Dreams Are For Free

On the Road

2011-08-10T09:37:00.001-07:00

Joy of joys, I have MOVED! Yes, I decided to leave the rain and evergreens behind to face the extreme eyeball-shriveling heat of the desert. Or in other words, I chose to get my butt out of that hell-hole I called work and got as far from it as physically possible.

So I hit the road on Sunday, welcoming the trip as a woman does an old lover. Oh, how I've missed the long and windy road along the Columbia River in Oregon.

(Me and my OJ hitting the road in Ontario, Oregon)

And the rolling hills of Idaho would at times remind me of the silky blonde hair of a little child. Okay, really they reminded me of that dog I saw in the Starbucks I stopped at back in WA just before I hit the road. How does a dog get such silken locks? I mean, his hair was actually GLEAMING. I swear that I couldn't look at it directly for fear that the heavenly host would smite me. That dog had hair that movie stars would kill for. Yes, a dog. Had gorgeous hair. The type of gorgeous hair that Paris Hilton would shave her own head for.

*ahem* I digress.

As I drove further and further east it got hotter and hotter. Eventually I was able to see the Rockies from Idaho, and I knew that Utah was within reach. YES!

Utah: the Promised Land! Where good christians come together to bond and unite in their infinite desire to criticize and judge one another. Where blonde-and-tan-granola-girl-with-no-makeup-or-bra actually looks good on a few, but the rest choose to sport the overly-made-up-and-overly-accessorized bouffant look that wouldn't stand a chance outisde of Utah. Or Memphis.

Okay, so maybe I'm pushing it a little on my assessment of the people here. But when it comes down to it I feel like I've got to stay on the defensive because I am nowhere near as gorgeous as the rest of the population. I mean, really. How do they do it?! I swear that beauty is one of the requirements for living in Utah.

Hm. On second thought, I wonder if my subconscious is trying to tell me something?

Anyway, I was enjoying the pleasant 100 degree weather in full-on traffic jam hell about 20 minutes outside of my destination when the cramps began. Yes, cramps. As in, "two days of eating nothing but fast food hamburgers is gonna catch up with you when you least expect it" CRAMPS.

Oh no oh no oh NO!

As traffic creeped along at a jaunty 15 mph, I was writhing in discomfort and sending up silent prayers to anyone who would listen to please keep my butt from exploding. Gaaah!

Thankfully, the gods of spontaneous combustion took pity on me and I was able to make it to my final destination without soiling myself. Although I did manage to launch a few colorful and, in my opinion, quite ingenious profanities the rest of the way there. I'll just have to wait a few days to let the neighbors forget about my desperate flight through their neighborhood before I give them a Howdy-do. It could've been worse. I could've given them a "howdy-doody."

But I'm HERE! I made it. And man, I LOVE this place.

I Luff Me More Than You Luff Me

2010-02-14T10:26:00.000-08:00

I recently visited my friend Snotty's blog, wherein she suggested we scoot on over to Urban Dictionary to look up our first names. Apparently this is to help us in our efforts of self-discovery and enlightenment.

By far my favorite definitions of my name are as follows:

Carrie

1. A zombie-loving, ice cream-snarfing girl who happens to be Ryan's favourite. (example given: You're not Jesus--Carrie is!) <---I heart you Ryan, whoever you are.

2. Being sexy and cool. A replacement for the word PERFECT and AMAZING.

3. a sasquash (love the spelling!) that looks like a big foot. they are gross and eat constantly, preferably cheese-its, and are preps.

4. A sensei of many skills, highly entertaining, favorite pass time is to pee on others in foreign countries. (wow, it's amazing how well these people know me!)

I cheerfully read these definitions of myself, and as I did so something amazing happened. It was as though I was being dipped in a vat of warm, fuzzy goodness, coming out just dripping with awesomeness. I laughed so hard I nearly peed myself. Oh wait, I'm supposed to only pee on foreign people. Nevermind.

Battling the Beast.

2010-01-19T21:44:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid I used to adore my mother. I believed everything she told me, even when she said that she had an eye on the back of her head. I know it sounds silly now but back then I could’ve sworn she did.

She and I would often go out together, usually to the movies or to the mall to get a treat. “A date,” she’d call it. I loved those dates, and I loved the chance to go out and feel special for a couple of hours. And when she’d go out on a date with one of my other siblings I would be so jealous that I’d throw a tantrum. Well, I remember throwing a tantrum one time. I can only hope I never threw more than one tantrum… ever.

But dreams are for free.

