Introverts & Love & Laughter

 I joined a subreddit for introverts and I'm here for the humor. I am what my friends call a randomly social introvert. If I like you, if I love you, I'll come out of my shell for you. But even then, I need my space. 

The late (and wonderfully funny) Patrice O'Neal was the male me. My last husband was not the best but I loved that he understood me. Take it, Patrice:

I will probably never be in another relationship. Unless I find my Patrice.

Peace

--Free

My Beautiful & Silly Family: The Ladies

(One of my play nieces told me that it would be cool if I put up a video for each post. Sounded cool. Go support an artist.)

I can NOT dance but I fell in love with Kinjaz & Jabbawockeez

after seeing the Jabbas' "Dreamz" show in Vegas. 

The choreographer for this performance

 is Keone. He and his wife are some badass dancers.

Today I feel especially blessed to have such a wonderful family. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have some family that I am embarrassed to claim, but... family is family and I could have done worse.

say "Cheese"

I think that the one thing my family has been blessed with is a sense of humor. The women in the family are definitely funnier than the guys, in my opinion.

This morning, I was talking with one of my nieces who still lives in Alaska. We talk almost every other day. She drives me crazy, I drive her crazy, and we love each other to pieces. She is also one of the funniest people I know. When I was telling her about the little mayflies that swarm around the back entrance of the building I live in, she teased that I was missing the Alaskan mosquitos. I asked if they were already getting bad up there this season. Her response: "One of them is knocking on my car window right now."

One time not too many years ago, this niece and I were at Walmart (as we were just about every other day) and somehow we got onto the subject of cheese (don't ask) and how many different varieties there were. She started goofing around and saying the word "cheese" with an accent somewhere between classy and drunk. I cracked up every time she said it until people around us probably were wondering if they needed to call Security. We carried on like that for at least half an hour because giggles never get old.

I have another niece who is just as hilarious. I always love to hear her tell about the first time she went to meet her then fiance's family. His whole entire family was there - from a great-grandmother down to a pre-teen cousin. It was a family get-together kind of situation and even though my niece is used to large gatherings because of our family, she was still nervous. I mean, this is the family of the love of her life, right? At dinner, my niece was glad to see that apparently, her future family-in-law could cook good food. Eating would give her something to do other than be nervous and she dug right in, picking up a dinner roll and dipping it into some gravy. She tells how, just as she had her mouth full with the first bite, she realized how quiet it had gotten. She looked up to see that everyone was waiting for her to join hands with them and say grace. She says the worst part was she had to finish chewing before she could join in. She and her husband are still together all these years later.

My other niece - who is the mother to that little piece of my heart that I call DJ - tends to have a potty mouth. She and her family were still in Alaska when I was about to move here. In the weeks before I left, I would remind my niece to watch her mouth in front of DJ and warned that he would start to repeat her swear words at the worst possible time. She was a stressed mom of two, trying to hold down the wife gig while working parttime in real estate. She was not doing well with cleaning up her language. I was over storing some of my things in their garage one day when I hear DJ getting scolded for something. I was too busy to pay much attention but when I went into the house, he ran over to me, just sobbing his little heart out. When I asked what was wrong (because I'm the fun lovable aunt this time around) he admitted to whatever bad thing he'd done. To quiet him down, I told him there was no reason to be so upset. These are the exact words he said to me in a very earnest voice: "Uh huh because when daddy gets home, he's gonna tear my ass up." I know I am a strong-willed woman because I managed not to fall out on the spot laughing. My niece heard for herself and couldn't deny that she was famous for using that threat. By the way, DJ's dad is a big old softie who only has to use his "daddy voice" to enforce the rules. My niece did learn a lesson that day though.

You've heard me talk about my sister. She was such a hoot. I have so many stories about her I don't know where to start. She was one of those people who could make you laugh just by the way she changed her expression. And whenever we were people-watching, she could look so innocent while she had me cracking up with comments she'd make. She also made up words that somehow made sense. For instance, she'd describe a fussy person as being "persticular" or a "sticular". Makes sense, doesn't it? She was also brutally honest. I remember once when I was wearing long braids and made the fashion choice to tie a bandana around my forehead one day. I really thought I was cute as could be until my sister asked why I was walking around "looking like a pirate." On the other hand, if my outfit was on point, she'd be the first to compliment me.

My sister and I had a mutual girlfriend (let's call her Liza) who was always doing something different and daring with her hair. You could see her wearing a short bob cut in the morning and by dinner, she might have curls down to her butt. If someone asked, she always said it was her hair. She rationalized that it was her hair since she'd paid for it. One time when my sister and I were out and walking somewhere downtown with Liza, my sister suddenly got so tickled about something that she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and doubled over laughing. She was laughing so hard, she could hardly breathe. Liza and I had no idea what was so funny and we had to wait while my sister got herself under control. When she did, she stood up holding up one of the weaved in braids that had come loose and fallen from our Liza's head. That set it off and there we were, three grown women, standing on a street corner in downtown Anchorage laughing like loons. I'm pretty sure we made an impression on the tourists.

Liza once shaved off all her hair except for a little tuft at the very top that she (having been 3 shades darker than I am) dyed bright yellow. I don't know what style she was going for but my mother started calling her "Baby Buddha". Liza didn't care and I always admired her confidence.

My best friend (and surrogate sister) is unintentionally funny. When she gets excited or mad she has trouble finding the right words. She called me one day to tell me how busy she had been taking care of some business downtown. She was telling me that, to top everything, she'd had to use an inconvenient parking spot. She couldn't find one on the street and had to use (her words here) "You know - that place where they stack the cars". We are so connected that I knew right away that she was thinking of a parking garage.

My friend and I have cellphones and landlines. We call each other on whichever phone happens to be most convenient. Once when we were talking I could tell that she was distracted and rummaging around for something, She said she has lost her cellphone. She went on and on about not replacing it if she couldn't find it because she hated her service provider anyway and she was always losing the damn thing and blah blah blah. As she went on and on, I glanced down to see which number she was calling from. She was looking for her cellphone while she was talking on it. I almost didn't have the heart to tell her.

I can't tell you how much I love that I have (or had) these women in my life. Just thinking about them today has made me feel happy inside. I think I will go call my best friend now because we have a lot to laugh about.

Peace
--Free


NOTE: Mentioning "today" is not accurate since I am having to rearrange the scheduling of this post. My bad.

Old & Vaping

Don't you hate when you do something so stupid that you hope no one in the world was looking? Maybe that's just me but I did such a thing just today.

