You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly! Way to go!
Thank you so much for taking my test. I hope you enjoyed it! For the test: click here to go to OKCupid. For the complete answer key, visit the test writer's blog. Important message from Aunt Tasty: I know NOTHING WHATSOEVER about math that doesn't concern the purchase of shoes or giving the waiter a really fat tip. I felt it only fair to mention this, since I'm being all show-offy and stuff about the Verbal portion of the SAT. Have a great Tuesday!
My dadness took this test, and so did I. Here are my results. To quote That Todd, "You liberal conservative, you." You'll see that I missed "Centrist" by about half an inch. Max.
I've recently consumed the following fabulous items, made for me by That Todd, who is REALLY grand at the chef-ing. OHmydamn. And, yes. I am bragging.
- Italian meats and cheeses, with a soft-cooked egg on tomato-ey focaccia sandwich. Sopressata, prosciutto, capicola (Gabagool!), salami, and olive oil. This was BREAKFAST, people!
- Very cheesy pizza with some of the same meats (leftover from breakfast) and lots of olives and yummy, melty tastiness. Best when consumed with citrus rums-and-coke.
- Blueberry pancakes. With fresh blueberries. DROOL. There's just something inexpressibly lovely about an accomplished culinarian making food for you while you watch, or maybe clean a vegetable or something, but not have to do anything really taxing.
- Mushroom lasagna. Might I just point out that I'd give up a limb for this lasagna? Thankfully, I don't have to give up a limb for it, but I would strongly consider it should it become necessary. Multiple kinds of mushrooms, mushroom cream, fresh mozzarella, smoked Gouda, and general warm goodness. I mean, come on! He made mushroom broth to start the whole thing!
- Leftover mushroom lasagna. Normally, this would not fall under its own category, but it's just that good. Leftover mushroom lasagna for breakfast. How do you top that? You don't.
- Medium rare Asian flank steak slices stacked with crispy wonton wrappers and sesame mayonnaise. Slightly spicy mushrooms, rice, and sesame oil-sauteed green beans. More uncontrollable drooling ensues. Not only was it deeeeelish, it was really pretty, too.
The fun of the weekend also contained a medium-to-small home improvement project, several movies, plenty of cocktails, a nap or two thrown in for good measure, lots and lots of chatting (one of my favorite all-time things), and much laughter. And just how do you top that? YOU DON'T!!! Thank you for such a delicious long weekend, my sweet friend.
10 years ago I was…
Living in Knoxville, TN in a van down by the river. SWEAR it's true. OK, it was a trailer, but it was horrifying, and it was, in fact, down by the river. The French Broad River. No shit. And, it was on a Bible college campus. I was married to my practice husband, and I was in a constant state of asthmatic stress. I worked at a nuclear power plant in Oak Ridge, TN. That's why my boobs glow in the dark now.
5 years ago I was…
Married one year and 5 months to the Grimace. He had quit his job about 10 weeks prior, and was still apparently attached to the sofa with some sort of mystical adhesive, and saying charming things to me, his worker-bee, such as, "I'm tired of your attitude," and "If we weren't married, this would be over." (I know! I know.)
1 year ago I was…
Celebrating my divorce from the Grimace. I won't be disclosing details of the celebration here.
Yesterday I was…
Working, meeting with my boss for a 1:1 discussion of my job performance (OH how I hate those meetings,) cleaning a house in Avon for $$, shopping for conditioner 'cause I have scary-doll-hair, and getting excited about my trip to see That Todd this weekend.
5 snacks I enjoy the most: - Fresh guacamole and chips
- Popcorn and cheddar cheese
- Olives
- Big O brownies
- Amadillo dip
5 songs I know all the words to: - Don't Know Why, Norah Jones
- Video, India.Arie
- Lyin' Eyes, Eagles
- Earl, Dixie Chicks
- I Can't Make You Love Me, Bonnie Raitt
5 things I would do with a billion dollars: - Deposit a schload of it into my parents' retirement account
- Buy homes and retirements for The Fig, The Numbers, My Matt, and That Todd, wherever and whenever they wanted.
- Deposit a schload of it into my VBF and hubby's account for mortgage payoff, college for the kids, and a vacation home for all of them.
- Buy apartements in Indianapolis, Chicago, Seattle, and a few cities in Europe. Oh, and a villa in the country in Tuscany.
- Give it as presents! WHEE!
5 places ideal for running away to: - Brazil
- Italy
- Portugal
- anywhere in the Caribbean
- anywhere with a beach, who am I kidding?
5 items you’ll never see me wear: - Long, long hair. That's for girls in their 20s. Those days are over.
- My natural hair color. I already have grays... might as well color it!
- Blue eyeshadow.
- Cheap jewelry.
- A watch.
5 best TV shows: - The West Wing
- M*A*S*H
- The Simpsons
CSI - Law & Order, Criminal Intent
5 biggest joys in life: - Sleeping indoors every night.
- Having a brother.
- Growing up safe.
- Music.
- Taking a chance.
5 favorite toys: - All my sparkly magic wands.
- Colored pens.
- Calligraphy pens.
- My talking Edna doll.
- Is luggage a toy?
I give you my favorite people. My folks are here in town, and they wanted to see the VBF and Hubby and Children. So, Monday, we went and visited for the day. I finally have the correct technology to share some pictures with you, so here you go:
My niece Belle (real name, Chloe) and nephew Jake. They are 9 and 12, respectively. Chloe is so much fun she makes me want kids of my own. (Uh, maybe.) She reads me Junie B. Jones stories! And Jacob is the Running Man -- 200 miles this summer! Personally, I think that's the reason God invented cars, but Jake's impressive.
My nephew Jude. This is the child who is so cute I want to eat him. He's also Mr. Snuggly and lovey and I just want to sneak him home every time I see him.
My nephew Si. Jude's twin. And he looks eggzackly like his daddy did at that age. Which is cool, 'cause it means he'll grow up to be just as cute as my VBF's hubby. And, he's got the cutest brown eyes EVER. (VBF will probably smack me for using a foody-face picture, but isn't it so cute?!)
OK, then, am I just the luckiest Aunt Tasty or what?!?!?!
Last night when Tina and I were out we saw a bumper sticker that said, "Try Jesus". I asked her, "What, if you don't like him, you send him back?"
Tina said, "No, Try Jesus: He's great on toast!"
I nearly drove off the road laughing.
And, scene.
With apologies to my father, I bring you this report of a day in my entertaining life.
Normally, I wouldn't give my former spouse any more than a passing thought this far out from the throwing-out-of-myself, but this is just TOO GOOD to pass up. This morning, I received the following email, verbatim, from Grimace (who is engaged to be married):
"boy oh boy did i have a dream last night. If it was half as good for you as it was me. you would still be quaking in your panties. lol Your pretty good in the sack even when your not here. lol anyway just thought i would share, and possibly give you a chuckle. talk to you later. Muah Wayne"
First, OH MY GAWD! What in the ever-loving FUCK is he thinking???