(A day at the beach. Dad's behind the camera. I'm the one in the pink shorts.)

As I grew older I grew resentful. I suppose it was just the typical teenage years that everyone experiences. I was the fourth out of five children, and by the time it was my turn to be the emotional teenager I was blossoming into my mother had had enough. I’m mostly sure it was the fact that she’d had five kids in a six-year-period that drove her crazy. Mostly.

But time passes in that strangely liquid way and the next thing I knew I was an adult, attending an out-of-state university and sucking at it pretty hard. I was desperate for an out. I knew that I wasn’t going to make it that semester—my final semester of university before I got my Bachelor’s Degree. I was already on academic probation and I could sense my academic demise swiftly approaching.

(During a good time while I was in college. My sweet friend John at my side.)

Then, as luck would have it, a break came.

It came in the form of a phone call from my mother. She and I had been pretty distant over the previous six years and I tried to stay as far away from her as possible. I figured that the best way to keep my sanity was to keep my distance from home. But when Mom called on the third day into the new semester to tell me she had breast cancer I knew exactly what I needed to do. And I needed to do it right away.

I immediately made the decision to drop out of school and go home. I had rationalized that it was the right thing for me to do, being the youngest daughter and the only child out of the five NOT to have a family of her own to take care of. I knew that everyone else was far too busy with their own lives to have the opportunity to give the folks the attention they needed. I also knew that I would probably be the only one to volunteer to move back home and take care of our parents while they went through what would possibly be the most difficult time of their lives.

But most of all, I knew that I needed to get myself as far away from the place that I was at as fast as possible. I knew that I was incredibly depressed and was spiraling further and further into misery. It was then that I realized I needed my parents just as much as they needed me.

Not that my dad would admit that he needed help. Of course he’d welcomed me with open arms, but at the same time he would’ve been just as happy had I stayed in college and kept my distance. I suppose he and I are a lot alike in that way; always content in our solitude but also always happy to have company.

I have a clear memory of showing up at their house, Dad swinging the door open wide to welcome me home, and my first loving sentence to him being, “What’s on your nose? Dad, that’s cancer!” He responded by saying, “Is that what it is? I’ve been wondering…” I just rolled my eyes and barged my way in, fending off the tongue bath the dog was trying to give me.

So as it turned out, both of my parents had cancer at the same time. Strange how life plays these little tricks on people.

I spent the next three months living with my parents in the house that I spent my formative years in. I’d gotten settled in and then helped out around the house as much as my mother would allow. She also didn’t like having me take her to the doctor. She always had Dad take her, and secretly I was relieved. I’d already seen enough after she’d come out of surgery the first time.

It was strange realizing that cancer had staked a claim in my very own family. I had gone from blissful ignorance to shocked reality, and from there to self-education and finally to a slight understanding. Of course I could never fully understand the experience of cancer without first experiencing it myself. But I learned a great deal from watching both of my parents fight their own battles with the beast, whether great (Mom’s Breast Cancer) or small (Dad’s Skin Cancer).

I started gaining a new respect for both of my parents, especially for my mother. Yes, she was crazy, and yes she got on my nerves quite often. But I also knew that she was the woman who willingly walked through the valley of the shadow of death to give me life. She was the woman who raised me in the ways of integrity and faith. And as I learned from the three months of living with her as she struggled through her surgeries and treatments, she was much stronger and more brave than I ever thought possible. I couldn’t help but admire that.

It was after two lumpectomies and a full series of chemotherapy that I decided they no longer needed me. Mom was doing well and was about to start with the radiation therapy. And Dad had undergone his Moh's surgery for the small bit of skin cancer he’d had on his nose. It seemed as though they’d gotten a grip on life once again and were walking full-stride ahead.

As for me? Well, things had gotten better for me. I found that life had new meaning to me once I saw that my future held endless potential. And I'd finally regained that sense most young twenty-something-year-olds have that the world was my oyster, and I was eagerly anticipating the next chapter in my crazy life. And so I moved on.

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If you or a loved one are, have, or may be in the process of Navigating Cancer, I applaud you for your courage and strength. May God be with you and yours as you battle to conquer the beast.

Wish I had my camera.

2010-01-10T18:39:00.000-08:00

Things I saw today:

• An elderly Asian woman smoking not five feet from her car where it was being pumped full of fuel at the gas station.

(I was just waiting for this to happen)
• Another elderly Asian woman “walking” her two small dogs (both dogs were wearing sweaters) in the spacious Barnes & Noble parking lot. But her walking techniques consisted of jogging in the opposite direction of the dogs and hollering until the dogs caught wind of what was going on and scurried over to run ahead of her. Then the cute little old lady would cut and run in a completely new direction. This went on for the ten minutes I sat in the parking eating my lunch.

