Just a Friendly Reminder

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.

Avoiding the Shitty First Draft

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.

He's Just NOT That Into You

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.

Proof of Impending Armageddon

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.

This one's just for me.

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.

I got a wee bit distracted this afternoon...

...(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.

This is NOT the entry called "Proof of Impending Armageddon".

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.

A Little List of Happy

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.

That Guy

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:

1. 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.
2. I'm still committed to truth and to not pretending with any of my friends.
3. I'm NOT looking for perfection. Never have.
4. There is all kinds of hope. For all kinds of things.
5. I both adore and detest the total uncertainty of EVERYTHING.
6. PMS sucks ass. This is such a two-Prozac day.

* Pocket of Hope, as opposed to my Backpack of Fear. That's another essay.

More word nerd stuff.

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, SEXYPANTS!

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.