2. There is no evolution. Just a list of animals Chuck Norris allows to live.
3. Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
4. The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
5. There is no chin under Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.
6. Chuck Norris has two speeds. Walk, and Kill.
7. The leading cause of death in the United States is Chuck Norris
8. Chuck Norris drives an ice cream truck covered in human skulls.
9. When God rested on the seventh day, Chuck Norris took over.
10. The quickest way to a man's heart is with Chuck Norris' fist.

CHUCK "BOYS WILL BE BOYS" NORRIS

Strange and useless facts: #817A

I like the way my fingers smell after I eat a fast food hamburger.

Fun with Chuck: Revisited

Chuck Norris created six extra letters of the alphabet that no one but Chuck Norris know about.

Fun with food

This is a picture of my applesauce. I was too lazy to get up and get a spoon to eat it with, so I just stuck my tongue over the edge of the cup, licking the applesauce out and turning the cup as I went, to get to the part that was still high enough to reach with my tongue. It made a pretty pattern, and I'm so fucking bored that I thought it would be a good idea to memorialize it here.

Blessed day - I'm alone in the office!

Just toodling around here, both my officemates are elsewhere this fine, cold day. This means I get to listen to the music I like, and basically do what I wanna do. Yessssssssssssssssssssssss! Did a shitload of real work yesterday, and today is kind of like a recess day before tomorrow, which is the "biggie" workday of my week.

But enough about work!

I was driving home yesterday evening, and stopped off at the 7-11 to buy a Lotto ticket. I have one of those large, zippered daytimer wallets which takes a lot of maneuvering to get out of my purse, so when the cashier handed me the ticket, I just kept it in my hand. As I was driving home, still holding it, I started thinking.

A tiny slip of paper with some ink on it. Probably cost less than one cent for the material. A tiny, crinkly piece of paper. It cost me one dollar. You can't get most things for just one dollar. Even the $.99 items on fast food menus cost more than a dollar, once you add the tax.

But this little slip of paper represented the stored-up possibility of wealth untold. With this paper in my hand, I had license to dream about things that might never happen, but could happen.... IF.

In my mind, I know the chances of winning are small - miniscule, even. But the chance is there, all the same.

My family and friends would never want for anything. They would never be in need, and I could give them amazing and wondrous gifts. My husband could go to college for a hundred doctorates, if he wanted to. I could give money to charity - money that would really get something done. Build houses. Feed people. I could buy an estate in Scotland - maybe even my own whiskey distillery - and spend half the year in the US, half in Scotland, for the rest of my life. I could see New Zealand. Alaska. Germany. I could attend the Cannes film festival. Maybe even meet Angelina Jolie.

All of that, and so much more - whirling around in my brain as I drove home holding that one little crumpled piece of paper. Amazing, really. Just one dollar. It's worth the price, if only to have one day where all my wildest dreams really could come true.

I don't think I'd enjoy it so much, though, if I didn't know (when I check my numbers against the winning numbers and come up empty handed yet again) that I really do have the most important dream come true. I live a wonderful life with the man I love. Our little cottage may not be a castle in the Scottish highlands, but it's home, and I am so lucky and so happy to be living there. If I had a crappy life, then I don't think I'd enjoy buying Lotto tickets so much. Losing would really be like losing.

As it is, it's worth a dollar for the dream.

Is a partial meme as annoying as a whole one?

Let's find out.

I was reading a meme on someone else's blog, and realizing that I really could care less about most of it. But then I hit one part of it that was actually interesting... four famous people that the author had met. Since I am only focusing on this one part of the meme, I am not limiting myself to four.

Actually, I'm experiencing a guilt-free catharsis here... because I love to talk about meeting famous people. However, I also realize that most people couldn't care less who I've met. They're really happy to tell me all about their weeklong cruise to the Bahamas (YAWWWWWWWN) and how drunk/sunburned/broke they became, but they don't want to hear about my brushes with stardom.