• The aftermath where a vehicle had plowed through an intersection, side-swiping a white mini-van. It had apparently proceeded down the road ¼ of a mile where it then plowed through the wood fence surrounding an apartment complex, just barely missing the apartment that was closest to the road, but managing to wrap itself around a small but sturdy tree.

• A display full of Presidential Chia Pets that were on sale (50% off!). I refrained from getting the “Determined Obama,” since my best friend already had that one. I got the Abraham Lincoln one instead. Pictures will surely follow.

("Determined" Obama. The "Happy" Obama chia pet creeps me out.)
Makes me wish I had my camera with me.

Scotland or Bust!

2009-10-12T19:33:00.000-07:00

I finally let everyone know that I'm going to Scotland. Tomorrow. I'll be out of the country for a bit, but I ought to have plenty to talk about when I get back. Until then, try not to get into too much trouble. M'kay?

p.s. I'M GOING TO SCOTLAND!! WOO-HOO!!

Hotel Pearl Jam

2009-10-05T09:47:00.001-07:00

The other night I had one of those dreams that just won’t end. You know what I mean? Those dreams that really have no story-line but just keep going around and around and around until you almost wish you’d just wake up to stop the monotony.

In this dream I was in a quaint little setting much like that of MTV’s Unplugged set. I was sitting up front in a folding chair and had been pleased (although not excited) that I was about to see another show. It’d been a while.

Oh, I suppose I ought to mention that I’ve always referred to “concerts” as shows.

Anyway, sure enough Pearl Jam comes out and they play “I’m Still Alive.” The dream goes on and so does the song. But it gets to the point where I start getting annoyed and wonder if they’re ever going to play another song. EVER.

Then, as dreams have a habit of doing, I jump into another scene where some other uneventful thing happens… But then the next thing I know I’m back in my seat at the Pearl Jam concert awaiting the arrival of the band, and the whole scenario starts over again.

It was all very “Hotel California” and just too creepy for me, and I was glad when I woke up.

It makes me wonder, though. Is my psyche telling me something? Or maybe I'm just feeling like my life is going around and around in circles? Or maybe it's because Phil mentioned "I'm Still Alive" in his blog? Hm. Yeah, I think I'll just blame it on Phil. ;)

Diggin' on Me.

2009-09-25T20:04:00.000-07:00

For the past couple of weeks my manager, S, has been teasing me about it. She's been all, "uh-HUH!" and I've been all "nuh-uh!" in response. (She thought one of the residents here was diggin' on me) But I just wasn't convinced. I mean, people are nice to me all the time. That's usually the response I get when I'm nice to them. You know... what goes around comes around, right?

Hm.

And all this time I just wasn't convinced.

Until yesterday.

Now I believe it is safe to say that it may, in fact, be true.

Oh, and here's the kicker: She's a chick.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Looking for Elvis at the Walmart

2009-09-17T21:50:00.000-07:00

As you all know, I have a love/hate relationship with that store. You know, that one store where everyone goes in the hopes that they might find a bargain and maybe catch a glimpse of Elvis while they’re there? Yeah, that one. You knowww…

And I’ve expressed my feelings about shopping there in previous blogs. If you’re not familiar with the blogs I’m referring to then I would highly recommend you click here to read My Excursion to Walmart.

Now, with this in mind, imagine my glee and jubilation when a friend of mine posted the following link on Facebook:

Yes, my friends! Welcome to the world of the Walmart Creatures, found at www.PeopleOfWalmart.com. I kid you not when I say that I spent about an hour going through each and every one of the photos on that website. And I laughed heartily more than a few times.

I can’t describe the feeling I have about this website. It’s almost as if… as if all these years I’ve been telling people that Bigfoot exists and then BAM! A website appears chock full of photos providing evidence that Bigfoot does, in fact, exist. Only with a hillbilly twist.

I finally feel vindicated.

Ah, life is good once again. Oh yeah, and I just got back from my own trip to Walmart. I admit that I didn’t see Elvis there tonight but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

(I found this AWESOME pic at http://morbidobsession.deviantart.com/.)

Ode to JT

2009-09-15T20:55:00.000-07:00

Top three reasons why I love my best friend:

1. She speaks my language. For example, the following is an actual conversation she and I shared via Facebook:

Princess: JESSICA! Did you hear?! Hemme Royad and the Dire Rears are coming to the Moore Theater in time for Thanksgiving. I know you've been itching to see them. I'm trying to talk Clam into going... a group date!