I rarely use my smaller vape devices unless I am vaping a really strong or really flavorful juice. Otherwise, the flavors are just too muted. This is one of the reasons that, now I've run out of Snickerdoodle juice, I carry that beautiful Finic mainly for its looks and the compact size.

Remember, I won this lovely

Recently, I quit resisting and tried some mint-flavored juice. It's called Twin Mint and it's basically the flavor of mint gum. It's not overwhelming or harsh like menthol cigarettes can be but it's got a nice vibrant dazzle to it.

You remember being young and drinking Peppermint Schnapps while clubbing just so your breath smelled good? Again, maybe that's just me. Had vaping been a thing back then, I would have definitely been on this Twin Mint.

The mint in this juice is just strong enough to feel cooling. I couldn't wait to try it out in the Finic. I am in love all over again with the device. The Twin Mint is such a delicious vape in the device. It's way better than the Snickerdoodle because that one could be a little too intense.

So.

At first - just to test it - I only put in enough of the juice to wet the coil. Once I fell in love, I was ready to fill the tank. Now, I have no idea why I did what I did here. I think that, sometimes, my brain only has a certain amount of smart in it and every now and then, I try working past that limit. I don't know, but what I did - instead of unscrewing the Finic cap to get to the fill holes - I just started squirting ejuice right down into the drip tip.

What an idiot I felt like. The good thing is, I immediately caught my goof and stopped before I did a lot of damage. Also, no one was around to see it happen.

I was able to laugh at myself (once I realized the device was okay and working) because I was reminded of something I saw on Reddit.

That is so hilarious. I liked it so much that I saved the Reddit post and now I'm glad I did. At least, I've never thrown out a device. Thank goodness. But there are days when I wonder why I'm still allowed to walk around unattended.

Peace
--Free


EDIT: I am so used to scheduling my posts, this one has been just sitting dormant for a while. So... not "today".

Crime (on my mind) & Time (on my hands)

It's almost time for my weekly injection. I've been playing fast and loose with my health and skipping shots. That's not good so I'm going to stay on schedule for a while. One of the reasons I hate my injections is that, even when they don't have me feeling sick and nasty, they zap every bit of energy from my body. I usually just spend time on the couch watching TV. Sometimes I just plug in the earphones and catch up on the podcasts I bookmark. And, of course, because I am a big scaredy cat with an overactive imagination, true crime is my favorite genre of podcasts. This is why I boobytrap the windows when I leave them open at night. This is why I almost had a heart attack when I woke up in the middle of the night for a potty run and saw this:

Of course, I had to Instagram my scare

I thought for sure a tiny serial-killer goblin had come to get me. (By the way, I also listen to eerie, weirdy, and slightly paranormal podcasts.) Mainly though, I listen to crime-focused stuff. People gone missing without a trace, spouse-killers, monsters who masquerade as the nicest persons ever.

What does it say about me as a human being that I enjoy hearing about the unspeakable things that happen to some other people? Thankfully, I can say that I don't get off on this kind of thing. Mainly, I'm just nosey and interested in the details of crazy crimes. When I say that I'm nosey, I don't mean that I openly get all up into people's business. I'm shame-facedly, sneakily, and pathetically nosey. Like a Gladys Kravitz, peeking through blinds when I hear a commotion on the street or suctioning my ear to the walls if I hear an argument. So, yeah, I think I like being able to belatedly rubberneck at the scenes of horrific or mysterious happenings.

Anyway, the last time I was listening to or watching a crime show, I noticed how often the victims are so deeply loved and venerated. (I have to pause and tell you how good it feels that I didn't have to stop and think of how to properly use the word 'venerated'. My sarc is in time-out for real today!)

No matter how human and flawed a victim is, you mostly hear from their friends and family about how sweet they were or how they always just lit up any room. That's great but I know that if I ever end up on a milk carton (if that is still a thing), my family is going to say all of that too - but they will be thinking of a few other descriptions they won't be able to say out loud.

I'm such a hermit crab that, if not for my best friend who I talk with all the time, I could go missing for a good two weeks before anyone else noticed. This is no one's fault but my own. I have a clear view of any visitors about to enter this building and I have sat right here and not answered when my door. Depends on how I am feeling. I've been like this for so long that most people who know me would not be surprised to know that I ignored them. I just have to be in the mood for company...

My best friend and I have talked about the whole missing person scenario. She's decided that if she came up missing, her family would assume she was just on a really long shopping excursion. (It's true. She has fabulous taste and loves hunting down new "pretties".) Her family and I would probably tell the world about her generosity and warmth. I might have to tell though about the time she spent 3 months trying to find just the right lamp to go with her living room furniture and ended up just having one made. 

I'm sure that at my memorial, people will stand in front of everyone to say al they right things about my love of the children in our family. They might even be able to tell some really funny stories about my phobias. Then, when they go home for the private family-only memorial... Oh boy. If my sister were here, she would talk about the time I got drunk and danced so hard at the club that I was sore for the next week. Or she might talk about how when I was young, I got mad at her and razored some of her favorite clothes right down the seams. Yeah, that really happened.

My oldest brother, if he were still here, would likely talk about what a horrible cook I was up until after I turned fifty. At one of our family dinners, he was really enjoying a dish made with pinto beans and ground beef. He kept talking about how he'd be damned if it didn't taste just like Mama's had. When someone told him that I had made that dish, he looked them dead in the face and swore they were lying.

What I am trying to say is that I wouldn't want anyone broadcasting what my family might say in private about the Trudy they had known and loved.

Public memorials are not the place to criticize anyone. Just like with flowers, they should only be given to the living when they could have made a difference. My mother used to say that flowers to the dead are usually just guilt offerings for the living.

I suppose that everyone has public vs private remembrances of loved ones who had tragic endings. Maybe the families and friends of those people keep the true - and funniest, real-ist, and bestest - delicate memories to themselves. Maybe that's the way it should be. Someone, please remind my family of this if I ever go missing.

Peace
--Free

**RANT** Is It Just Me...?

It's time for a not-so-serious post. After a couple of rough days, I'm feeling better and just wanted to post something silly and fun. After watching a couple of videos to check out a particular cosmetic I'm interested in, I had the perfect topic. That topic is: When Did Makeup Become So Complicated?

What happened to the days of blending in a little bit of foundation and maybe some highlighting color, lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara?  I mean, I am the woman who almost put out an eye the first time I tried applying eyeliner so...

