Coming To You Live

I am, at this VERY MOMENT, twenty-six YEARS OLD!! I'm listening to my selectively silly husband spout off random information about the human colon?!?! It's 1.5 meters, almost 5 feet long, and the ph varies between 5.5 and 7...blah blah blah.

Refrigerated in our nice, clean hotel room, we patiently await tomorrow, when we can head to the beach and check into our cozy little beach house.

Now, said husband-person is using the visually impaired option on his MAC. I've heard the creepy little computer voice call me a couple colorful names, and tell me, "Happy Birthday honey-pie."

This is why I married this man. He makes me SO HAPPY.

Ahhh! I've been caught. Over and out.

blink-blink

I stare blankly at this glowing screen of procrastination, ignoring my list of chores. Blink. Blink.

Meanwhile said list is doubling, nay, tripling in size!

The oh how wonderful this trip will be feeling has at last evaded me, having been chased for about 2 weeks now. I have successfully reached the FREAKING OUT stage! Too much to do in preparation, and so little time to achieve it all.

UGGH.

Big Shaggy Sand Piper

Somewhere in Florida here I come! My husband and I are blowin' this popsicle stand. My sister booked us a little green beach house in Florida. None of us are very sure where said beach house actually is, but who gives a darn? It might be in Ft. Walton. It might be in Destin. I don't really care at this point, as long as it's near a large salty body of water! I'm just going. This happy little thought will get me through the week. I feel all swimmy headed and warm whenever I ponder it.

My mother and sister are also going to be present, at some point during this trip. Most encounters involving these two women end in loudly proclaimed combinations of obscenities most have never heard. My husband so looks forward to this.:D He has anticipated everything that could, and most-likely will, go wrong. I wouldn't be surprised if, before we actually roll out of our driveway on Friday morning, he has a power point presentation put together on the subject!

Regardless, I love the ocean and I miss it terribly. This trip I even plan to see dolphins, find crabs at night via mini purple mag lite and coax my cowboy of a husband into the water. I usually let him off with just a dip in the pool, but not this time. I am living proof that one can live in Florida, swim in the ocean, and live to tell about it. Of course, I know I'll be lucky if he gets his feet wet. He's like a big shaggy sand piper.

Colonel Sanders Mouthing His Silent Fury

Let me start out by saying that I got my driver's license when I was 17. I only missed one question. Therefore I have been successfully traveling to and from the places I need to go for 8 years. I am a cautious, but relaxed vehicle operator. I use my signals. I drive too fast. I consider most Alabama drivers inept. With that said I will continue...(I know. C'mon. C'mon. Get it on. Get it over with.)

I was about 10 minutes from work yesterday morning when I noticed a little old guy in a red sports car behind me. I'm sure it was a miata, cause it was tiny, and he was old. I observed, in my rear-view mirror, that this gentleman favored Colonel Sanders. I smiled to myself, flipped my turn signal on, and pulled into the turning lane at a red light. After sitting a spell, the light changed and I began to inch forward. I had an arrow to turn, but oncoming traffic wasn't slowing down. So I did inch, took my time, but I was going.

Well, happy pants Colonel Sanders back there proceeded to lay on his horn, which scared me spitless. He was also waving his hands in the air like he was landing a plane, and from what I could tell, shouting furiously. When the car that about ran the red light came to a screeching halt. I went on about my business.I continued to work with a smile, but watched cautiously as this little man got redder and redder. Old dude followed me to work, on my bumper the entire way, waving his wittle arms and mouthing his silent fury. He almost ran into me as I braked for a chipmunk on the side of the road.

I thought about letting him run his little sporty sardine can up under my 4x4 Jeep. I thought about waving and smiling. Thinking I'd rather not send him into a massive coronary, I just turned on my signal and into my parking lot. I laughed half the morning thinking about his little arms and red face behind those whiter-than-snow eyebrows. Maybe I did something before I noticed he was behind me. Maybe he detested my: Beatles, Sublime, Weezer, MAC, Hip-Hop(hippo and bunny) or Snoopy window decals. I don't know. So I probably made him late to the VFW. Geesh! It's not THAT BIG A DEAL MAN. I just wish people would relax a little.

Tagged...

Ari tagged me to make a list, which I adore. However, it is a list of quirks. Six to be exact. This is going to involve an elimination process.

1.) I absolutely adore making lists! One down. Five to go.

2.) My toenails, at any given time, are most likely painted heather purple.


3.) I have frequent nightmares about living things being cut right down the middle!(Is this too weird to tell?! I can't help it. It's a dream!)It's horrifying, but not messy. I don't see it happen. I just find them in half! Last night it was my bunny-Pacha..very upsetting.


4.) I have a thing for otters. If I could be any animal-that's what I would be, and I would harass crocodiles on a daily basis, and sleep while holding hands.


5.) I say my favorite color is purple, but it's really green. I don't know why.