JT: I can't wait! She seems eager.

Princess: You think that maybe we could swing some all-access passes to "behind the scene?" I'd like to see what goes on behind the Dire Rears.

JT: That would be interesting. I heard that The Schmears were opening for them.

Princess: *sniggering*

2. Her house is a reflection of her awesome personality. That’s why I love going there so much! Here is a collection of some random photos I took while at her home over the summer.

(in her front yard)

(kitchen window sill, part 1)

(kitchen window sill, part 2)

(These were born under her kid's bed)

3. Her kids are hilarious.

(JT's husband takes their only daughter on a slide ride at the Puyallup Fair)

I have barrels of laughs with JT and her family.

Now if only I could figure out a way for them to adopt me. :)

A Flock on Legs

2009-08-23T21:53:00.000-07:00

I was in line at the checkout at the Dollar Store when I heard the strange loud whistling. It was a sort of high-pitched chirp-whistle thing and I thought maybe someone was playing with their car alarm. But when I walked out of the store with bags in had, I saw this:

Pretty rad, eh? That's a flock of birds on two legs if I ever saw one.

Nifty.

Oh, and for those of you who were wondering, no I'm not dead on the side of the road. And yes, I do intend to continue blogging. It's just that real life has a tendency to catch up with a blogger such as myself and I got a wee bitty overwhelmed. Not surprising when you take into consideration that I've been moving (by myself) into my own apartment, there have been major issues at work, I have sort of started seeing someone, and I'm just plain boring to boot. ;)

Ah but no worries, I've been filing amusing little tid-bits in the back of my mind to pull out for future blogs. But until then, let me know what you think!

NerdGirl: Where to Even Start?

2009-07-26T21:40:00.000-07:00

FREAKIN’ FACEBOOK!

Ugh. Oh my gosh. Holy crapola on a cracker!

Ok, so here’s what happened.

I was spying.

Yes, I know, how lame can a person be? But there’s just something fun about spying on people you are curious about. And usually it’s really easy to do, especially when you know how to find people. Not that it’s all that difficult.

No, I’m not talking about stalking or even trolling. I was just curious. But now my curiosity is going to get me into trouble. CRAP!

(Super Der-Dee-Der Spy, you mean.)

See, I’ve been putzing around on Facebook for the past hour just updating and commenting and blah blah blah. And, of course, that got boring fast. So what did I decide to do? I decided to look up people I’ve met through my job. Ones where I could remember their emails real easily. Ok, only ONE person whose email I could remember easily. But of course Facebook decided to go all crazy on me when I was trying to type in his email.

This is where you picture me typing, then re-typing, then re-typing again while quickly trying to trick Facebook by pushing the Delete button quickly (Stoopid Facebook kept adding crap to the email addy I was trying to type!), all with an annoyed yet focused look on my face.

Then, the next thing I know I’m getting a message saying something to the effect of, “Sorry, we didn’t send an email to that person because they’re already registered with Facebook. We’ve already sent him a friend request on your behalf.”

And I found myself screaming at the computer screen, “NOOOOO! Oh no! Oh NO!!”

I’m pretty sure I’m still hyperventilating.

I thought about sending him a message in which I apologize profusely and insist that it was all some wacky accident involving lots of medication and an enormous brain fart. But then reason started to kick in. This guy doesn’t even have a profile photo of himself posted on Facebook yet. I bet he’s the type who rarely checks his FB, and when he does he’ll probably think I’m just some ho trying to hit him up for some five-dollar-lovin. Ugh. One can only hope.

*snort*

I’ll definitely let you know how this one turns out.

What Up Dog?

2009-07-20T07:30:00.001-07:00

It was Friday night. We were at Charlie's in downtown Puyallup to sing some karaoke. We'd already cut the birthday cake and eaten it gleefully when I noticed one of the coolest vans drive by. I was so disappointed that I didn't have my camera on me.

An hour or so later I leave Charlie's (I had to work in the morning--no late nights for me on the weekends) only to discover that the RAD-MOBILE had parked itself in Charlie's parking lot! I skipped over singing, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEE!!" After all, my birthday wish had come true.

Rest your eyes on THIS beauty:

Ok, so I decided not to post the one with the entire weiner van in it because both the dude in the window and I had (unfixable) bright red lazer-beam eyeballs. But still. I think this photo alone should prove that the classy "What Up Dog?" mobile was all a gal could wish for on her birthday.