Second, the following replies were offered by two of my favorite women. The first one listed is from Lola.
1) he needs to know that if you are starring in his dreams he now has to pay you royalties. you are no longer required by law to remain in his spank bank without proper compensation. tell him to tally up the cost of the dinner (mcdonald's does NOT count) and movie that would be appropriate predecessors to him getting laid that well and mail the check out today.
2) if he refuses to send the check remind him that you broke his teeny weenie once and you can do it again.
3) after the check clears tell him that he spelled "you're" wrong. twice.
snort.
loving you,
Lo
Do you LOVE this girl, or WHAT????
The second one is offered by my dear Allie.
Dear Grimace,
what a dream i had. i woke up screaming and still shaking some. i dreamed that i actually had to let that wee flaccid one-pumper near me again. but then i woke up - and looked a the stud beside me who gently began complimenting me and saying the most wonderful things and i realized -- i am the luckiest girl in all the world.
thanks for the reminder,
love,
stacey
Can you STAND the creativity?!?!? I love these women!!!!
Then, there's HerrMatt. Whom we adore.
He said,
my first response was: YEAH, in YOUR DREAMS!
my second response was: awww, he is scared and does not how to communicate directly so he mentions this as a way to let you know he thinks about you.
my third response was: heaving into the toilet
my forth response was: how sad
my fifth response was: a happy, peaceful place with this unplanned but celebrated piece of knowledge
A.dore him.
My response to Matt went something as follows:
Most of my personalities went with "heave into the toilet", but the healthiest of my personalities went with "a happy, peaceful place with this unplanned but celebrated piece of knowledge".
WOOT!!! This whole thing reminds me of another story that can now be told! Stay tuned for more of the Grimace Files.
- Just a little tip for those of us who are inked: if you reside in Indiana, your tat has to be a year old to donate blood. I'm marking my calendar for May of next year.
- I really like jewelry, so if you want to make me giddy, send me some.
- I'm an excellent cleaning person (my house not included), so if you want me to come make your house sparkly, it will only cost you $25/hr.
Happy weekend. That's all I got for today. More after I visit my VBF and family tomorrow!
Spray-on bacon: no calories, no crunch.
[Story below found here.]
Now that everything from a tan to pantyhose comes in spray form, it's little wonder someone has found a way to put liquid pork in a can. Well, almost. Smoked bacon, as well as chocolate fudge, strawberry shortcake, ranch and banana split are among the flavours featured in a new line of spritz-on food toppings. The "flavour sprays" are designed to simulate the taste of dieters' favourite foods while eliminating the guilt of eating them - each contains no fat, calories, carbohydrates or cholesterol.
"(Spray-on) birthday cake is going to be a home run," predicts Sean Pomper, operations director for Flavor Spray Diet. "You actually taste the vanilla cake with the chocolate filling inside and the sprinkles and the cream on top."
The 18 unlikely sprays are the brainchild of celebrity chef David Burke, a New York culinarian noted for his research and new product development. New York Post food critic Cynthia Kilian wrote that the spray-on bacon's "flavour charade (works) surprisingly well on scrambled eggs." The hot and sour spray didn't fare as well, causing a "potent sting of heat accompanied by a musty tang." Root beer float was dubbed "a clear winner."
Each can contains a liquid extract made up of water, salts, emulsifiers and natural and artificial flavours, with Splenda used as a sweetener in the "dessert" sprays. A 60 mL supply will cost Canadians about $7, plus shipping, and is said to last six months (flavorspraydiet.com).
Pomper recently shipped two cases of product to a Maryland hospital that's now using Burke's dessert sprays on patients with dysphagia, a condition characterized by difficulties swallowing. "The patients are loving it," Pomper reports. "They're on a feeding tube but they're actually getting a hit of strawberry shortcake, marshmallow, chocolate, root beer ... tastes they haven't had in their mouths for years."
Krystyna Sieciechowicz, a University of Toronto food anthropologist, likens the sprays to a harbinger of virtual food. "When we're staring to extract all these ingredients, how far are we from saying we'll have a pill and we'll have a spray that gives you a whiff of onions?" she muses. "It may be 100 or 200 years off, but I think that's what we're preparing ourselves for - food that's a mere remembrance of what the original was."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Celebrity chef David Burke is obviously on some kind of drug. And not something good, like Vicodin. This is just the sort of thing that is wrong with American culture. I appreciate the applications for dysphagia, but COME ON. Virtual Food? This is obviously an extrapolation of what is truly wrong with the concept of fat free cake. Diet cake is *clearly* an abomination against God and Humankind. Cake should be made with whole eggs, butter, cream, and, preferably, either chocolate or almonds. Or both. Applesauce substituting for butter just does not make it, people.
Yes, obesity is a problem. You already know it's a problem I'm handling at this time (7 pounds down, 4 bajillion more to go!) But DIET CAKE is not going to make the problem go away. When it comes down to the essence of the thing, I think obesity, and therefore, Diet Cake, are results of the same issue. The issue being that of fearful living.
If you're living with absolute abandon, you'll eat eggs, sugar, chocolate, and heavy cream. Oh, and lots of dark chocolate! But, if you're only eating with abandon, (and by "you" I mean "me") and not LIVING with abandon, you'll become fat. If you can also MOVE, write, sing, work, talk, travel, love, adventure, and MOVE SOME MORE with abandon, you can eat with abandon and not become fat.
My point being, DON'T FALL FOR THE DIET CAKE!!! It's a total sham. So are the spray-on foods. They're a ploy to get you to both eat and live fearfully. Instead, eat the real cake and learn to love hiking, kayaking, the high you can get from sweating, swimming, or athletic sex. Do something else you love more often, even if it's not exercise: write, bead, walk, draw, paint, sing, or sculpt.
Do it all passionately. Have your cake and eat it, too. Otherwise, what good is the cake?
As much as I adore the instant satisfaction of words online, the email, and the ever-effusive blogging habit, there is truly, truly nothing better than words on paper. Words on paper that arrive in my mailbox are my favorite words of all. Today, two things arrived in my mailbox, both of which made me very happy.
First, I got pictures of my nephews! I'm going to get permission to post their pictures here, because there is absolutely no way I could explain to you how incredibly beautiful they are! I've looked at the pictures at least 10 times since I opened the envelope three hours ago. They're gorgeous, and they are going to grow up with the best parents and siblings ever -- it's just one of those things that can make me smile for a week. And it will. The note from their Mommy, my VBF, was equally as precious. It makes me giddy when Beth calls me Aunt Tasty -- I love that I get to stand in and be her kids' aunt on her side of the family. (They have other aunties on their dad's side, as well.)
The other thing I got in the mail was a very short hand-written note that was also signed "Love". When you adore someone, getting something they've had in their hands is a simple and delicious little thrill. (Why do you think the Numb3rs SQUEAL with delight when we get stuff in the mail from one another??) Something else to make me smile. Sappy? I don't believe so. Possibly Romantic with the capital "R"; you know, the appreciation for small, personal gestures that can make a day sweet.