When in social situations, I try to keep myself from mentioning it unless someone else brings it up first and shows some sort of interest in the people I've met, because I have a dread of being that girl - you know, the one who talks endlessly as other people at the party dive for the drinks table or stand, trapped, as their eyes glaze over. I don't want to be that girl. But here, on my very own blog, I can yammer on to my heart's content about the famous people I've met! And no one is trapped. Freedom is just a mouse-click away. So.



1) Lisa Howard. (Who the hell is that, you ask?) She played "April Ramirez" on Days of Our Lives, way back when. She also starred as Capt. Lili Marquette on "Gene Rodenberry's Earth: The Final Conflict", and for a short while starred with Adrian Paul in the TV series "Highlander".

I was in an airport, and there was this dark-haired chick washing her face and brushing her teeth at a sink next to me. I saw her face in the mirror, and said, "Hey, you were April Ramirez, weren't you?" She looked surprised and pleased - she hadn't played April for years - and said, "Yeah!" I said, "You were great - I really liked that character." She thanked me, and then told me that she had an audition in L.A. that day, but her alarm didn't go off, and she was woken up by her limo driver banging on the door - which was why she was doing her morning prep in an airport bathroom. We laughed. It was pretty cool.


2) Peter Reckell. Plays "Bo Brady" on Days of Our Lives. Has always played Bo, forever. Never looks a day older. Amazing. That's what a Bo-Flex (ha) and hair dye can do for ya.

I was in NYC with my family for our yearly holiday visit to see the Times Square Christmas tree. It was cold, people were bustling about in long coats and scarves, and my dad pointed to a guy across the square and said, "Hey, isn't that Bo Brady?" That's all I had to hear - I was off like a shot. Peter Reckell it was - and, ignoring the tall girlfriend who had her arm protectively through his, I ran up to him and said, "Hey! I love Days of Our Lives, and I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas!" He smiled, shook my hand, and said thanks. Then his snobby girlfriend dragged him away. I was thrilled. What a nice guy.


3) Scott Hamilton. Olympic gold medalist figure skater and prostate cancer survivor. A really great guy - does lots of volunteer work and fundraising for kids / cancer.

Back when I was a flight attendant - it was one of the first times I got to work one of the really big birds. The kind where you board the plane in the middle. First class folks hang a left, coach hangs a right. I was standing right by the door, so I could see everyone who boarded. Mr. Hamilton walked right by me, but I didn't see him since he's very short, and was carrying a duffel bag almost larger than he is. But I heard his voice, and recognized it right away. He hung a left into first class, and I just turned and followed him, wanting to say hello. As it turned out, he needed help getting his bag into the overhead bin, which I was happy to help with. Then I stuck my hand out and smiled, saying, "Nice to meet you!" He smiled back, and shook my hand. I never ask for autographs when I meet someone famous. I just like to make eye contact, shake hands if possible, and greet them. I think they appreciate that, too. It takes less time, and is more "normal" than the whole harouche of pens, paper, leaning on backs, etc.



4) Patrick Ewing. NY Knicks basketball star. Possibly the largest human being I've ever stood next to.

I was in the Charlotte airport with my sister. I saw something strange out of the corner of my eye, and turned to see a man ducking to exit a store. The doorway had to be seven feet tall... and dude was ducking to get out. Holy shit. It was Patrick Ewing! In a very long, very tan suit. I got up and said, "Let's go say hi!" My sister totally chickened out, but I went over anyway. I said hello, and that I was a big Knicks fan (at the time, I was) and he smiled, and looked way down at me (my chin just cleared his belt buckle) and reached a huge, long fingered hand to shake mine. I am a fairly tall woman (5'7") and I have very long fingers myself (can reach 3 notes over an octave on a piano) but my hand looked like a little tiny elf hand engulfed in his massive grip. My entire hand barely covered his palm. It was one of my more bizarre celeb meetings just because of the size factor.


5) Barry Manilow. I can't smile without you, looks like we made it, etc.