That, and a giant flower balloon that doubles as a giant bobble-head.

The Velvety Dark Shnoz of Luff.

2009-07-19T21:02:00.001-07:00

Reasons why I love my cat:

1. He doesn't mind my mood swings.
2. He cries for me from the bottom of the stairs when I get home from work.
3. He doesn't have to be walked.
4. He doesn't defecate in the house.
5. He brings me presents.

Regarding number 5, two days ago I came home from work to find my bedroom COVERED in bird feathers. Apparently he'd finally scored in catching a bird. I hate it when he catches birds, but he's such a crappy hunter that 98% of the time I can rest assured that he's not going to bring anything home. I even keep a bird feeder just outside my bedroom window so he'll have something to keep him preoccupied.

Anyway, not only did I find the bird alive under my bed, but my cat had pulled out so many of its feathers that it couldn't fly. It was just hopping around on one foot (the other had been injured), but doing a great job at keeping away from the cat. I did manage to catch it and release it, although I don't think it lasted the night. Poor thing.

And then yesterday when I got home from work I noticed something distinctly... lumpy in my cat's food bowl. Lo and behold, this is what I discovered:

(It's a small, very dead mole.)

My cat, Kenny, decided to put this small dead mole in his food bowl, just like he puts my hair bands and his favorite shoelace. It was just another toy to him and he had put it away. Have I mentioned that I love my cat? Yeah, I'm crazy about 'im. My sweet Hunter kitty with the velvety dark shnoz of luff. *smiles*

Today's Prayer.

2009-06-30T21:48:00.001-07:00

Dear God,

Hey there, how’s it going up there? Sorry to bother you while you’re governing the universe and all, but I felt it necessary to bring a few things to your attention. I know you know everything so I’ll get right down to it.

My list of “please forgive me for’s” include:

--calling all those drivers dumbasses while on my way to work.
--thinking ill thoughts towards the twenty or so people who called me with the assumption that I’d been the one to turn off their power instead of the poor unfortunate soul who had slammed his car into a power pole, causing it to tumble and cut all power to thousands of others in the area. Because apparently those who work in the leasing office of apartment complexes have access to convenient little on/off switches to every one of the 267 apartments in the community.
--lusting after the adorable little Air Force boy who came in to my office today, all suited up and with genuine blue-eyed innocence emanating from him. Sure he’s legally a man, but the fact that I’m 13 years older than him doesn’t help. Not to mention that I shudder at the idea that he probably thought of me as a “cougar.” [I’M NOT THAT OLD YET, DANGIT!]
--being annoyed at the woman who came in acting all crippled because she’d just had her baby five days ago after only “one hour of hard labor.” And for calling her a wimp, and whiner, and a faker (in my head). And for really REALLY disliking her after being informed that she had been the one I’d heard of who’d been riding around the parking lot on the hood of a car while 8 months pregnant.
--rolling my eyes at the lady who expected me to work when I had obviously closed and locked the office for the day.
--entertaining naughty thoughts while smiling cheerfully at the handsome military men who called me “ma’am” with that sly smile and their sweet southern drawls.
--calling all those drivers idiots while on my way home from work.

My list of “please help me to’s” include:

--be more like you.
--think before I speak and/or act.
--stop lusting after men so much when I know perfectly well that I will never ever date or marry again in my whole entire boring life.
--remember to check for strands of toilet paper hanging out of my pants before I leave the restroom.

My list of “I thank you for’s” include (but are not limited to):

--my job.
--my health.
--having more intelligence than a slug.
--reminding me that it’s ok to laugh at myself. OFTEN.
--getting that last minute commission when that gorgeous soldier came in 30 minutes before we closed. You know how much I need the money.

With all my love forever and ever,
PCB.

p.s. I managed to get almost all of that nasty bird’s yellow/orange chunky poop off my car so you can stop chuckling now.

My Buddy and Me.

2009-06-25T22:03:00.000-07:00

Back in the day when I used to be able to FIT into Victoria’s Secret lingerie, I had a favorite bra. It was a purple bra with lacy trim, and it fit me in ways other bras just couldn’t come close to. And one thing that was unique about that particular bra was that its clasp was in the front, tucked in between the girls as opposed to the back.

I loved that bra. It was my lucky bra. I had my first kiss (ever) with my first boyfriend while wearing that bra. Yeah, we were the best of friends, my bra and I.

One day I got suckered into going to PT for my boyfriend’s ROTC class. I knew that he just wanted me to come along so he could impress me with his physical prowess. But what neither of us expected was his superior “inviting” me to join in on the jumping jacks. And when I say “inviting,” I mean that he barked at me to join or leave.