Like I was saying, I was wanting to check out a new (to me) product. It's a "glow" or illuminating lotion and I wanted to see how one of the shades looked on a complexion as dark as my own. I went over to YouTube and basically clicked the first thumbnail with a photo of a woman of about my skin shade. All I wanted was to see if the lotion was too light or dark or heavy, etc. What I got was a full education on applying about 10 coats of makeup.

First, there was the lotion I was interested in. Okay, but I kept watching because I thought the vlogger was going to add more of the lotion or use it on her eyes or something. No, no. This woman - who is quite attractive barefaced by the way - proceeds to do things with various creams and colors and brushes until I was wondering if her skin could even breathe.

I kid you not, I stopped counting after the foundation, concealer, 3 contouring creams, and some kind of setting powder. The finished product was gorgeous but no very natural-looking at all. When I do brush on some foundation and maybe a little powder, I end up hating the mess when I am cleaning my face later on. I can't even imagine the sludge that must come off someone's face after adding all those different products.

When I do wear foundation or powder, I'm always very conscious of transferring any of the shade to paperwork, clothing, etc. And that is with a very light application of makeup.

Here's what I wonder: Do most people find heavy makeup attractive? I mean, even if you do all that contouring and shading or whatever to achieve a "natural" look, it's not accentuating your features, it's changing them. Right? So what happens when someone catches you in a baldfaced lie barefaced?

Everyone has an opinion and mine is just that makeup should be used to enhance - not distort or totally alter the appearance. Unless you have a serious issue that needs to be concealed so that you can function more comfortably in society - and that is a real thing for some of us - I think you should leave the theatrical makeup to, well, the theater or drag queens or the circus.

Like I said, this is just my opinion, but... Stop it, people!

Peace
--Free

**RE-POST** From the Archives of 2006

some emails really are funny

                         
(This is an OLD post - from way back on FRIDAY, JUNE 30, 2006 It was from an viral email titled  "For My Lady Blogger Buddies" and I got it from one of my sisters-in-law. It's still funny, and I needed something to post on the blog today! Enjoy...

****************************************
Okay - and the guys too. Anyone who wants to laugh. No post today, so enjoy this. It was given to me yesterday when I went to lunch with my office family. I'm surprised we weren't kicked out of the place. I'm not sure who wrote it, but YOU WILL LAUGH. (It's a little long...)

CAUTION: Be prepared to laugh out loud!

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.
It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.

(YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my "honey pot" and stretching down to the inside of my ass cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. OH NO! What have I done???!!! Another deep breath and RRIIP! P!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. WHAT?! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, my "man magnet". Which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.

Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. My

LIFE FLASHES BEFORE ME!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Kooter? Sealed shut! Ass?? Sealed shut! Both sealed tighter than

Fort Knox!!!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to Shit! My head may, quite frankly, just pop off!"

What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!

I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.

Now, the only thing worse than having your ass and nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.

So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!!

God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter -

"So girlfriend, my ass and "kitty" are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking your ass and crotch?" She must be reveling in humor and wantsme to repeat it for her enjoyment.

She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.

While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your "man hole" girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on my cooch, and

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.

It's sooo painful, but I really don't care.

"IT WORKS!! It works!!"

I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!! Looking like an Osama Bin Laden gotee!

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color.....

Now that's funny ........ Notttttttttt.
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Hope this made your day (or night) a bit nicer. Smiles can do that.

Peace

--Free

And Now for Some Smiles

Usually, I put all the funnies over on my other blog, but this one could use something light after the past few days. This is from an email I got from my aunt...

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

 SARAH PALIN: The chicken crossed the road because, gosh-darn it, he's a MAVERICK!


BARACK OBAMA: Let me be perfectly clear, if the chickens like their eggs they can keep their eggs. NO chicken will be required to cross the road to surrender her eggs. Period.


JOHN McCAIN: My friends, the chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to ENGAGE in cooperation and dialogue with ALL the chickens on the other side of the road.


HILLARY CLINTON: What difference at this point does it make WHY the chicken crossed the road?


GEORGE W. BUSH: We do NOT really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road or not. The chicken is either with us or against us. There is NO middle ground here.


DICK CHENEY: Where's my GUN?


BILL CLINTON: I did NOT cross the road with that chicken.


AL GORE: I INVENTED the chicken.


JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it!  It was the WRONG road to cross, and I was MISLED about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.


AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens WHITE?


DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken will NOT realize that he must FIRST deal with the problem on this side of the road BEFORE it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he is acting by not taking on his current problems before adding any new problems.


OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having PROBLEMS, which is why he wants to cross the road so badly. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a NEW CAR so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.


ANDERSON COOPER: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, BUT we have NOT yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.


NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he's GUILTY! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.


PAT BUCHANAN: To STEAL the JOB of a decent, hardworking American.


MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to WARN me which way the chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. NO little bird gave me any Insider Information.


DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, BUT why it crossed I've not been told.


ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To DIE in the rain, alone.


GRANDPA: In my day we did NOT ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough for us.


BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heartwarming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its Lifelong Dream of crossing the road.


ARISTOTLE: It is the NATURE of chickens to cross the road.


BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken2014, which will NOT only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents and balance your checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken2014. This new PLATFORM is much more stable and will never reboot.


ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, OR did the road move beneath the chicken?


COLONEL SANDERS: DID I MISS ONE?

Laughter really does the heart good!

Peace
--Free

What I Learned from Taking Surveys

Survey says...

Because I belong to quite a few blogger/brand "influencer" sites (like SheSpeaks, BzzAgent, etc.), I participate in all kinds of surveys. Sometimes, I catch myself laughing at my own responses.

One survey asked about my health and fitness habits. I'm no stone cold couch potato, but I felt like one after I had to answer this question: "How many hours do you exercise in a week?" My answer choices were: 5-10 hours, 10-15 hours, 15-20 hours, more than 20 hours.

I was a little ashamed that, even if I count stretching the truth, there's no way I can cop to 5 hours per week. If I count the time I spend on the Glider and time spent chasing after DJ, plus any random sit-ups I get in before bedtime, I might be able to claim 3 hours. In a good week. Okay, it's really closer to 2, but chasing DJ should get extra points, right?

What I want to know is, who the heck with a real life and normal brain function has 20 hours a week to exercise?