I was working first class. Barry Manilow showed up with five bodyguards, large men in black knit turtlenecks and black dress pants. He sat in the very last row of first class, in the corner, with his bodyguards seated all around him, and promptly fell asleep. He slept the whole flight, never ordered a drink, never ate anything, never spoke. Ho hum. His bodyguards were pretty boring, too.


6) Christy Turlington. Supermodel of Victoria's Secret fame.

Another flight, this time I was working coach. She came on board wearing very nondescript clothing (but she WAS wearing clothing, which is saying something). She was a lot shorter than I thought she was. I only recognized her because of her signature nose and mouth. At the time, I'd just started doing yoga, and Ms. Turlington had just completed a line of yoga clothing. After I handed her her sparkling water, I said, "I love your new line of yoga wear." She smiled and said thanks, and asked where I'd seen it. I told her the name of the magazine, and that I'd just taken up yoga, which is why it caught my eye. She was pleased, and pleasant.


7) Ray Liotta. Actor. Goodfellas, Unlawful Entry, Copland, Field of Dreams, Corrina Corrina...

I was just starting a long day of flying. It was early, in the Charlotte airport. My gate was all the way at the end of terminal C, and when I got there, I was pissed off to find that the gate had been changed at the last second - to the complete other end of the airport! Damn. I turned, and headed back across the airport, making use of all the electronic walkways I could find. At some point, though, I had a long section of floor to cross on my own steam. There was a guy walking towards me, but he was some distance away. He had a large green army-type duffel bag on his back, and he was leaning forward to keep it balanced, looking at the ground in front of him. He wore a baseball cap that covered his face when he was looking down. At some point he looked up, and toward the food court, then back down. I thought to myself, "Hey, he looks like Ray Liotta." A few paces later, he looked up again. I said to myself, "Hey, that IS Ray Liotta!" He was looking down again, so I just adjusted my trajectory slightly so that we were both headed directly toward each other. I looked straight down in front of me as I walked, so that if we "happened to meet" it would be "completely by accident". It worked. About three paces from each other, we both sensed the oncoming traffic, and raised our heads. I looked at him, he looked at me, and I just raised my eyebrows, smiled, and said "Hi". He smiled back, said "Hi" and we both nodded at each other, and went on our way, each moving slightly to our right to pass by. He totally knew I did that on purpose, and I didn't really care. First thing I thought was, "Holy cow - that wasn't eyeliner... his eyes REALLY look like that." Second thing I thought was, "That gate change was SO worth the extra walk." Way cool.


8) Aaron Neville. The guy that should never have tried to sing the National Anthem at the Super Bowl.

Technically, I didn't meet him, but this list is getting towards the end, and I'm bound to stick the less impressive stuff down here, okay? I was in another airport on another day, and was nearly run down by one of those electric carts. It was carrying Aaron and the alien that lives on his forehead - apparently they were about to miss their flight. Maybe the airport personnel were afraid if he got stuck there, he'd start singing.


9) Davy Jones. Lead singer for The Monkees. My childhood crush. I dreamed about meeting him a million times.

Sad thing is, I didn't even see him. I was working a flight, but running a few minutes late. When I boarded the plane, the rest of the crew was already there. They told me that Davy Jones had been in first class, but one of the flight attendants looked at the list and found out he was on the wrong plane. I grabbed the dizzy bitch by the shoulders and said, "You couldn't have waited until I got here to tell him?!?!? Davy Jones was here and you LET HIM GO?!?!?!?!" Man, I could have used a few of those miniature bottles out of first class right about then. So close, and yet...



10) Anne Rice. Author. Wrote "Interview With the Vampire", and a hundred more like it.

I spent six hours in line at a bookstore in TN to meet her. The reason it took six hours was that she actually shook hands with and spoke to every single person who came up to the table. She was very charming, and even brought along minions who passed out cold drinks and reading material to folks waiting in line. She also had a person there whose sole purpose it was to take your camera and photograph you and Anne Rice together. Wish I'd have known that ahead of time- I didn't bring my camera!