And being the uber-shy, easily intimidated dillweed that I was at the time, I hopped to!

Unfortunately for me, I was wearing my favorite bra. Yep, my purple pal. Little did I know that my bra was about to betray me in the worst way.

[You’re already imagining it, aren’t you. Ugh, it’s just such a painful memory! So painful, in fact, that I’ve never told a living soul… UNTIL NOW. Not even my best friend. At least, I don’t think I told her. But whatever, you get the idea.]

So there I was, jumping up and down to the drill sergeant’s count along with at least 12 other people, all of them being cute guys—I was the only gal. And then it happened. I don’t know how long I had been jumping before I realized that my girls were a little TOO free. Yes, it’s true. They’d escaped their pretty purple binding and were flopping freely whichever way they desired.

My favorite bra had chosen that moment to “give up the ghost.” Or, to be more precise, the clasp had come undone and I had to scramble to fix my bra and re-adjust the girls in front of all those guys. *sigh*

Oh, and did I mention that I’m a full-figured busty kinda gal?

Needless to say, I was horrified and completely humiliated. And I will forever wonder just how much nipple was visible underneath that thin shirt I was wearing.

(Wow, I had no idea there was a bra made for those whose headlights aren't permanently on "high beam!" *wink-wink nudge-nudge*)

I’ll admit that remembering that terrifying experience makes me giggle to myself these days. But I never went to another PT after that and I never will again. No matter how many hot, sweaty men there may be out there running laps and doing jumping jacks. I’m pretty sure I’ve been scarred for life. Blasted bra.

Doody Calls

2009-06-25T19:07:00.000-07:00

I took this photo as I was driving (slowly) home from the mall in Auburn. Thankfully, traffic was CRAP so I was able to get the phone out, find the camera function, and take this photo before passing the billboard.

Am I the only one who is amused by this?

Hard Boiled.

2009-06-23T07:25:00.000-07:00

My best friend sent me this photo earlier this week in an email. It's a picture of a hard boiled egg that had managed to escape from its shell during the boiling process.

Isn't it interesting?

Talk amongst yourselves.

(*DISCLAIMER* There were no alterations made to the egg or this photo. It appears in this photo as it appeared to her, once the shell was removed. I, the author of this blog, have no control over what you perceive this photo to be of. Nor am I trying to persuade you see anything other than what is pictured above: a hard boiled egg. I, Princess Consuela Bananahammock, see a delicious hard boiled egg. A very interestingly shaped delicious hard boiled egg that apparently was consumed shortly after this photo was taken. No animals were injured in the creation of this blog.)

Horn Broken, Watch For Finger.

2009-06-15T19:31:00.000-07:00

An Oldie but a Goodie. I wrote this about two years ago. Oh, and for those who didn't know me two years ago, I tended to speak my mind a little more... um, boisterously. Yeah, that's the right word. *ahem* Ok, Enjoy!

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In Washington state it is common knowledge that honking your horn is TOTALLY RUDE. Even if someone were to cut you off or push you out of your lane, you just slow down and look appalled. And that’s pretty much it. Yeah, who would’ve thought so many people liked to take it in the butt?

(The hell it doesn’t!)
I personally prefer to use every resource available in order to express my surprise and frustration when such events happen to me. I was able to overcome this absurd “silent rule” us Westies cling to when I moved to the east coast a few years back. And trust me, when you live in a part of the country that is so saturated with crazy drivers you learn to cope. When in Rome, right? So, I adapted and learned how to be an offensive driver. And after having a little old blue-haired lady go through all the trouble of cranking down her driver’s side window just to stick her knobby old fist out to flip me off, I realized that I’d succeeded when my only reaction was to laugh. I mean, who would’ve thought?

(Yeah, sorta like this, only the grumpy ol’ biddy had a fro of curly blue hair.)

Like I said, I just learned how to deal with it. And by that I mean I learned how to ignore it. Nowadays I could give a rat’s ass about someone blowing their horn at me. But after moving back to the Great Northwest, where everyone drives as though they are gossiping (they’re courteous to your face but really they’re figuring out the next best way to stab you in the back), I was reminded that people aren’t quite as aggressive behind the wheel as they tend to be out east.

(Beware of little old biddys with revenge on their minds!)

Or maybe it’s not that they’re less aggressive. Maybe it’s just that they don’t feel the dire need to express their frustrations the way I learned to out east. That being a loud laying-on-of-the-horn followed by a token shouting of, “WHAT THE HELL?!” accompanied by hand gestures that only Italian-Americans seemed to have perfected.