6.) I love shoulder blades...man shoulder blades. They're sexy.

Now that you have a mild idea of how strange I really am, will you still love me?!^__^

Donnie Darko

I watched Donnie Darko last night. Many of my friends had been hounding me to see it, and they were all right. I loved it! It was really smart, kind of twisted, full of all the foreshadowing and symbolism I love.

Jake Gyllenhaal can really pull off the whole mentally divergent/intuitive/hand of God thing, and make it look good. It had a little much teenage boy lingo for my taste, but I guess it was called for. The main character is a teenage boy, and they're all potty brains.

So, it was awesome. It's still got me thinking. I might get it all now. I want to watch it again, to see if I caught everything. I can safely say I will never fly on an airline called Red Eye, and if Patrick Swayze starts getting all motivational speaker on me-I'm calling the cops!

How Much Postage WOULD You Need To Ship A Teenager To A Remote Location?

Today my best friend's baby sister turns thirteen! I say to myself, "I was at the hospital when this kid was born. That was thirteen years ago?! That can't be right!"

Alas, ti's true. I've known the monkey all her life. Glorious right? Well it would be were it not for the fact that it makes me feel like someone will soon yank my brains out my nose, and kill my cat long before her time. It serves as a reminder that I have been alive for a quarter of a century, rather than (in an airy Marylin Monroe flight attendant voice)twenty-five years. Say it slowly, "a quarter of a century." Of course, it's also kind of nice.

I grew up in, for lack of a better way to describe it, a gypsy family. My Dad's a loving alcoholic, with the best of intentions. A.K.A. not around. My older sister was just old enough to not really be in the picture. I'm getting to know her now. And Mom...she did the best she could, which involved us moving every few years. When I was eight, nine, ten, thirteen...like I said, "gypsies." I was born in Indiana, really started to "grow up" in Kentucky, and ended up in Alabama. This is where we stuck around long enough for me to work through being moved around so much, always being the new kid and such. I think that sort of thing is easier for girls, but it still sucked. So, twenty-five means I'm "adjusted," which is nice. I can deal with that.

Kayla's a teenager. Gag. She's probably one of the coolest kids on the planet. She's a really wonderful little person. Bright, kind and beautiful. We won't talk about the little "boyfriend" she's got, that I'd like to ship to Abeu-Dabi.

That's what inspires me to make art. Not shipping thirteen year old boys to remote islands. Although, that's an idea. :D Relationships amaze me. I have so much to say about them, and about resiliency...or so much to ask rather. I guess since I had such strained relationships growing up, it overwhelms me to think that I could know someone that well. I can know someone from the day they're born, and help shape that person.

Happy Birthday Kayla! Punk!

Things I Do Entirely Too Much

I have recently taken inventory of a few things I seem to be obsessed with. A seemingly healthy idea, unless you start getting neurotic over that too. ^__^

A.) WASHING HANDS

I wash my hands WHENEVER there is a sink available, and I'm not talking a quick rendezvous with the soap-wham bam thank you ma'am. I mean-surgical scrub! Seriously. Example: Waiting in the doctor/dentist's office, I silently excuse myself to the restroom, ONLY TO WASH MY HANDS! No powdering!!! ONLY WASHING!!! Now, I don't do this repeatedly mind you. If it is o.c.d., it's a mild case...right?

B.) DISINFECTING

Every time I visit the little girls' room at my office, I Lysol the joint. I don't mean just the necessary germ-killing deeds. I have to spray the door knob, toilet paper dispenser, light switch, sink and garbage can. E-V-E-R-Y-T-I-M-E!! Is that "normal" ???

I think that's all the dysfunction I shall share today. Toodle-pip!

It's Not The Same...Is It?

Why is it that I find it perfectly harmless for a woman to be blown completely away by the overwhelmingly good looks of say, Christian Bale or Johnny Depp (to the point of sighing), yet I feel morally justified in raking my husband over hot coals for even looking like he might enjoy a shot of Angelina Jolie-Pitt? Mind you, I don't. I just feel like it.

I know it's only natural to be stunned by the ridiculous aesthetic goodness of some members of the opposite sex, but is it less sexual when a woman does it? I believe it is. What do you think?

In my understanding of men-they are a lot more visual than women. Therefore-when I drool over Johnny Depp-it's because of his voice, eyes and oh my goodness he's just so gloriously quirky and Byronic. I'm not undressing him with my eyes, nor am I thinking about anything I shouldn't be, as a happily married woman. Men, on the other hand, don't even HAVE to bother with undressing the women in the media, because they're usually practically naked already!

Is that what bugs me? Is it what bugs you? Am I the only one feeling the confusion and insecurities drudged up by this subject? It's the same, but it isn't. Arrgghh.

One-ah-ah-ah...Two-ah-ah-ah...