11) Don Henley. Musician. The Eagles' drummer/singer. For those of you born in the 1980's, think of that cool classic rock song, "Hotel California". Eh? Never heard of it? Fugedaboutit.

Another book signing - he wrote a book about Walden Pond. I'd bought it, read it, and liked it. Waited only two hours at a bookstore, also in TN, to meet the famous Mr. Henley. It was brief, boring (I don't think he even looked up), and he was obviously wishing he had stayed in bed that day. Whoop.



12) Alison Krauss. Country music star. Amazing singer and fiddler. Bluegrass style.

Living in Nashville, one of the best jobs I had was working at Mosko's. I was the second shift (1pm-midnite) manager, and loved being right in the middle of the "rock block" - where all the live music clubs were. We sold everything from specialty sandwiches and homemade soups to ANY magazine in print, and EVERY cigar/cigarette available in the USA. We had penis pasta, and a mega section of raunchy greeting cards. We had clove cigarettes. We had a candy section that would throw you into a sugar coma just from walking past it. We had EVERYTHING. And, being where we were, a lot of band members would stagger in to buy a pack of cigs or a six pack of beer between sets or before/after the show.

Alison did not stagger, nor did she buy beer or cigs, so that point is completely moot. She came in to buy a sandwich in the late afternoon. I remember the sun shining through the door and windows, and her nice smile.


13) Michael Sweet. Lead singer for the heavy metal rock band, Stryper. Second from left.

He stopped the band mid-song during a concert and screamed for me to throw him the Stryper glasses I was wearing. (I made them using yellow electrical tape over black sunglasses.) He wore the glasses for the rest of the song, and then threw them back to me. I was ecstatic. Some of his hair had gotten stuck in the electrical tape - and now, it was MINE. Mwahahahaaaaaaa.



14) Karen Grassle. Played "Ma" (Caroline Ingalls) on Little House on the Prairie. My favorite show of all time, not counting "Beauty & The Beast".

Didn't actually meet her, either. She got on a plane that I was a passenger on. She looked dead tired, and headed straight for the back of the plane. I would have said hello, except that she seemed so worn out that smiling was not an option - too much of an energy expenditure. So I left her alone. I kept thinking, "Ma is on this plane!" I would have liked to ask her about working with Michael Landon.


15) Sean Connery. If you have to ask, then there's just no hope for you.

Not a technical "meeting", but he was standing no more than fifteen feet from me, wearing a kilt. HEAVEN! It was in NYC, in April, at the 2002 Tartan Day parade. This picture was actually taken that day, just not by me. Bear and I were pressed up against the wooden barricade, and there he was, striding right down the street in front of us, in full Scots regalia! A mighty impressive moment, that.

Just because

Just overheard a co-worker calling someone to correct them, saying, "Today is NOT the 7th, it's the 8th...... oh, wait. Sorry."

I have so been there. I'm just glad it wasn't me today.

I wish there really were "howlers"

For all of you who haven't seen the Harry Potter movies out there, a "howler" is a letter which, upon the seal being broken, proceeds to bitch you out at high volume in the voice of the sender, in front of anyone who might be in your proximity.

Lately I've been going through another Harry Potter craze... I've been watching the movies, and I spent hours on the weekend just collecting images from the movies and burning them to CD for future perusal. I'm drooling waiting for March 7 - when "HP and the Goblet of Fire" is released on DVD (I've already got it pre-ordered at Amazon.com). So it's only natural that I have been considering howlers.

Wouldn't it be great to be able to send someone a live-voice letter that would tell them what you really think? And wouldn't it be great fun to see someone at work get one - maybe from their mother-in-law?

Of course one of the best things about howlers is that the envelope assumes a mouth-like shape as it shrieks its contents, and upon reaching the climactic end, it blows a raspberry at you and self destructs into confetti.

Wouldn't it be just too much fun?