I don't think I've spent a total of 20 hours in my lifetime even thinking about exercising. 20 hours a week is a part time job. Who has 20 hours a week just for exercise? Okay - who other than a celebrity who is paid to look impossibly fit two weeks after giving birth to a couple of kids? In the real world, there are mommies and daddies who don't get 20 hours of sleep in a week.

So yeah.

Another survey wanted to know about my non-food shopping habits. Apparently, most people (or at least the people who write these surveys) have way more disposable income than I do. My self-esteem crawled into a gutter and died a painful death when I realized I buy so few name-brand, top-label, better-known, coupon-resistant items that my razors are made in a country I had to look up on a map to be sure it was a real place.

Probably the funniest survey I ever took was one to do with travel. I gave up halfway through it when I realized that I was tempted to lie about the last time I took a planned vacation. To be strictly honest, I haven't "planned a vacation" in years. I have planned fleeing a crazy spouse. I have planned family emergencies. I have even planned a fake vacation to avoid a person who wrongly assumes we are friends and that I would want him staying with me for a couple of weeks.  That time I went to Rome. In my imagination. It was lovely. I plan to go back one day - when those plans involve an actual passport and suitcases.

I think I'm going to have to devise my own surveys, if I want to see questions that are more fitting to my life and lifestyle. Maybe I will post some of them on here one day. Just for kicks.

Peace
--Free

Technology: Pro or Con?

I've been thinking about how technology affects every part of our lives. There's some new advancement almost every day it seems.  I feel like I can't keep up - or like tech can't keep up with me!

At the grocery store recently while I scanned a shelf of products, I had a weird moment. I found myself wishing that I could find the specific price and product I wanted by pressing CTRL-F.

Why isn't there a way to computerize the shopping experience in a really useful way? That's what I want to know.

Of course, we all think we've come a long way with technology we use in our everyday lives. I think that, If my grandmother could see the way she shop these days, she'd probably think we've come too far.

 I'm old enough to have one foot in the age of Atari and the other in the land of self-parking cars and I am still stumped by some of the features on my smartphone. I often wonder what this current world of our would look like through the eyes of Grandma.

My father's parents grew most of their own vegetables and got most of their meat from neighbors who had farms. Any food they purchased came from the little store down the street. During my childhood summer visits to the grandparents, Grandma would send me an my cousins to the store for things like bread or flour, which she got on credit. I didn't understand that she paid this bill off every month. It was like having a Capital One card with special privileges. Only local of at least two generations need apply! My own parents shopped at the Commissary or BX. I knew nothing of this local credit system.

I have a cousin who lives in San Francisco. A few years ago, he was telling me how he orders his groceries online for delivery to his doorstep. I felt like a hick the next time I had to drive to Walmart for vanilla soy and eggs.

On the other hand, I have an aunt in her eighties who almost performed an exorcism on my phone when she saw me using it to check my email. She never has gotten over losing her rotary dial desk phone to the push-button handset model. I find it both funny and interesting that she thinks technology effects on society is more negative than positive. Maybe it's not really funny.

According to my aunt, technology has ruined young people, eroded manners, and closed more doors than it's opened. I had the nerve to argue with her. I played PRO, she played CON:

• PRO: Cellphones and computers let parents keep in almost constant contact with their kids.
• CON: Contact by text and email can't replace face-to-face communication.
• PRO: We can work from anywhere (and in our PJs, if we want!).
• CON: We are never away from work.
• PRO: Computers have shrunk the world. We can meet and get to know people from across the globe.
• CON: A lot of shallow relationships can't replace a few solid relationships.
• PRO: We can take virtual tours of almost anywhere in this world.
• CON: And we forget to look at the beauty right outside our front door - or the mess right in our own homes.
• PRO: Technology has given more people more opportunities than ever before.
• CON: There are still a lot of people left out of those opportunities.
• PRO: We can keep up with news and information better than ever.
• CON: We get so much information that we care less about the details.
• PRO: Technology is improving medicine and business.
• CON: It's making us forget people and individual lives
• PRO: Cookies!
• CON: What?
• PRO: I just ordered cookies from Sri Lanka! I couldn't do that twenty years ago!
• CON: Uh huh. You know they say cellphones cause brain damage.

Okay, so my auntie might have a point.

Peace

--Free

Speak the Truth

While browsing Tumblr a minute ago, I came across this very cool pic

even if it's shaking with laughter **

Normally, I'd get all serious and go on a rant about how true this truth is. But because the sun is shining today (and because I feel good for the first time in a long time while wearing a tank and stretch pants), I thought I'd get a little silly.

What are some of the things you do that you would never speak the truth about? I bet just thinking about it made you cringe a little, didn't it? I know the feeling.

In the spirit of being brave (or silly), I'll share:

• Men are accused of always checking out a woman's boobs. I sometimes go into crotch-frenzy. There are days when I can't look at a photo of a nice-looking guy without my eyes going straight to his package. Speak the truth.
• Sometimes when I see a story about someone jumping in a freezing river or otherwise risking their life to save a dog (or cat), I can't help but think about all the humans no one is trying to save.
• In spite of my previous rant about judging someone's romantic choices, I will sometimes see a couple and think, "He must have a lot of money" (or be great in the sack, or drive a hot car), and "She must have one hell of a personality" (or sack skills, or knows how to "work a root"). 
• I'll see a smoking hot woman and instantly want to find reasons to hate her. I've even sometimes wished that, if she tans, she ends up looking like a purse in ten years. If she has great hair, I might follow her to try to spot weave tracks or roots that need a touch-up. (I actually did cringe while typing that one!)
• I sometimes fantasize about winning a lottery just so that I can visit all the people who ever hurt my feelings. I'd drive to their house in a really hot-looking car (maybe even with a chauffeur), invite them to lunch and let their burning jealousy be my dessert. (I'm too old and mature to think such childish things. But I just did.)
• There have been times when I hated so much to be wrong about something that I made up b.s. "facts" to prove my point. (To be fair, I only did this with the people I knew were too lazy to do a little research.)
• I have judged people by their appearances. Years back, whenever a friend and I went to nightclubs, we'd assign a "slut meter" number to other women. We gave higher numbers to certain women based on nothing other than our own envy. Whenever a woman got hit on more than we did, my friend and I would give her an automatic 10.
• That slut meter game is not the most shameful one my friend and I played in judging people.
• I can be extremely petty sometimes. As bad as my memory is, for some reason I have no problem retaining thoughts about what and how someone says anything that irks me. I file that away and work out exactly what (and when) to say something to get them back.
• Shade. I can throw serious shade.