Lovely reminders to send some hand-written notes tomorrow. Thank you for the long-distance hugs, my friends!
I am 13% White Trash. I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box.
Dirty boys and girls, not 'cause of that! Though... oh, sorry, mind wandered.
Ahem, I've been down to the gym in my building and have worked up a drippy sweat. Yes, it was a 21 minute workout, but it's the SIXTH one of those in 3.5 days. I knew I needed a jumpstart of some sort, so I decided that twice a day would be a good idea for the first 6 weeks. And because I know it's only going to last 30 minutes or less, so far, you know, for the 3.5 days, it's working. Heh.
Thank you so much to everyone who commented on Wednesday's entry. I just wanted to let you know (if I haven't talked to you in person) that the wave of obsession has, indeed, passed and I am on the upswing for sure. I feel great this morning, even the sweating is good. WHEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!
And later, my hair will be fabulous.
Love and kisses!
A have a little thing I like to call the Cubby Hole Theory of Obsession. Mostly, I’m not overly obsessive. (Please note that I did not say I wasn't obsessive. Just not overly obsessive.) Well, about things, anyway. Things, while nice to have, are just things. Instead, I obsess about all the things that aren’t things. While I can’t say I enjoy obsessing, there must be some kind of payoff, because slowing the Ye Olde Obsession Factory down to a nice, steady pace of production is nigh unto impossible. It seems to run best in Extremely High Output mode. And the therapist says I’m “extremely well adjusted.” Two words: SUCKER!
S'anyway, my theory: Remember when you were a kid and you had a cubby at school? In my case it was a Rubbermaid dishpan that fit into a little slot like a drawer, and we kept all of our books and things in there. Mr. Patterson and Mrs. Piedra’s fourth grade classes at Mt. View Elementary (Annex School.) Anyway, even though that was the sort of cubby I had, I envision my Obsession Cubbies as something a little different. My brain has a huge wall of doors covering 16” x 16” cubes. The little doors aren’t remarkably sturdy, and they’re opaque. They’re thin plyboard in my mind’s eye, and they have a hole where you can stick your index finger in and pull the door open, instead of having a knob or something. (I’m not sure why they’re so plain, they should really be made of something pretty, possibly painted and glazed a lovely shade of pink, and have crown-shaped, sparkly pulls. But, whatever.)
In my huge wall of cubbies, there are many, many open doors. To be entirely honest, I've never been much of a compartmentalizer. In fact, if I weren’t able to read for long periods of time without breaks, I’d be absolutely convinced that I had ADHD. Nothing else requiring sentient thought can keep my attention for more than about four consecutive minutes. Overall, I think this is a positive trait, as it allows me to see more easily how one thing will affect the next, and allows me to put concepts together from different arenas of information to make a new idea, or to solve a problem.
So, there are a lot of things I’m thinking about at any one time. The cubby hole doors seem to fly open at will and random stuff starts falling out of the cubbies. Examples of the contents include (but are not limited to) camping with my family as a kid, my Campus House church at Purdue, a schload of music, dreams and plans for spending a year in Spain, Italy, or Portugal, my experiences in Venezuela, books I've read, books I'm writing, my next roadtrip, my next essay, and a variety of other good things. Thankfully, on the whole, I’ve had a pretty safe and joyful life and there’s really nothing insurmountable flying out of the doors. I've never had to endure physical abuse from a spouse, no combat time, no homelessness, no loss that was so huge it was something from which I couldn’t recover.
How.Ever.
There are some things that have their own cubbies which are not as pleasant; things that fall out at the most inopportune moments. For example, in the last month, the following random items have fallen out of their respective cubbies. All at once. (Some of these happened in the last month, and some of them I just got really pissed off about within the last month; they may have happened longer ago.)
--I turned 36.
--I have no children.
--I attended a baby shower
--a bridal shower,
--and a wedding.
--The former spouse has MY dogs.
--Flowers from MY dad's garden are growing on the former spouse's patio. (I couldn't move daylillies into an apartment.)
--I took too much debt away from my marriage, limiting my current income (for which I'm grateful. Uh, the income, not the debt.)
--Found out both of the ex-husbands are getting married.
--I have depressive symptoms, and that just sucks ass.
--My tan is fading.
Okay, that last one wasn't serious. But, the other things, when emerging from their respective cubbies at one time, sent me just a teensy bit over the edge. I'll be the first to admit I'm a cry-er. I'm so good at it that it's actually a hobby. (Ask me about my revolutionary, patented tear-dabbing technique.) But daily crying and the nearly uncontrollably strong urge to hide underneath my bed are really not fun. Like, at all. So, I'm changing the cubby holes. From now on, some of them will be fortified with stronger doors. Doors with locks. I will control where the key for the locks resides. And I will leave the doors closed. Or, at the very least, I'll make an effort to only open one of the doors marked "NOTHING GOOD IN HERE" at a time. Maybe I'll use some duct tape. As embarassing as it is to feel juuuuust shy of totally out of control, it actually feels better to write it down. And tell your boss. And your friends. Just telling it makes me able to shut the doors on the stuff that I don't need to think about every day. Or, in some cases, ever again. The rest of the cubbies will be redecorated. Maybe with coordinating fabrics and trims. And sequins.
"Integrity commits itself to character over personal gain, to people over things, to service over power, to principle over convenience, to the long view over the immediate."
"You have just dined, and however scrupulously the slaughterhouse is concealed in the graceful distance of miles, there is complicity." Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher (1803-1882)
Gotta ask, does my site look nekkid to you? To me, it looks like all my pretty summer graphical elements are gone-o-rama. Well, poop.
So, I had a smashing birthday that included, but is not limited to the following: - ~a singing wake-up call from my lovely Allison
- ~singing calls from my folks and a couple of other good buddies
- ~a mani and pedi sponsored by my parental unit
- ~Kill Bill and Kill Bill 2 from The Fig
- ~a lil' surprise get-together arranged by The Fig and my dear Dena
- ~ribs and macaroni salad, also prepared by the Fig
- ~an AMAZING birthday cake made by my dear Dena (almond flavor, mmmmmm!)
- ~some wine from my Wandaful
- ~a yummy and fun lunch from my Jenny Fines Cox
- ~a Drama Queen sculpture from my Teena Weena
- ~a very, very sweet email from my Christel
- ~lovely wishes from my Lola, in the midst of her sadness
- ~some verycool martini art from That Todd
- ~original art (that of a beautiful nude, male, one each) from my Soul Sister Terri!!!!
- ~this really amazing thing from my Dadness
- ~and, also from That Todd, the flowers below -- my MOST favorite kind, with the perfect note. Perfect, i.e., just the right parts sweet and smartass. Mostly smartass. Love that.
Needless to say, those last three things are especially dear to me. I'm an unusually blessed person. Thank you everyone. I love you tons!!!