One good thing about February

I knew there had to be SOMETHING. Every February the best and brightest of the bagpipers in the USA get together and compete. Sure, it's in New Jersey - but now there's something good about New Jersey, too, aye?

Every year Bear and I hop in the old SUV and go toodling down to Jersey to hear the pipers play. It's a chance to sit in the pub, lift a glass, and chat with some of the most amazing musicians on the planet. And to hear them play - it's like nothing in the world. It gives me chills and brings a tear to my eye. Gives new meaning to the words "amazing grace".

The Metro Cup is being held on February 18, 2006 at the Holiday Inn in Newark, NJ and will start 7:00pm. The amateur Grade 1 will start at 8:30am.

Please contact Eric Stein for any questions related to the event at 1-631-241-5757
or email him at stein_eric@emc.com.

I did it!! (Or, 2 down, 70 to go...)

DA d-d-da da DA d-d-da DA DA d-d-da da DA d-d-da, dun d-d-dun-d-dun-d-dun, BOMP BOMMMMMMMMMMP!!

Went to the gym today, and kicked my own arse. 30 min. run on the elliptical trainer. Lat pulldowns, mega-crunches, bicep/tricep freeweights workout... and then I got on the scale in the locker room.

I lost another 2 lbs!! I know that doesn't sound like a whole lot to get excited about, considering I have 70 lbs still to lose... but it's one step. Also, this week was a hard week for a girl to lose weight, since the redcoats were riding hard, and I really didn't expect to see any change on the old scaleroo.

Thing is, if I did it this week, I can do it next week. WHOOP!

Before the gym this morning, I got up with Bear, we had coffee and watched the news before he left for work, and then I took my truck to the shop because the directional lever was making an alarming "ZZZZZZT" sound every time I used it, and wasn't blinking.

Happily, my mechanic's shop was slow this morning and he took my truck right in as soon as I got there.
Unhappily, the repairs cost $230. Gulp.
Happily, my truck was ready in about an hour, during which I sat in the waiting area and crocheted, chatting with some of the other customers waiting.
Unhappily, when I was driving home, I noticed that when I turned my headlights on, my clock radio light went off. When I turned the headlights off, it came back on.
Happily, once I brought the truck back to the shop, the mechanic showed me that the dimmer switch had been turned off by the guy who fixed my truck (testing it, you see) and everything was really A-OK.
Unhappily, I felt like a stupid female geek who didn't know that you should always check your dimmer switch after your directional lever has been replaced, in case the mechanic turned it off while testing it. I slunk away feeling sheepish but relieved that nothing else was wrong with the truck.

Went grocery shopping and dropped another bundle of cash on stuff for SuperBowl Sunday (which I don't even know why we celebrate, since neither Bear nor I give a shit about football).... and then went to the gym.

Came home from the gym, and felt so happy about reaching my week's goal that I decided to color my hair (roots were WAY showing)... but I didn't take into consideration that I'd just worked out pretty hard, and my arms were a little shaky, and my coordination was a little off. The hair dye was dark. Okay, the hair dye was BLACK. My bathroom is white. What I mean is, it used to be white. I had a few problems, not the least of which was dumping an entire palmful of "Bright Black" onto the new bathmat.

If you can get a mental picture of a woman, wearing only a plastic garbage bag as a shirt, with black-hair-dye-slimed waist length hair, wearing clear plastic "colorist gloves" that don't do a damn thing to keep the dye (which is actually a very alarming blue color) from seeping through onto the palms of her hands, slinging hair dye everywhere and hopping around trying to clean the blobs off the sink, the floor, the toilet, and her own arms and face while uttering epithets that would curl a sailor's eyebrows.... then you know what my afternoon has been like. Except for the fact that it would be X-rated, I wish that I had that whole thing on video - I'm sure I could win America's Funniest Home Videos and then I could redo the bathroom with the prize money. It would almost be worth being seen in my plastic garbage bag shirt which then magically turns into the plastic garbage bag color developing turban.

YAY!!!