Okay. Sharing all that is no longer fun. I actually think I might need to go into deep prayer or see a therapist now. Right now.

Peace

--Free

P.S.: I sure hope that shemavericksniper doesn't hate me for sharing the pic in such an irreverent post. I did love the pic and the thought in the way I'm sure it was intended.

Entertainment vs Real Life

Until more movies start reflecting people and situations as I know them, I'm going to rant. There are two versions of life, apparently: the movie version and the real thing. How do they compare?

Scary movie vs Real life

• Movie: When night comes, everyone goes to their separate rooms. Reality: I'm not going anywhere by myself. If you are going to your room for the night, I am going with you. Matter of fact, I'll get there with you before your skin does.
• Movie: People do things quickly. The first idiot goes off to get killed within the first couple of minutes. Lead Guy and Lead Girl fall in love so fast it's insane. And when Lead Guy is in love, he's pretty quick to get chivalrous. "Stay here," he'll command when something happens - like a strange noise or something. Lead Girl is so in love, she usually obeys. Reality: Not me. I'll never be that in love. Stay here, my ass. Baby, if you so much as move one inch, I'll be so up on you, I'll become your proctologist.
• Movie: It's not just Lead Guy who wants to play the hero. There's always that one ballsy (or crazy) person who runs  off to investigate "that noise." Reality: I'm so nosy that I once fell through my boss's door trying to listen in, but I don't care so much for things that go bump or "screee..." Nah. I'm good. Unless not going means I'll be left alone. In that case, once again - me and your doctor...
• Movie: It takes a lot to happen before everyone is on board that there is a ghost or demon or something. It's usually not until after a lot of inanimate objects move on their own that folks seem to know something bad's going down. Got to be all hardheaded. Reality: When it comes to scary stuff, I'm Lionel Richie. All easy like Sunday morning. You let one door slam even one time. I'm leaving footprints across someone's back getting the hell out of there.
• Movie: Folks will play with a Ouija board or draw pentagrams, or whatever it takes, to "call up" things they have no damn business calling up. The idea is that they can control things. Reality: Not me, boo boo. The way I see it, if it died and came back, or it never lived but is trying to come around here, I want not a damn thing to do with it. I have a six word rule of thumb: "Leave it alone. Let it be." You can set that to music and sing away your troubles.

You let me even imagine I'm seeing something that looks like it came from "beyond" or whatever...

GIFSoup

Romance/RomComs vs RealRoms

• Movie: Guy meets Girl, there's a little bit of conflict, then there's a miraculous resolution. Guy and Girl either live happily ever after or, at the least, end up as really good friends. Reality: Guy and Girl meet. If he's not really crazy, stupid or walking around with the emotional maturity of a fetus, she is. There's rarely a resolution, but often a compromise, in which case they end up miserably connected for life or going through every trouble in the world to avoid seeing each other. (Okay - I went a little overboard on that one, but it's been a rough few years.)
• Movie: The sex is always phenomenal - for both parties - and the morning-after cuteness is never marred with breath that could light forest fires.  Reality: We all know that sex is often good and sometimes phenomenal but, I swear, good sex must create bad breathe. I have never in my life been able to roll over in the morning and say "Hello" in anything but sign language to someone who doesn't love me a whole lot. For anything else to happen, I'd first have go on a water-only fast and refuse to burp.
• Movie: The women always look great - no matter what the situation. The starring actress in, say, a romantic comedy, can survive a horrific physical mishap, a family tragedy, the loss of her job and every decent thing in her closet and she will still look: miserable-and-sexy, smudged-up-and-sexy, forlorn-and-sexy, sexy-and-sexy - or, at the very least, really cute and adorable in a goofy or quirky or "It Factor" kind of way.  Reality: The average and decent-looking woman living in this real world of ours can pull off sexy. I think we all have a sexy-ness inside. Some of us just require the right lighting, some really good foundation and the talents of the makeup girl at Nordstrom to pull it off right. I mean, I can be hella sexy, don't get it twisted. I just can't pull of my sexiest without a good night's sleep and at least one cup of morning coffee. Then I will sexy my ass off - and yours too.
• Movie: Men are always hot in some kind of way. If they aren't built like an Adonis, they are hot because they are so smart or have a drawl or an accent or they have perfected the kind of bad-boy sizzle that can make a gal's toes curl just by giving her a glance. There are men on some magazine's "Hottest" list who some of us would run screaming away from if their names hadn't been top-billed at a theater.  Reality: The guy trying to hit on you in the check-out line at Safeway can have all the drawl or accent they want or bad-boy sizzle there is. If we see them loading their bags onto a bicycle, they won't be feeling anything from us but an arctic chill. We woman can be such bitches in real life - not all cuddly and cute like a Meg Ryan at all. (Because she'd ride that bike with him and find out he has a Porsche parked at his summer home.)
• Movie: The mean mother or nosy sister or awkward friend always adds a little "flavor" to a couple's relationship. Not like in  Reality: where the lovers damn near end up on a TV court show because of the fist fight that broke out at the engagement party or something. I actually have a friend whose parents didn't know she was living with her boyfriend (for FIVE years) before the couple married. The woman's parents (especially her mother) were that awful. 

Cable TV Shows vs Real Life

• Series: Ugly Betty, Nip/Tuck, Desperate Housewives, Weeds Reality: First of all, how many "regular" folk have that much money, that much sex, raise kids that badly and live life with such carelessness? I mean, the world is pretty messed up, but not (yet) that freaking apocalyptic... 

And, don't bring up the so-called "Reality" TV shows. Most of the Real Housewives aren't (or never stay) married. I'd rant more, but the only reality shows I watch are about women in Atlanta and Orange County who are supposed to be classy, fabulous and rich. Most of them dress like poorly paid hookers, trade friendships like Pokemon cards and rent their homes. Yeah, fabulous. But at least they are entertaining. So far.

Peace

--Free

Watching Folks, Watching Life

I am sitting here at Starbucks, drinking the cheapest serving of coffee to pay for my seat and wifi access. The library is off limits to me today. I never go to the library when I'm sure someone there is going to piss me off.

So, here at Starbucks, I am doing some serious people-watching. I hadn't intended to, but then I saw this guy come in who caught my attention and got me started. Just a gorgeous young man, but in that weird way that some people have. He is dressed like he has a job in a bank behind a desk, but he's got purple highlights in his hair, and he's wearing lipstick. His lips are amazing. (If I was a man and had lips like that, I'd wear lipstick too.) And he's wearing black nail polish. Damn, he is cute. Very hetero-acting, which is a turn-on because of the makeup. And he's so confident. This man should be on a magazine cover or red carpet, or in my bed tonight. Except he's about 25 years younger than me. I'd probably end up in the E.R. It might be worth it.