Oh, how entertaining life can be. Just a day or two ago I was telling you that I had acquired a new title that you should feel free to use. Lo, and behold, (don't you love that phrase?) I've already run into a snag or eleven. Thankfully I did have a bit of foresight, and included this in my previous essay, "My feelings on the suitability of that being MY title are subject to change without notice -- likely around the time PMS kicks in." I got news: PMS didn't even need to kick in!
So, I'm bobbing happily along in my really, really nice life, complete with awesome friends, a delightful family, niece and nephews who love me, a DARling apartment, and even a supercool, creative man-person I care a ton about. When, BLAM! Out of nowhere, the Goat Rodeo ensues. It's always the stuff you don't expect. My veryownpersonal Goat Rodeo consisted of attending a baby shower, which was simply lovely but where the mom-to-be is not really prepared for parenthood (not that I am, entirely, either, but hang with me.) The baby is a girl, and there are no less than 6,012 cute girl dresses and blankets and shoes and things all laid out after the gifts are opened. And then there are the seven babies there running around being really cute -- none of them are screeching, making them even more appealing to the casual observer. Then, there are the three 20 year old girls who are newly married and pregnant. (Oh, and there was a killer chicken casserole for lunch.)
Normally, this is all very charming and sweet and motherly. But when you're about to turn 36 (yes, I know I'm harping!) and you've managed to get to that age without ever having been pregnant, or knowing if you ever will be, or in my schizophrenic case, if you actually want to be, these things are less charming. Instead, these things serve only to remind you that you aren't married (and never have been happily) and that you don't have any kids, and you're not sure you ever will, and and and and and! And I managed to waste most of a gorgeous Sunday being all weepy and sad and mourning the loss of whatever future I made up for myself when I was 20. I'd have been LIVING a Goat Rodeo if I'd have gotten what I wished for back then.
DUH! Today is a new day, and all I can tell you is: Thank God I'm not 20 anymore. I know one or two more things than I did 16 years ago. And I don't spend EVERY gorgeous Sunday crying about things I can't change. I'm not saying I'm done thinking about kids forever, I'm simply saying that it was nice not to have to dress anyone but myself or drop anyone off at school this morning. I've literally never been happier as an adult. Really. Life in my DAR apartment is really cool. With intermittent Goat Rodeo festivities.
Happy Monday!
Her Royal Majesty, The Queen of Highball, Duchess of Pork, King of All She Surveys, and the The Irreverend Dr. Tasty, Leader of the Church of Margaritaville. (All degrees honorary.)
It suits me, don't you think? My soul sister Terri and I were discussing a few things the other day, and I mentioned that on *some* days, not only am I the queen, but I'm also the king. Allow that to sink in for a moment, won't you? Some days, I just rule. I remember how much I can actually control in my life, and how much I can't, and just go with it. Oh, sure, I just rule my little corner of the block of 9th and Meridian (only about 900 square feet, if the truth be told,) and that not particularly well, but I SO RULE. Anyway, she gave me that title. Feel free to use it when addressing me in the future. (My feelings on the suitability of that being MY title are subject to change without notice -- likely around the time PMS kicks in.)
Now, I do have to acquiesce on one point of governmental order, as my VBF was the first one with the Surveys title. She was Mayor of the Bus and King of All She Surveys. I think that was around 1986. And she still is. This is a girl with whom I ran around in high school and college acting nuts. In fact, we were SO straight in college, but we'd go to parties with our friend Birdie sometimes... and people would ask her if we were stoned. The results of being simultaneously smart and imaginative can be very interesting to the observer.
Hooray for good memories and general silliness. Who knew I'd still be acting approximately the very same way 20 years later? Thank God for my lifelong friend, and for my Numbers, who just feel like I've already known them my whole life!
P.S., When are we getting together so you can meet each other???
Or, "Yet Even More About Birthdays" by Stacey.
Dearest Dande,
You were the first Queen I sent stuff to! Did you know that? Not only that, but you were my first Scary Soul Sister to be located in another state. How is it that we came from two entirely different places in the world and still have all the things in common that we do? (All the way down to studying Classical Greek in college, the whole pastor thing, and both being dreadfully allergic to shellfish.)
You are SUCH a precious person. Brilliant, hilarious, and amazingly well spoken. Who else says, "The irony is delicious" while they're still mostly asleep? All this, and you're a hottie, too. You're one of my favorite people in the world, and I hope that you know that every single day.
Happy Birthday to you, Mary M'Ary* Dande #4/WV Boss of the Mud Bog Queens Queen of the Dandelion Festival WHO DIS? The Persimmon Sexypants Face
I love you, Tasty
I know normal people do not get torqued up about their 36th birthdays. But, I'm really not all that normal. More later, as I have an *actual* post in the works, but I just had to RE-mention this.
Also, hey-i-love-you to Allie and Lola and Mary, and when the slap is Christel coming back?!?!?!?!
Happy birthday, my dearest, darlingest girl. There is absolutely NO WAY I could possibly tell you how much I adore you with mere words. Not in any language. You're the reason I still love May 15th, one of the major reasons I made it through 2003 and 2004, my road trip buddy, the one who thinks it's hilarious that I briefly considered peeing in Grimace's jacuzzi, my verybest Cocktail Queen -- what would I EVER do without you? Thank GOD I don't have to find out.
Jenny, I LOVE LOVE LOVE your heart. You are tender, motherly, loving, and the least only-child-like only child I know. I especially adore how you love Beth and Steve and the kids and my family you've maybe met them all once. The mark of a true friend is how they love who you love. You know what else? You KNOW me. You really know me on the inside. And you love me, anyway. You ROCK, SISTER. Thank you for being one of my nearest and dearest. Ever.
Happy Birthday to you, Jenny Jenny Fines Cox Tillie Pears Pears of What? Tattoo Butt Baby Sister Jennifer My Sweet Girl With whole big huge bunches of love, Maude
See, this is what happens to you when you enter the cadre called "nearest-and-dearest." You get your birthday advertised and yourdamnself feted on Le Blogue o' Tasty. (Though, I did choose something different for Lola.) You'll learn to deal with it.
I love that you're my friend, that you're smart, fun, clever, thoughtful, and that your enthusiasm and passion have made me think about some simple but significant things a little bit differently. I especially admire the fact that your personal gain doesn't determine the level of effort, creativity, and quality you put into your cooking; your desire to produce something marvelous and unique outweighs all other factors. It's easy to respect a person of integrity.
Happy Birthday to you,
Todd T That Todd The Chef Snotwad Quad Hogboy, of Hogboy and Cueball fame Transfattyacid Monkeebones Monkeyboy
with much love, s
I hope you have lost your good looks, for while they last any fool can adore you, and the adoration of fools is bad for the soul. No, give me a ruined complexion and a lost figure and sixteen chins on a farmyard of Crow's feet and an obvious wig. Then you shall see me coming out strong.
