Today's Ready-Made Blog Entry

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.

Tips

1. 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.
2. I really like jewelry, so if you want to make me giddy, send me some.
3. 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?

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?

Letters

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!

Because I'm a Sucker for An Online Quiz

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.

Take the
White Trash Test
@ FualiDotCom

It's 6:35 in the morning, and I'm sweaty.

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!

Cubby Hole Theory of Obsession

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.

Apparently, it's quote day.

"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."

Mmmm, beef.

"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)

Wuh? and a Wrap-Up

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!!!

Momentary Goat Rodeo

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!