~sigh~

Then there is the dude sitting over in the opposite corner of the room. Very strange-looking. He's either a visibly tortured artist or a budding serial-killer. He just has that look: sorta-crazy-but-sorta-brilliant. He's writing in a ratty little memo book with a broken-off pencil. He's being really intense. He caught me looking at him a second ago and he started biting his bottom lip. Damnnn! That was kind of sexy until I realized that Ted Bundy was pretty hot too.

If I were a fairy godmother, I'd wave my wand and hook up the hot guy with the nail polish with the cute server with the ponytail. (She's cute in a very clean and honest-looking way. She looks like someone who has a great personality without trying to channel any pop culture idols.)  I'd hook crazy guy up with myself if I also had a weapon just in case he's dangerous, but, without knowing, I'd like to see him with this one lady who is being very self-consciously fashionable. She's pretty hot-looking, but she's way too aware of herself. I like her Chanel bag but you can tell she wants everyone to notice that it is a Chanel bag. Her coat is probably designer too. It hangs really well and it's one of those items that looks very plain and expensive and probably didn't come from Burlington but from a store with the designer's name on the door. Bitch. (See what I'm doing here? Giving her a hot-looking, sexy guy but only because he might be a felony about to happen.)

Oh shit! Hot guy - lipstick-hot, not crazy-hot - just passed my table and smiled at me. He's got a cleft chin. Cleft chins are my weakness... I sure hope that God made him in multiple (older) models and I get a chance to run into one someday.

Chanel girl has friends joining her. One of them is the local version of Iman. I'd swear this chick was a model if she weren't about ten inches too short. She's got every beautiful feature women want: high cheekbones, wide eyes, perfect teeth and good boobs. She's wearing a sweater, but I can tell that her boobs probably sit up good even without a bra. Bitch. She's a black woman so I am double-triple jealous. (If my baby with his cleft chin even looks her way, I'm going to hire crazy-man to hit on her.)

This might be the first post where you guys get to see just how my head works. Of course, I'm not all-sane - that would be no fun at all. But if you live here in Anchorage and ever hang out at Starbucks, I might get a chance to blog about you. Now, since I'm not buying a six-dollar sandwich and I'm too full of liquid, I'm going to pack up and go elsewhere to people-watch.

Peace
--Free

My Mama's Music

When I was watching "Only the Strong Survive" on Netflix the other night, something disturbed me a little. (No. It disturbed me a lot.) My mother and father loved so much of the music the film featured. When I actually paid attention to the lyrics of "The Night Time is the Right Time" and "Midnight Hour," I wanted to wash my brain.

Parts of "Right Time" made me smile with the memories of the good, sweet love my parents had for each other (only it was Mama who cried when my Daddy passed away). I can remember my parents sharing a smile or glance while listening to their favorites songs. But there were parts of the song that was just too much for me.

When I come home, baby, now
I wanna be with the one I love, now
You know what I'm thinking of.

Yeah. I know, and I wish I didn't.

 ~washing my brain, washing my brain~

It gets worse with "Midnight Hour":

I'm gonna wait til the midnight hour
That's when my love comes tumbling down
I'm gonna wait til the midnight hour
When there's no one else around
I'm gonna take you girl and hold you
And do all the things I told you in the midnight hour
Yes I am, yes I am
One more thing I just wanna say right here

You've said quite enough, Mister Pickett.

Yeah. So. I'm going to lay off the old love songs for a while. I just can't take thinking of my parents in that way. Grown ass woman that I am, I want to think that I was the product of something very mysterious and platonic. That's kind of hard to do when I have 5 siblings.

Oh, mommy...

#I'mNEVERGoingToGrowUp

Peace
--Free

If the Shoe Fits, Get It!

I mentioned in the last post that I had a shoe story coming. Yep.

For a gift a couple weeks ago I got some of the cutest  boots ever. Just too cute. See?

Bad pic. The boots are not gold, but dark tan.

Problem is, the heels are about 4 1/2 inches high and I felt like I was drunk and on stilts. I could walk in them but only if I kept shooting my arms out for balance and wasn't required to move in anything like a straight line. On the plus side, my sister had the best laugh she's had since our recent family tragedy. She laughed so hard I thought she was going to vomit. I admit I was a little comical, but didn't think I was all that funny.

Those gorgeous boots went back to Burlington. Since I felt bad having to return a gift, I decided to do an exchange. I mean, it is winter now and I do need boots, right? This way, I was spending no money of my own. Thing is, I can no longer get away with wearing just any kind of footwear. Back in the day, I could cram my feet into any kind of shoe or boot and strut my butt off. I hit 45 and my feet got all snobby about what's comfortable. Then, at 50, Sarc hit me and my whole body got an attitude. Until a few months ago, I got nervous if the soles on my tennis shoes were too thick. Currently, I need something made well and most likely not of man-made materials.  I can finally do heels again - if they aren't outrageous.

Just like the man I want: warm, cute, safe.

I have no idea why classic looks don't stay in fashion for the average consumer. So many of the shoes and boots I saw at the stores around my town looked like they belonged in specialty catalogs for someone dancing off a pole or just trying to spice up their sex life - or maybe just for folks with really awful tastes. And with no fear of heights. This is Anchorage. In Alaska.  We have a lot of ice and snow for most of the year. I'm not really out to impress anyone but myself. I saw too many styles that made no sense at this point in my life.

Cute, cute, cute. But insane!

"You better work, girl."

Where's the rest of it???

"Then I'm going to tie you up..."

I look at some of those shoes and wish I'd lived a little faster when I was younger! Hah.

Guess what? Most shoes, cheap, mid- or high-priced, are made of materials labeled as "man-made," plastic/pvc or "faux-" something. I went through both Burlington stores before I found 3 pairs of boots that qualified as leather, well-made, and (in my book) cute. I even had to put back a super-sweet pair of designer-named boots because I saw that, despite the steep price, the man-made label kicked them off my list. Damn.

I ended up with... Vera Wang, baby. On sale for less than the shoes I got as a gift. Score. And, seriously, it matters not too much to me that the boots are by V.W.; I just love that they are leather, cute and comfy. Triple score. The label does indicate good quality. I like that. The ones I got are called "Emmanuel" and very similar to these, except the top buckle is higher up on mine. Sturdy, cute and very durable.