--George Bernard Shaw
AHhhhhhh! How beautiful! Don't you LOVE this?! Thank God for a literary voice of reason in the midst of the overkill of television! Once again, I'd like to remind both you and me that while I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with the ideal that American media holds up as beautiful; what's wrong with the ideal is the utter exclusion of beauty that can be found in SO MANY OTHER PLACES.
When, when, when are we going to throw out the packaging and concentrate on the gift inside? Diamonds and rubies are found in nature in less-than-desirable settings. The brilliant mind of Stephen Hawking lives in a severely impaired body. Pearls, and, indeed, oysters, come in irregular and unattractive shells. Creamy, yummy coconut flesh is found inside a thick husk and *then* inside a hairy shell! And, good night, who figured out how to eat lobster? Come on, BUGS! They look like a giant bug. GAH!
Can't we PLEASE concentrate on the interior for a minute? The media-beauty thing is tiring. For example, one of my most favorite women in the world, one who also happens to be slender and gorgeous, is feeling oppressed by the thought of aging. I, myownself, am sick and fucking tired of the constant struggle to remember I'm beautiful in the face of no-less-than-constant reminders that the only acceptable standard is: young, tall, long hair, tiny body, great tits. I'm sorry, but that's just a little narrow for me. When's the last time you looked at your precious great-grandma and thought, "Damn, she's wrinkly." She doesn't meet any of those standards, and she's beautiful. Isn't she.
My point, and once again, I do have one, is, for your sake and for the sake of those who adore you, LOOK INSIDE FOR THE GIFT. Look under the goofy glasses, the crazy clothes, the unruly frizzy hair, the crow's feet, and the sixteen chins. Open the box and find the ruby. Unwrap the gift! Find the real stuff underneath.
Find that in yourself, too. You're gorgeous under there.
My dear nephew,
It's been five years today since you left this life, and I still can't believe it, really. I just want you to know that I think about you every day, the same as I think about your brothers and sister. It's really weird not praying for you anymore, since you're already home.
You were here when your sister named me "Aunt Tasty". I'd never had a nickname before that, and even though I was already a grown up, it made me feel special! I couldn't wait until you called me that, too. You said all kinds of funny little cute things, and you sang songs to your mom, but we didn't get around to you calling me that. (We'll get to that later, after I'm done being here too, I suspect.) One of my favorite memories of you is one day I came over to visit you guys and your mom and I were sitting on the couch in the basement in that house on Bluebird. You had your diaper and some jeans on but you had taken off your shirt and you were giggling your butt off. You kept climbing around my head, to my lap, up to my shoulder, behind my head again and again. You were terribly pleased with yourself! And you were absolutely cracking me and your mom up.
Since I have no idea how transition from this life to the next one actually works, you may already know this, but your mom and dad and Jake and Chloe are doing really great. I've never seen anyone miss anyone the way they miss you, but they're doing amazingly well. I just saw them a few days ago, and they are still just as wonderful, hilarious, and loving as they always were. Not only that, but they even had enough love to have your new brothers. I bet you met them already. Your folks named them Jude and Simon, and they are darling! Almost as cute as you were! It's easy to see that God sent them to the right family.
I guess I just wanted you to know that I still think about you every single day. I still miss you when I go see your mom and dad. A picture of your impish face is still in my cube at work, and I still include you in the list of people I adore and talk about to my friends and colleagues.
We'll see each other again.
I love you, little boy.
Always yours,
Aunt Stacey Seth William Price April 9, 1998 - July 7, 2000
I've been thinking about this for a while. Once you see the subject matter, I'm sure you'll know how long I've been rolling this around in my noggin. And, while this isn't the most lighthearted of Friday posts, I want this to be clear.
One of my dearest friends emailed me the following message. (And by dearest, I mean: I would carry a child for him, take a bullet for him, and appear on a major news network without having done my hair or applied mascara if it would save him from any sort of pain. Really, I'm not fooling around here.)
"Subject: For the Record
In the unlikely case that I suffer an accident or illness that leaves me brain dead or in a permanent vegetative state before I can have a living will created...please do not keep my body alive artificially. Please do not let ANY politician interfere with my civil liberties. I have no idea what, if anything, happens to us after our life on earth ends but I have chosen to believe that we find a better place...a place of healing, enlightenment, peace and wholeness. And for that reason alone, please do not keep me from my next journey."
And, what I have to say to all of you whom I adore -- you know who you are -- is, please do the living will now. This week. Make an appointment with your attorney or whatever. I WILL do my very best to advocate for you in your choices should you become incapacitated. So, please make it legal. However, I will NOT fight your moms and daddies about pulling your plug if you don't.
This has been a public service announcement. Thank you.
Love,
Stacey
I'm a COMPLETE DORK about my birthday. I know I'm not nine years old, but I don't care -- still love my birthday. Loved 30, looking forward to 40. Next one's 36. Stay tuned for party details.
Hope you enjoy yours, too.
Love,
Stacey
P.S. I also just wanted to make one of these ticker deals.
I'm reading this great book by Anne Lamott called Bird by Bird. It's instructions on writing, and really on living, too. She talks about writers needing to be unafraid to make that shitty first draft. Put it on paper, she says. No one will read it. So true. So, I'm doing this idiotic quiz instead of publishing a shitty first draft. The first draft is about Sherlock and Earle. And you'll find it here in a few months. Until then... - Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says. "...The ride of my breasts..."
- Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first? Picutre of my nephew Seth.
- What is the last thing you watched on TV? Something inane.
- Without looking at the clock, guess what time it is: 9:09 p.m.
- Now look at the clock, what is the actual time? 9:11 p.m.
- With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? Air conditioning.
- When was the last time you stepped outside. When I got in my car to come to work.
- Before you came to this website, what did you look at? ebay.
- What are you wearing? denim shorts, flip-flops, tshirt.
- Did you dream last night? I dreamed that I got into a fight with Jenny Fines Cox about how to get to my house. So crazy!
- When did you last laugh? A moment ago on the phone w/ Angie, as the computer system I'm supposed to be writing scripts for is kaput.
- ** Correction ** What is on the walls of the room you are in? Office stuff. In my cube, there are pictures of almost everone I adore. Lola, Jenny, Allie, Laura, my fam, my niece and nephews, Christelicious, my brother.
- Seen anything weird lately? Not monumentally.
- What do you think of this quiz? It's kind of silly.
- What is the last film you saw? Cinema Paradiso.
- If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first? Plane tickets.
- Tell me something about you that I don’t know. Can't. I'm transparent. You know it all.
- If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do? Let people be generous.
- Do you like to dance? HELL YEAH!
- George Bush. Um, yes? He was our president right before Clinton was.
- Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her? Charlene. Probably Charlie for short.
- Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him? John-David.
- Would you ever consider living abroad? In Belize! Or, really, nearly anywhere.
- Name Four Bad Habits You Have: procrastinate, ignore things sometimes hoping they'll fix themselves, forgetting to write it down, still fixing money issues.
- Name Four Things That You Wish You Had: Stamina (working on that), loads of money, the first draft of an amazing novel, a resort in Italy.