I can remember the warm Kentucky summer, riding my bike down Sycamore Hill, the hot air in my face, the smell of honey suckle and the sound of cars zipping by on the nearby highway. I fought my way up that unending hill, walking beside the bike that my little legs could not power to the top. Once I'd overcome that climb, I let gravity do it's job. I bet I was going 30 mph by the time I reached the bottom, and went tumbling over my handle bars, face-first into the gravel. Then I remember not riding the huffy for a while. That July I spent what seemed like an eternity in our little cave-like trailer.

At the age of six, keeping yourself busy IN the house can become quite harmful to your health. I had a teenage sister that I was sure wanted me dead. I came dragging through the front door after "the accident," carrying my bike, sniffling and spitting gravel. Seeing I wasn't going to get much compassion from the dirty blond on the phone, I began to cry. She attempted to clean me up and fix the problem by giving me some iced tea and crackers. All of which only reminded me of how painful my bloody gums were. Mom was at work and my sister would have to sustain life until she returned. My situation was seeming very grim.

Nintendo would be the way to go. Stay still, out of my sister's hair and keep my mind off my scabby knees and aching lips, nose and gums. I played Mario Brothers and Lo lo until I regained the gumption to get back on that bicycle, which would be quite a few days. So, Princess here I came.

I played so much over the next couple of days that at night I would dream of Mario Brothers. I kept this to myself, until it turned ugly. Giant flashing numbers had begun to chase me, and try to kill me! It was like a game and I was losing. I remember the infamous running to no avail to escape being accosted by the number five. My nightmares finally got the best of me and I went screaming into my mothers room, explaining the flashing and how huge the numbers were. I described it the best way my little vocabulary would allow, "I was little like Mario on the TV."

This ended up at the doctor's office. My mother explaining the flashing nightmares, and how she had heard on the news about Japanese children developing epilepsy from games. I, obviously too small to comprehend their discussion, flipped through the bible books in the corner. Thus, I was back on my bike that afternoon and Nintendo playing was kept to a minimum. The nightmares didn't stop for a while though.

I later learned that I had something called numeriphobia-a fear of numbers. Seriously, it's a phobia and that's the technical term. The dreams just so happened to coincide with learning addition and subtraction with flashcards at Parkhill Elementary School.

I never have been good at math, and I've ALWAYS hated the Count on Sesame Street.
One-ah-ah-ah...Two-ah-ah-ah... ^__^

I understand

How many times have we all said, "I understand" without having a clue? Today, my co-worker left in a mad rush to fetch her elderly mother, and transport her to a nearby doctor's office. Feeling helpless, I did the most powerful thing I could do. I prayed.

Her mother is 90 something and a spit-fire. She's in fairly good health. I believe she's her daughter's best friend. At this age, you have good days and bad, right? Today she felt weak and strange, but she could be fine tomorrow. How is anyone to know?

All I knew to do was to hug my friend and coworker, and maybe I shouldn't have. When I'm ready to break, a hug just brings it on. I told her I would pray. She begged me to do so. Then I asked a few questions, learning her mother's symptoms. I offered to drive, but was turned down. She left after stealing another quick but thorough hug, and informing me that she was scared. I said, "I understand."

Johnny Depp & Kermit

I've asked this before and I'll ask it again! Can anyone tell me, beyond the obvious physical/mental attraction, why I'm head over heals for these two? They're both twice my age, one's married with children and I'm HAPPILY MARRIED!! Why can't I move on?!

Craftitis

Has anyone else noticed this seemingly universal influx of craftiness? At one time, I considered myself to be pretty darn "crafty," but now it's like every chick on the planet is some kind of self proclaimed craft queen! I used to be the only one I knew that sculpted little clay thing-a-ma-bobs. I was one of very few that knitted scarves, or sewed strange little stuffed creatures. I don't know what I think about this?!?! Am I jealous because I'm no longer as unique? Am I ticked off that, once again, something I cherished as being solely my own has become main stream? What do I think of this? Am I alone in my mixed feelings?

EXPOSAROONIE.COM

My newest addiction:Exposaroonie.com. It is grand indeed. I haven't the first photography course under my belt. I am in no way a professional photographer, and no one would EVER accuse me of such. I am majorly needy when it comes to creating/discussing art of any kind. I believe this stems from my art education. As an artist, assignments and critiques began as sources of intimidation. However, they quickly became an obsession. I NEEDED to know what criteria there was to be met. I HAD TO KNOW what viewers would say to, or about my art work. Good or bad-I didn't care-I was obsessed with the interaction between the audience and the painting, drawing, sculpture, etc. Exposaroonie.com gives weekly assignments, if you will, and the opportunity for critique. It rocks my little obsessive compulsive socks! Go there! Enter some photos! VOTE FOR ME! ^__^

suessy break

Mangled, these ichorous digits cavort.
Deranged and disordered...a monster of sorts.
What have they rendered, delivered, construed?
O, clerkly duties..what dark tasks you ensue.