No matter who's on the label, these are Alaska-worthy.

Anyway, since I came out a little ahead of the game (and I had a little PFD left from bills), I went ahead and gifted myself with this pair of Fergie boots. I'm now officially a fan of the footwear line. So damn cute that when I'm strutting around in them, I forget I still have over 20 pounds to lose! Except for one thing, I actually like them better than the V.W.s

"Giddy-up" +J.D. Hughes & Marla would be proud!

Freaking cute!

Of course, that's not the end of this story. (This is me we're talking about.) Girl met boots and they fell in love, but didn't exactly live happily ever after.

My Fergies and I needed a little post-purchase adjustment period. Literally. I fell instantly in love with these boots, but the store only had one pair left. In size 7 1/2. I used to fit that size. Back before my freaking "growth spurt." I'm not sure if I am a full size 8 or not, but I had to shoe-horn the hell out of the Fergies until I could walk without pimping, crimping and making all kinds of crazy faces. It's all good now.

By the way, just in case you didn't know, there are ways to get a tight pair of (leather) shoes/boots to fit better:

• With a couple pairs of socks on each foot, cram into the footwear and run warm dryer over the tight area while wriggling your foot around. (I could barely get my bare foot in my boots, so I crammed in some old towels instead.)
• Stuff the footwear with damp towels or paper and let sit overnight. (I didn't want to use this method because I was afraid of my lighter-colored leather being affected. I suppose you can just work with dry materials and let sit for a couple days.)
• Use a shoe-horn to gradually stretch out the footwear. When you can wear the shoes or boots without being in too much pain, walk around the house in them until you break them in.

Such a pain in the butt, huh? I don't care. I kept the other couple pairs of shoes and boots I own and just pretty much tossed out my other old  dressier type footwear. I'm going to be wearing the soles off the few pairs of shoes and boots I still own. Quality is still preferable to quantity.

Peace

--Free

Cootie Catchers and Life

Do we ever really grow up? I'm not sure that we do.

The other day, people here in Alaska received a $900 check, courtesy of the Permanent Fund Dividend. One woman I know (who is not wealthy or bill-free) spent the entire amount on a designer bag. A tote. Seriously. She went out and bought a Louis Vuitton Neverfull. And, If you ever read this post, you might not think I'd have room to criticize, but I was young and stupid. The person I'm talking about is old enough to know better.

The thing is, I'm not surprised that people spent their money on things like designer purses and big TVs because, while we all grow older, we don't all grow up. I believe that all of us, in some way, retain a schoolyard mentality.

When I was a kid, my friends and I wanted the latest or the coolest or the best-est of everything. As adults, we still want the latest phone or coolest car or best whatever. If we get a cellphone today and a new one comes out tomorrow, we are impatient for our upgrade. If we ladies get a Coach bag and our friends start carrying Pradas, we just have to have a Chanel or Fendi. It's like when I was in my thirties, had a great job and just had to have Edwin jeans for casual Fridays because Levi's were so damn common. A co-worker of mine (who probably thought Edwin was a boyfriend's name I'd sewn on a label) almost hurt herself going out to buy a pair.

If it sounds like I'm just picking on women, I'm not. Men are almost as bad. No - they're worse.

One of  my brothers is a car freak. He loves cars the way I love perfumes (and I love perfumes enough to marry my bottle of Shalimar). This is a man who makes good money and is smart with his finances. He doesn't give a flip what other people think so he's not into impressing others - except when it comes to his rides. The only time I've heard this particular brother of mine use urban slang is when he calls his cars his "whips." Lord.

Yeah, so we women might be little girls when it comes to our purses and shoes, but you men go all Peter Pan about cars and electronics. Hell, maybe even about perfumes.

This playground crap isn't just about material things. When we like someone, we want to fall into the old game of "I like you, do you like me? Say Yes or No." (Remember those little paper origami things called Cootie Catchers?) Within our close adult circles, it's the game of "She's no longer my friend, so why are you still talking to her?"

If we are a "football captain" or "cheerleader," we want to be the "brains." If we are the "Nerd" we want to be the "Hunk." And on and on it goes, where it stops, nobody knows.

Games, games, games. They're the same whether we're 15 or 50. The stakes are just higher. From schoolyard to nursing home. It's because we all have insecurities, we all want to be liked, to be loved and to be cherished.

So, maybe none of us ever really do grow up. I guess that just makes us what we are: human.

Peace
--Free

Post Script of two things:

1. I'm getting that freaking Vuitton bag. (As soon as Walmart starts racking them!)
2. I want to play Cootie Catcher with someone so I'm going to make one for the next time I see them.

Tell Me If I'm Wrong...

I promised to tell how my life instantly got better, right? Okay. Here we go.

Since I've complained on here so much about my roommate, I'm almost hesitant to bring up the situation, but - there's an ending (I hope).

Instead of just "discussing" things with Noni (fake name), this third and last time, I put consequences on the table: if she continued to use the living room as a bedroom, smoking up the place and turning it into Pigsty Central, I was going to let her. As long as she wanted to pay for the privilege. I don't see why I should pay half the rent when I don't get to use a fair share of the living space. I explained that unless things changed BY the 13th, I was taking $150 of my part of the rent. & I'd give her a last "heads up." (By the way, I'm pretty sure the library was getting ready to charge me rent for all the time spend there to get away from the four walls of my bedroom.) Oh - in just a minute, I will explain why the 13th was an important date.

That discussion we had went great. Noni agreed that she was hogging space by not using her bedroom. She agreed that she needs to help with the housekeeping. She agreed and agreed and agreed some more - in between the tears. (Of course, all that boo-hooing she did made me look and feel the like Bitch of the Northwest. I am not kidding even a little when I tell you that she spent over four hours the day after our talk just sitting and sobbing like a lost child! I went back to the library.)

Fine.

Part of our discussion was about how, if she didn't get moved into her bedroom (to at least sleep), that I would be going to Walmart to put a futon and coffee table for my bedroom on layaway the minute I could. Layaway started on the 13th, which is why I picked the date for a Noni's "heads up." Yesterday, I had a friend ready to go by Walmart to set my things aside. Noni woke up at around the crack of nightfall - as energetic as a puppy - got dressed and went out with friends. (She selects her moments of energy carefully. This is a woman who has turned sleeping into a marathon sport. I've never seen a person sit that long without moving who didn't get sores on their ass. But the minute she has club to cruise by or wants to go shopping, she turns into a cyclone of movement.)