- Name Four Scents You Love: clean laundry -- sheets specifically, linguicia, clean skin, a zillion kinds of flowers.
- Name Four Things You'd Never Wear: ugly shoes, uncomfortable bra, a bad haircut, cheap jewelry. Heehee.
- Name Four Things You Are Thinking About Now: How to change things, swimming tomorrow, finishing my work, calling Allie and Todd back.
- Name Four Things That You Have Done Today: cleaned my house, swam, took a nap, written this goofy quiz.
- Name the Last Four Things You Have Bought: dinner, cute shoes, eyeshadow, gasoline.
- Name Four Bands/Groups Most People Don't Know You Like: Y'all know 'em. Um, Cat Stevens, maybe you don't know that. Ohh, and Led Zeppelin. I still love them.
- Name Four Drinks You Regularly Drink: coffee, vodka, orange juice, water.
Yup, this is republished. It was kind of hidden under another post when I first did it. Still like it, so, in lieu of actual creativity, I'm bumping this one. Look for new fun stuff tomorrow! Lemmekneaux if you've read this book and if you've seen the postcard site before. Kisses!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He's Just NOT That Into You is a brilliant book. Funny and plain and honest. Complete with examples of how girls tend to get it wrong when it comes to boys. Have you read it? It really did change my perspective about dating. It just tells chicks how dudes operate. There should be one this plain and funny for dudes regarding how chicks work, too. (Who am I kidding, they'd never read it. Hehe.) This book may not have worked when I didn't care for myself a much as I do now, but since I'm pretty fond of who I'm becoming, the book truly works for me. For a personal example, when one incredibly cute boy quit talking to me out of the blue one day I was saddened, but I had no desire whatever to track him down and question him regarding why he just dropped off. Dur, why should I care why? Bottom line? He just wasn't that into me. In the spirit of not "wasting the pretty," I wasted no time agonizing about why, I just realized that he wasn't The Guy. The Guy would've realized how valuable I am, of course! [Nudge nudge, wink wink.] And to quote my soul sister, "We only care what The Right Guy thinks. We don't care what the ones who are not The Right Guy think." (Smart cookie, eh?) Anyway, my point is, even those of us who are enjoying who we're becoming have a hard time remembering this shit every day. Hormones interfere. Large bouts with self-doubt crop up. Overindulgence in red wine and dark chocolate happen. Worse-than-usual PMS occurs. Thankfully, these all pass. Praise Jesus for Prozac, friends, and a bit of perspective. Here's the postcard from http://postsecret.blogspot.com/ that prompted me to put these words here: 
Pledging to myself to not let anyone fake it. Most importantly, me.
As promised, this one actually IS called "Proof of Impending Armageddon".
I give you the following lyrics:
I don't believe it, it's almost too good to be true
I ain't never seen an ass like that
The way you move it,
you make my slinky go doing, doing, doing!
The pronunciation is not "do-ing" as in "I'm doing the dishes." It's "doing" as in the onomatopoeic "sproinnngggg!!!" And don't even pretend you don't know his slinky is his veryownpersonal penis.
Eminem, with all his talent -- which is considerable in my opinion -- has apparently decided to squander said talent, and has written and performed the lyrics to the above-quoted song. I say unto you, "Whaaaaa??"
Sure did see the video, too. GOOD LORD, have mercy on our utter lack of culture. Amen, and amen. Not only that, but the video has PUPPETS. I'm thoroughly confused and disturbed by all of it. Oh sure, I'm watching Hell's Kitchen each Monday night with bated breath, but you'll not find me purchasing Eminem's CD. I'm certainly not professing to be the pinnacle of refinement; after all, I'm the girl who's favorite word was "motherfucker" for the better part of a year. I'm just saying there are better lyrics than "doing-doing-doing" to be had. By the way, your 11 year old child will be singing this soon. And your 11 year old is a sweet little girl named Katie. Proof of Impending Armageddon.
And it's also not the one called "Proof of Impending Armageddon."
I've decided to do some things differently. And I'm pretty damn excited about it, I can tell you. Two things. First, and much to my surprise, I've decided that I really do want to be a much more physically fit version of myself. I've been giving this some serious thought, in between bites of macaroni and cheese, since Christmas. This, right now, is the happiest I've ever been as an adult. This is the most I've ever respected myself and the most I've ever believed in my loveliness. This is the least self-conscious I've ever been of my body. This is the first time I've walked around in my swimsuit without wildly looking for something to cover it up. Deciding to be physically fit is a decision I made out of gratitude for my continued good health and the urge to live to be REAL OLD.
I've had some smashing self-discoveries, and other sort of spiritual events in the last year. One of these, much to my astonishment, and absolute glee, is that I realized I'm already sexy. And, only my opinion counts in this matter. (But, seriously, have you *seen* me?) Really, ONLY my opinion counts on that. I am lovely because I feel lovely. Therefore, I'm NOT going to become physically fit (thinner will happen along the way, of course) out of some self-loathing. I'm going on this journey because I'm truly in love with being alive, and I want to stay that way. And, maybe, just in case I maybe want to (gasp) have a baby, I'd be fit enough to do it.
Let me say that I've NEVER been thin, but I certainly have been exercise-girl before... and I remember the energy! I have so, so many things I want to do, and I'm so wildly excited about all of them, that this is now necessary. Trust me, if you're still reading, I know how ridiculously positive and how coked-up I sound. I'm just excited. Vacillations will most assuredly occur. Especially when I don't feed the Cute Fat Girl dark chocolate in vast quantities during PMS-fest next month. Warning: avoid me then.
Bottom line, I'm going to become fit for
- stamina
- sexy underwear
- ease of intercontinental travel (the seats are cramped enough when your butt is tiny!!!!)
Oh, I kill myself. Actually, that list is almost entirely the truth! It's also what I said before, though. I'm grateful for my health, and I want to keep it. Because the second BIG choice is to remove myself from Corporate America. I'm not entirely positive how I'm going to accomplish this yet, but by my 40th birthday (4 years from now, for the curious), I'm never going to a Cube Farm again. I MUST write, or create, or decorate, or speak, or read, or all of those for a living. I'm good enough with at least two of them to get the hell out of my traditional job (for which I am currently grateful, but of which I'm increasingly weary.) Recently, a couple of my girls and I got our new tattoos. (WHEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!) The symbol and the people that it represents are The Numbers, but the LOCATION of my tattoo was for me. I put my tattoo on a visible part of my body as a physical commitment to my leaving the traditional workforce. 
It's on the inside of my calf. Verrrrrrrrrry sheksy! Anyway, I'm figuring out a path for the departure from one and entry to another. I'm excited about all of it. This second commitment has also been a long time in coming. Before I head off to sleep (which, by the way is GREAT for weight loss!) I want to thank a couple people who encouraged my path to this decision. Thank you to my Mom and my Dad who have always thought I was good at writing and who recently supported me 100% on my essays including the Incredible Body one. Thank you so very much to The Fig (my brother David) who truly believes I'm a poet. Thank you to My Numbers for convincing me of my uniqueness and for loving it. Thank you to Todd for saying out loud that I'm talented and creative -- your words arrived at the most essential of moments. Thank you most especially to God for breathing into me this passion and for sustaining it every moment.