(Ok, so they’re not angry in this pic, but you get the idea. I love how Italian-Americans are so expressive, especially with their arms/hands.)

So, having lived in New York AND New Jersey for so long, I managed to toughen up a bit and grew thicker skin, so to speak. Not a whole lot… heaven knows I’m still a total softie and wimp-noodle inside. But let’s just say that I don’t take as much crap as I used to.

(Wow! As much middle finger as a person could ever dream of!!)

Which brings us to today. Here’s the story.

I was pulling up to the Starbucks drive-thru I always go to. I had the right-of-way, seeing that it was a right turn for me to take to get in line, vs. the left turn that a soccer mom in a giant SUV had to take. We had arrived at the same time and since she stopped I proceeded to get in line. Well, apparently she’s one of those “polite” Westy drivers (see description above). Even though she had stopped to allow me the right-of-way she became irate when I took my place in line ahead of her. Mind you, it’s not like it was a busy time of day. There was a small line but nothing like I’ve seen in the past.

So, because she was pissed off at me she decided to honk the horn at me (just briefly, not even a laying-on-of-the-horn like I’m prone to). I looked at her thinking, “oh, uh-uh!” She was shaking her head at me with a look on her face that was supposed to be of disapproval, but more looked like she was constipated. When she pulled in behind me, I continued to stare at her through my side-view mirror. It wasn’t a friendly stare. It was more of an “oh no you DI’NT!” stare in which I was just daring her to continue with her childish behavior. She saw the look I gave her and, although she was still shaking her head, she avoided my glare by looking down. Ha! Rookie.

(A true soccer mom, she didn’t like me getting in the way of her goal: Starbucks.)

So I sat there in line ahead of her thinking, “What a hoochie!” And I watched her inch up on the butt of my Jeep. And then a truly wicked thought creeped into my head. “Oooh…,” I thought, “I’ll show HER!”

What was this devious plan I was so amused to contrive? Oh, I was going to make her M-A-D! Tee-hee!! I knew that by then she was about ready to shoot me, especially considering how long it took for me to get my drink and load my Starbucks card and pay for everything. Little did she know that I paid for all four of her drinks.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!!!

Take that! I know that would’ve only irritated her because she’d have to stop thinking mean thoughts toward me and come to the harsh realization that I was just another person going about my daily business just like she was. SO THERE!

I drove off with my triple espresso con panna in hand and a smirk on my face. She never knew what hit her.

Creepy Old Men Are the New Thing!

2009-06-10T22:42:00.000-07:00

I’ve recently come to accept the fact that I’m an old man magnet.

Don’t get me wrong, I do like old men. But I like them in the same sense that I like kittens and puppies—they’re cute and sweet as long as they don’t crap on your carpet. But the idea of having a romantic relationship with an old man is the type of thing that would make one’s head explode. It just shouldn’t happen. At least, not with me. Hey, if Anna Nicole wanted to get freaky with an old man, who the heck am I to judge? (Oh, but I do judge. That chick was totally after the geezer’s money. But that’s OLD news now.)

Speaking of, I once had an old Russian guy tell me I looked like Anna Nicole Smith. Actually, he told me that if I’d lose a bit of weight, THEN I’d look just like her. As if that was supposed to woo me or something. The dillweed. I didn’t know whether to be offended or take it as a compliment, to be perfectly honest. But I digress….

The point is: old men dig me. And my reaction has always been: WTF?!

Now, before I go any further I feel it’s necessary to explain that when I say “old man,” I’m not talking about a salt-n-peppery 40-something-year-old man. Oh no. I’d be flattered if that were the case. No, when I say “old” I’m referring to men who are roughly between the ages of 65-88, with their pants pulled up way high so you can see what color socks they’re wearing with their old-man loafers. I’m talking about the old men who tend to lose their sense of smell so that they are completely unaware that they are really just a walking stick of incense, wafting the delicate scent of rancid salami with a hint of moth balls. I’m talking about dudes who have tobacco stained teeth and fingers. Well… those with real teeth, I should say.

(Click on the image to read something HILARIOUS)

You see what I mean?

And the fact that these men are living under the impression that they *just* might have a chance with me really bugs the crap out of me. Oh sure, I’ll play it off by smiling and laughing. Heck, I might even swat them away in a playful manner just to keep them in good spirits. After all, just because there’s no way in hell they’d have a chance with me doesn’t mean that the next Anna Nicole look-alike would turn them down. (You gotta give these guys something to hope for, right?)