Fine.

I didn't want to ruin her whole night out, so I waited up for a while then emailed Noni , before I went to bed, that I was not planning on paying a full half of the rent this coming month - just like I had told her when we talked.

Around one in the morning, I woke up to go to the bathroom and my phone's email icon was lit up. Noni was letting me know that she just could not pay a bigger portion of the rent so she would be sleeping in her bedroom from here on out.

Yeah.

She came in about a half hour later and flopped down on the chair, ready for the night as usual. I just had to do it: I asked her if I should plan on waking up to the glorious sight of her passed out in the living room, as usual.

Now, why is it that people act all butt-hurt when they actually have to do the right thing?

Bottom line: Noni spent the next couple of hours moving some stuff into her room (making as much noise as possible, as if I give a flipping eff-you-cee-kay), huffing and puffing to put a grounded and pissed off teenager to shame. (Again, I should care how much?)

Since she actually moved and it wasn't to the beat of music, she'll probably sleep for the next three days. Good.

For the first time since - ever, I woke up and made coffee and started my day without having to look over at my roommate, feeling like this:

Peace
--Free

Kids. They Kill Me.

Thought about this after I posted some video of D.J. the other day: kids are way smarter than we adults might think.

D.J. is now old enough to concentrate for more than two or three minutes at a time, count (a little), tease people and do just the most embarrassing things at the worst possible moments in time. The one thing that bothers me is that he is just too smart about the wrong things.

If one of us adults starts to count, "One...," he says, "Tewwww." Kills me every time. (We haven't gotten him to say "Three" yet, but he will try to hold up that many fingers.) The other day, his mom wanted to dress him and he didn't want to be dressed. When she reached over to grab his arm, he snatched away and told her, very clearly, to "Go 'way!" This is a kid who can't say "Three"?

My sister gets upset whenever she sees him doing something like dancing along with Sid the Science Kid (or whoever that little purple guy is). She feels like, if he can dance and sing along with a TV show, he should be able to get out the first couple words of The Lord's Prayer. (She's working on teaching him the beginner's prayer of  "Now I lay me down to sleep". He's not co-operating.)

I may have already told how D.J. responds when I get to the house and stomp my feet on the floor (he stomps his, screams and comes flying to leap into my arms), but I'm kind of ashamed to say that his parents think I'm teaching him to be loud and unruly. Okay, so I am doing just that, but what the hell else are aunties for?

So far, my favorite thing about D.J. is that he is sweet. If he loves you, he can wrap his arms around you and make the sun shine on a cloudy day (and did I just steal a line from The Temptations???). Even though he can't yet say my name right, I don't really mind because I love the way he screws it up. "Tewwy." Yeah. Isn't that just the sweetest thing in the world?

I said that he's sweet because he is, but he has not one ounce of empathy in his little Saggitarian heart yet. I tried the old fake cry gimmick to see what he would do. What he did was just about fall over yawning.

No special reason for this post, except that I swore to myself that I would post something at least once a week. When there's nothing else interesting, I will always have D.J.

Peace
--Free

Cleanup On Aisle Four!

So. I woke myself up laughing this morning. Dreamed about going back to work. I'm so excited at the prospect, I don't know what to do with myself. That said, I am having serious jitters just thinking about....~drumroll~... The Hunt. You know, the job hunt.

It's a well-known fact that looking for employment is the worst part of working. How ironic that I last worked in an unemployment call center. I could actually get back on that job but I don't know if I can handle the stress that I could post-sarc. Previously, a call with a cranky claimant would go something like this:

Them: "So, I'd have been better off to get fired from my job instead of quitting?"

Me: "Well, I don't know about better off, but since you did quit - without allowed reason - you are subject to a waiting period."

Them: "So you're saying I should have just bitch-slapped my supervisor instead of restraining myself long enough to tell her I needed to resign before I had to go to jail for her smack-down?"

Me: (Marveling at that long recitation without a breath being taken.) "Um, sir, I'm pretty sure it's not a good idea to slap or smack down anyone you work for. I'm just informing you of your wait-period."

Them: "No, I get it. You can't come out and say it, but you are letting me read between the lines. Why else would you tell me that I have to six weeks JUST BECAUSE I QUIT THE LOUSY JOB???"

Me: "Sir, if you'd like to take a moment and calm yourself, I will explain the next steps you need to take  in filing your claim."

That was the old, nothing-ruffles-me me. Yeah. Well, I don't know if it's the sarc or if it's the fact that I haven't had a cigarette in FOREVER (or 40 days), but I know that I just would not be that nice this time around. The conversation now would go more like this:

Them: "So you're saying I should have just bitch-slapped my supervisor instead of restraining myself long enough to tell her I needed to resign before I had to go to jail for her smack-down?"

Me: (Taking a deep breath and restraining myself so I don't go too far and get fired.) "I'm saying that I'm going to come and bitch-slap you unless you shut up and let me get your claim filed before I have to leave here today. I am just not in a freaking mood for any bullshit. Okay? Okay."

Hmph. These days I can itali-talk with the crankiest of them.

That might not go over too well, so I have been envisioning interviews for other types of employment.

Since I love to shop (even on a tight budget), it's occurred to me that I should go into retail. Like, say at,  I don't know... Walmart. But then, I thought that even though I have to survive on a dime for now, I'm too uppity to work anywhere less bourgeois than maybe... Nordstrom? Now, that is a real wanna-be central. The only problem there is, I also hate the types of people who shop at Nordstrom - including myself whenever I do shop there. Ever notice how a perfectly nice, normal person walks into Nordstrom and, all of a sudden, their nose tips up just a notch and they start acting like they have their own reality show? Yeech! Not for me.

My other option is to do something in the field of job training. I did it for a big company for five years and I was damn good. (It's a true story that I once taught a Polish man - who spoke very little English -how to classify imports. If you think that's easy, try miming your way through your job for a few weeks.) Of course, I might end up validating that old stereotype of those-who-can't-do... On the other hand, that's one job, outside of acting, that approves of cue cards...

I do know that, when jumping into the job pool, I have always managed to land on my feet. Don't be surprised if you see me directing aisle traffic at Walmart. I think I could convince them that they need someone for that.

I don't know. The possibilities are endless (and that's the scariest part) and my hopes are high. I will just go on my searches with something in mind that one of my brothers taught me: When interviewing for a job, act like you might not really need one.

Peace
--Free