...(what's new?) and joined the Unitarian Jihad.
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sibling Dagger of Looking at All Sides of the Question. Get yours. P.S. I didn't really join any Jihads. Nor did I take up Unitarianism.
HOWEVER, it's too funny not to share.
Yesterday, while rifling through some things, I found the following list of "band names" in my and John's handwriting. I'm not positive when we wrote these, but I do remember how hard we laughed. We may have been as young as 18, or as old as 24 when we made these up. I'm pretty sure it was when I lived in the studio apartment on the west side of Indianapolis, so we were probably about 22 or so. ANYWAY, I give you the sickness that was our idea of humour!
Maybe this IS a sign of impending armageddon. In any case, it's a sure indicator that we had some issues.
- Caustic Hymnal
- Monestary of Bacteria
- Fallopian Nightmare
- The Electric Eyeballs
- Pus Storn
- Crunch Cloud
- Unfocused Bretheren
- Mucous Key
- Jolly Little Grease Balls
- Bolus
- Stern Flowerchild of Death
- Bilebreath
- Nasalspit
- Zealot Bigotry
- Snuggle Rats
- Gaping Fleshwound
- Inkstain on my Butt
- Senile Men on Film
- Flapping Membranes
- Broken Cornea
- Aqueous Fluid Loss
- Political Firestorm
- Scary Fairy
- Retarded Grandma
- Sphincter of Doom
- Cornea Bucket
- Bead Expulsion
- Bladder Laughter
- Uncle Odor
- Insect Psychosis
- Tartar Kiss
- Nuclear Seizure
- Drainhair Soup
- Stuck on Cellulose
- Cellulose Celebration
OH OH OH, I almost forogt, there is a CLEAR WINNER in the funny category, here. I'll take your guesses on which one it is. Allie and I have already agreed without consulting one another, so I'm sure it's obvious. Prizes for the one who guesses correctly first. *****Update***** John emailed to let me know that I'd forgotten one! This is the one I think of all the time, too! Another favorite: Leghair Sandwich.
Here's a little list of some of the people/things that make me smile a wholebunchlot. Please note that these are in no particular order and that some of the entries kinda make me a lil' tingly, too. You'll figure it out.
- Everyone who responded yesterday and the day before. Thank you SO damn much.
- Feeling like a writer. (Decided to call myself an "essayist" the other day. Very satisfying.)
- Looking into a Masters of Divinity program.
- My VBF, Beth.
- The fam.
- Being in touch with Auntie G and my cousins.
- My Matt.
- Todd.
- The Bob & Tom show.
- Jason Mraz.
- My Numbers.
- mySpace.com
- Orange juice.
- Bleu cheese polenta.
- Being tattooed.
- Being missed.
- My niece and nephews.
- Popcorn.
- Teena Weena.
- Wandaful.
- The fact that my next blog entry is called "Proof of Impending Armageddon."
- The lyrics to Sleeping to Dream.
- Dr. Mary.
- Pretty much all of both Joss Stone CDs I have. Woot!
- Really good cheeses, including fresh mozzarella.
- New kid pictures.
- Getting funny stuff in the mail.
- Sexy sandals.
- ATL with Allie and Lola.
- NTboi.
OK, I guess that's enough for the moment. Stay tuned for the next entry.
One of the useful phrases Allie has brought to my life is "That Guy." As in, I tell her a story where either I or someone else has been silly or stupid or brilliant or hurt or funny or drunk, and she replies, "I've been That Guy." And I say, "Oh, me too, sister." Or we have a variation on the discussion where we're actively avoiding something unwise or immature or not-in-our-best-interest, and she says, "Let's not be That Guy."
I recently decided to admit I'm That Guy. And I'm going confess in which arena.
I'm That Guy who really is sick and damn tired of commercial country music. It is so often schmaltz on a freakin' cracker. Unless the artist has a unique style or stellar talent, it frequently ends up being a song like "From my Front Porch Looking In." Sure, it's sweet. Saccharine. Catchy and happy, and totally unrealistic. (If you don't know the tune: A man is singing about the view from his porch is so much better looking in the house than away from it. 'Cause his kids and his bride are in there.)
I'm That Guy who avoids the sappy romance movie. Oh my damn, how often can one watch the overly-bleached, overly-muscled in some completely contrived situation where the woman is being adored, admired, and respected by the man of her dreams who also happens to be a hot Latin guy? Puh-leeze. I have a better idea, let's go back to the TV show Thirtysomething where at least you knew you weren't alone when, while providing superb physical pleasure to your idiot husband, he complains because your legs aren't shaved. (True story, people.)
I'm That Guy who wouldn't pick up a romance novel if I wrote it and you paid me a grand a page to read the damn thing. Romance novels are WAY worse than country music and sappy movies combined. At least there's the potential for actual art to appear in those mediums -- an occasional great scene or maybe a really inspired chorus, but romance novels? Never. I was That Guy in high school, too. When I tried to read those little romances geared toward teenage girls, I'd get about 30 pages in, then wing the book full force at my closet door.
Now, here's the part I'm confessing:
I'm That Guy partly because I still have a little Pocket of Hope* that maybe I'll get the BIG LOVE. Maybe I'll still have a chance for real Romance -- please note the capital "R." I'm not talking romance as in the drippy stuff, but Romance as in the literature, poetry, cinema, thinking, reading, writing, connected-at-the-mind-and-voice thing that I'd love to have. The kind where you're truly friends at the soul. I'm outrageously blessed to have this with more than one person in my life! I confess that I still desire the BIG LOVE from and for a man. (One who doesn't happen to be gay.)
The sappy-esque input makes the "you're missing the BIG LOVE" card park itself directly in front of my face. So, the truth is, I'm That Guy who is playing a little mind game with herself. I'm avoiding the sap to keep the "you're missing the BIG LOVE" card off to the side and not so much directly in my line of sight. I'm not ashamed of my little misdirection game -- this little essay is my confession to myself and to my Numbers and Friends of my strategy, and an assurance to myself that I'm being honest.
A couple of things I'd like to mention at this time:
- I'm still incredibly thankful for all of the things in my life. Including the heartbreak I've experienced in the last 10 years. It all made me a much more complete and joyful person.
- I'm still committed to truth and to not pretending with any of my friends.
- I'm NOT looking for perfection. Never have.
- There is all kinds of hope. For all kinds of things.
- I both adore and detest the total uncertainty of EVERYTHING.
- PMS sucks ass. This is such a two-Prozac day.
* Pocket of Hope, as opposed to my Backpack of Fear. That's another essay.
Here are just a few lines to get you thinking about words and how powerful they are.