Great news! My "friend of the soul", Margs, has resurfaced! All the way from South Africa, an email found its way to my inbox, and we are back in touch again. I couldn't think of a decent way to fit years of missed visits into an email, so I just gave her the address to this blog. She is currently working her way through it from the beginning, and emailing me her feedback as she goes. I'm just so happy I could shit daisies!

American Idea

We all know the deal, how it works, why it's funny, why it makes us laugh and cry... but the acts all fall into a few basic categories. People who can sing, people who think they can sing but can't, and people that know they can't so they dress up in funny outfits and show up anyway.

It's time for a new kind of contestant - something to keep the judges on their toes.

1. A narcoleptic contestant. He can sing like an angel, it's just that every once in a while he collapses on stage and starts snoring. They could let him through on talent alone, and then just run the commercials while he's snoozing.

2. Have someone like Josh Groban or Celine Dion dress in some trashy clown outfit, with makeup, and come in to try out. Why has American Idol avoided being "punkd" for so long??? COME ON PEOPLE! Would the oufit outweigh the voice? Would they be canned or be put through to the next round?

3. Siamese twin contestants. If they put one through, they have to put both through.

4. Some senior citizen contestants... why the hell haven't any grandmas come to try out? If they win, they get free Depends for life. (Is there an age limit for trying out? I wonder.)

5. Somebody should snoop out one of the judges' ex boy/girlfriends and get them to try out - just to see the look on the judges' face when they walk in. If they really can sing, would they vote them through to the next round, or would emotions get in the way?

6. Nudist contestants. There's just too much entertainment factor there to mention.

Does anyone ever really get over it?

My dad walked into my office before he left this afternoon and said, "See you at the house. Mom's making tacos tonight." We laughed, and he said, "I don't know why I thought of that."

Yesterday was my parents' 41st wedding anniversary.

They were divorced fifteen years ago.

Droman Thugshot

(Random Thoughts)

* Welcome to February, the Tuesday of the year. I've always felt that both should be stricken from the calendar. They are dull, and boring, and downright depressing. At least Monday has the distinction of being hated and reviled for being the first day you have to go back to work each week, and on the silver lining there's "Medium" and Monday night football to redeem it. Tuesday has no such salvation. It's just a completely humdrum day - why do we need it? Same goes for February. January has New Year's Eve to bring it glory and excitement. February is cold, grey, and debilitating. Let's get rid of it, shall we?



* This week must be "it's time to notice license plates week". They're hitting me from all sides now. Yesterday, saw one that said "THE POPE". Holy license plates, Batman! Today, saw "MONKEYS9" and "ART TCHR". (They probably know each other.) I can't decide what vanity plate I'd choose if I was to waste the money on it.... there are so many great puns to play with. There are so many hobbies to advertise.


* I am working on a scarf for my dad. I don't know if I should, because as long as I have known him, I've never seen him wear one. But I also don't want him to feel left out because I'm making scarves for everyone else and not for him. Maybe the reason he never wore a scarf is because he never had a really cool one handmade by his daughter. He's a "car guy". Maybe if I call it a muffler, Brit style, he'll wear it.



* My husband wants to go to college, but we can't afford it. I am pledging to buy at least one Lotto ticket each week. If I win, he's going to college.




* I may be meeting my mother-in-law for the first time this month. I have mixed feelings about it because on one hand, I know she's old and in poor health - and on the other, I know she treated Bear abysmally when he was a kid. Part of me wishes she'd just stay "out there" somewhere, with only the odd phone call or email as contact.




* I watched a video on philosophy with Bear the other night. I should have been impressed. I should have learned something. Instead, I kept thinking, "Damn, those ancient philosopher dudes really had nothing else to do???"




* I watched some of the State of the Union address. When the president said "the economy is strong and growing stronger", I don't think he was talking about mine.





* Do the garbage collectors in our village make the recyclables pickup calendar majorly confusing in the hopes that we will all give up and just truck our shit to the dump instead?