First:
I can’t BEGIN to tell you how many people have commented on, critiqued, or criticized my use of the phrase “amazing tits” in my previous entry called Incredible Body. I really do love a good Puritan, I just don’t happen to be one (anymore) and I’ve found it nothing less than fascinating how much effect that phrase had on the essay and the readers. Fascinating! Cool stuff.
Second:
My verybestfriend sent me the absolute best story regarding a fabu phrase her husband used. Please find it here:
The following is a conversation I just had with Steve at 7:00 AM, after returning home from a night shift...hands shaking from exhaustion as he's pouring the coffee. He was up and down all night, and at one point had to intubate some poor old guy with emphysema who came into the ER half dead. I said, “You don't have to intubate people much, do you?”
him: Not anymore.
me: Is it like riding a bike?
him: (thoughtful silence)
him: Yes. It's like riding a bike downhill at 80 miles an hour with your hair on fire. Scary.
The power of a well-told story is the best thing, maybe ever. And how do you argue with that bike riding analogy?
Third:
Did I mention how appealing it is when an attractive and very masculine man uses the word “provençal”? Damn, people -- a good vocabulary and the correct French pronunciation? That’s nothing less than sexy.
Fourth:
Have a happy Friday! I’m outta here to meet some of my favorite people at Big Daddy’s! Rum and coke, please!
Happy birthday to my Allie Sexypants! You KNOW how much I adore you and how I do NOT know how I'd have lived the last year or so of my life without you. Thank God I didn't have to. Here's to this year being your very best one so far! I wish you beauty and confidence and adventure untold.
And I'm so excited I could pee! WOOT!!!!!!!!
Alliepants, please say your microwave works well because I'm jonesing for popcorn almost as much as I'm jonesing to make out with you! Everyone prepare for a lovely portrait of the two cutest girls you know kissing each other. Framed, and in our living rooms. Also, tell Mike I said, "Woof" and I can't wait to see him.
Lola, I'll be there at, say, 7:30? My damn, I'm out of my mind. Is that waayyyy too early? Can you go to sleep real early tonight, like, say, now? Hehehe. Can't wait to hug my wifey!
JennySue, wanna have breakfast that early? Wanna wanna huh? I can't wait to see you!
Ann, have the champagne on ice. HAHA! Like you'd have liquor on campus. Tee hee. Just have your arms ready for the serious huggins!!
WOOT! This time tomorrow we'll only be 5 hours from Alliepants!
I heard the best sentence the other day from my soul sister, Terri:
“You realize there are eleven men in the world who might be worthy of us; and we know none of them, right?”
HOW FUNNY! (And, how true. Heh heh.)
Now, I ask you, what’s the very best part of that sentence? What truly makes it funny? I know that Beth, Allie, and Matt know for sure. It’s not that there are so few worthy men. It’s not the fact that we know none of them…what is it? C’mon, guess.
It’s the fact that there are eleven. Eleven is what makes that classic.
Reminds me of a conversation I had with Dr. Mary the other night regarding the fact that a great deal of the entertainment I get from life is directly related to language. We were on our way to Wandaful’s new house, and we drove past one of those miniature golf courses, with the windmills and fountains and crap. You know the ones. So anyway, when Beth and I were 14, we went on a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. (A trip during which here parents showed incredible restraint by not throwing us out the window of a moving car.) At that time, there were about 278 miniature golf places like that in Myrtle Beach. (There may be either more, or less now, depending on what’s en vogue for 14-year-old kids on vacation with their parents.)
So, my point, and I do have one, is that on those mini golf courses, the fountains are full of this incredibly blue substance that appears to have a lot of the same fountain-esque properties of water, but is clearly enhanced with chemicals. When Beth first saw one of these, she said, “I don’t know what it is. But water is what it isn’t.” Which is FAR funnier than the blue “water” itself. Beth and I still say that phrase on occasion.
I relayed this story to Dr. Mary, who said, “Oh, what a language geek! And at such a young age.” And SO damn true. The language geek thing never wore off. In college, the Ford Probe was a new model, and a fairly popular one. Beth and I decided we couldn't possibly drive it due solely to its name. Too close to alien anal probe or something. When we were in junior high school, we used to pass each other notes with one word on them. Words that made us laugh. Here are all the ones I remember: - ham
- nub
- meat
- wad
- stump
- loaf
- ode
- tapeworm
No, I don't know *why* they're funny. But they still make me laugh. (I know most of this is probably context and isn't really humorous to most of you.) Speaking of ode and tapeworm, Beth once wrote a poem called Ode to a Tapeworm. It was SO WRONG. And wonderful. Matt and I were once sent into gales of uncontrolled laughter based purely on the repetition of the word "paprika" in various inflections. This has carried on for years, now. When a guaranteed laugh is needed, all you gotta do is bring out the paprika. Pap-RIIIIIII-ka! Also, Matt and Beth and I all say "huyhnduh!!?" as a greeting. It's a smashed-together version of "how you doing" and pretty much renders us both hilarious, and sounding like we have some sort of speech difficulty. This is kind of rambly and hormone-laden. I need vodka and vicodin. Or something. Really good sex wouldn't hurt, either. OK, as soon as I publish this, I'll think of sixteen other words that make me laugh. (Including the ones right below this post!)
I get lots of idiotic spam in my work email, but I got one today that made me laugh. It's idiotic, but entertaining... if you're a word nerd.
I give you the entire contents of the email:
"committable loamy sophomore brothel mnemonic mexican capella raffish assassin account doolittle shot complete parthenon pusey clubhouse bewhisker arcade etch caretaker grown they hornet babble rehabilitate goniometer puppeteer spectacle inferring macaque orthography bluegill barcelona exposure immoral mauritius excelled fitchburg blackwell"
HA!
Now, tomorrow's entry will be a decent one, I promise. It will be called "Word Nerd."
Front of shirt:
Back of shirt:
Words by my soul-sister Terri. Design and attitude by me. How many do you want? You may purchase here: http://www.cafepress.com/fruityqueens.22576146
Apparently, my photo has caused some concern.
I give you exhibit A:
Note from Jenny Fines Cox:
"By the way....I kinda like the new picture. Although I am wondering what it is you're wearing or not. hehehe"
Wiseass girl. I love her so much.
I now give you exhibit B:
Email from Allison:
MEMO
To: #5
From #3ga
Date: May 12, 2005
Re: Possible Sexual Content on your blog
Ms. #5,
Upon my daily reading (it's like the bible, but it's not) , I took notice of your new and most loverly photo. However, it seems to me that you are clothed in some form of lingerie.
I think it should me mandatory that you post some disclaimer....as i was struck with undue moistness knowing the boobs were JUST below frame.
You're going to be blamed for inter-blog hard ons throughout the EN-tire internet...
Just Sayin,
#3ga
How do you not ADORE this girl? OHmydamn, I laughed my ass directly OFF!
For the record:
I'm wearing a little light green tank top with lace on the top edge. And little else.
How about THAT for a blog entry?? 100% stolen from my funnyass friends!
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