But when they start getting vulgar with me is when all bets are off. I will be the biggest bitch to the next one that tries waggling his grotesquely long eyebrows at me.

(Notice the abnormally long eyebrow hairs? Um, yeah.)

And if he even dares to blow a kiss my way in one of those, “hey baby, I’ll meet you out by the golf cart… let me just get a 5-minute head start so I can stow my walker away,” ways, well then I’m going to have to get vicious. And PLEASE, for the love of all that is good in this world, do not invite me for a ride on your motorized scooter. Please.

*sigh*

Sometimes I wish someone my age would come and sweep me off my feet. But he’ll have to get past all the old men reeking of Old Spice and onions. That is, if I don’t beat ‘em off first.

Why I <3 Seattle

2009-06-02T23:06:00.000-07:00

Reasons Why I love Washington State:

1. We’ve got the coolest homeless people.

(click on the image to see the artist’s page)

2. We’ve got the coolest freaks.

(click on the image to read about the “Seattle Police are Communist” guy. He’s listed as an actual Seattle landmark, can you believe it?!)

…and don’t forget…

(Dale Chihuly! Click on the image to see his official site.)

3. We’ve got some seriously RAD urban art.

(The Troll under the Aurora Bridge in Seattle. That's a real VW in his hand.)

4. We’ve got some kick-a$$ wildlife/cuisine.

(For-effing-Real. The geoduck--pronounced "gooey-duck"--looks like a clam bit off an elephant's trunk, to put it mildly. But I know what you're REALLY thinking. *wink-wink, nudge-nudge*)

Tomorrow I go in search of Archie McPhee’s to investigate the source of this photo:

(Makes me hungry just looking at 'em.)

One Bright Day...

2009-05-18T17:21:00.000-07:00

I originally wrote this blog roughly two years ago. I was just going through some of my old blogs yet again and thought this one ought to be shared with those who haven't had the opportunity to read it yet. Sometimes a blog entry can act as a sort of journal entry for me and it's good to re-read them on occasion. Feel free to leave your thoughts on it.

****************************************

I spent hours today reversing what I’d spent days doing exactly two years ago. I called all my creditors to inform them of my name change. It was something I had been putting off because I remembered just how long and tedious the process had been the first time around. But I knew it needed to be done, and what better time to do it than now? Heck, I even went to the DMV to get a new driver’s license.

As I was sitting there at the DMV waiting for them to call my number, I witnessed something so sweet and heart-warming that I couldn’t stop staring. An older woman had just gotten her new license and was walking over to her husband. They were both very small and gray, and matched each other perfectly from what I could tell.

But the thing that really struck me, and made me audibly sigh and giggle, was the fact that the man, whom I presumed was the husband, had stuck his arm out for her. He crooked his arm, smiling warmly, and turned his head to the side in a manner which invited the lovely lady to take his arm. And she did just that, allowing him to accompany her outside. It was the sweetest gesture I’d seen in ages.

And even though I do not expect any man to make the same offering of kindness toward me, I know that I would melt if he did. The fact that he had offered his arm told me that he respected and admired her. The fact that he smiled and willingly did this small act of chivalry told me that he loved that woman. And the smile on her face showed how grateful she was to him for the thoughtful gesture. And I sat there, silently watching this small act of kindness unfold before me, and thought, “What a lucky couple.”

Someday I will be respected and appreciated like that couple did each other. Maybe not in the same ways, but all the same it needs to happen if I am to be truly happy. Over the past few years I’ve learned that it is important for me to have those things in my life. It’s not just a desire, it’s a necessity. And once those two things are in place, love will follow naturally.

Until then, it cannot happen. It will not happen.

And so I wait. Newly divorced, I feel I am born again. If only I had the eyes of an innocent the way I did when I was originally born again. But I have lost most of my naiveté and joyful innocence in the process of gaining invaluable knowledge.

I stand before you today on a foundation built of my own blood, sweat and tears. It is not a smooth surface but pock marked and battered, much like my soul. However, it remains an even stronger foundation than originally anticipated because of its history and experience, trials and tribulations, joys and miseries, and yes, loves had and loves lost. It is mine. I will not be ashamed of it.

I will move on, feet firmly on this solid foundation, eyes focused on the wide open skies ahead of me. And as I inhale the bittersweet air around me, I lift one foot and gently place it ahead of the other. And I progress. One. Step. At. A. Time.

(The eyes of the innocent are always so full and breathtaking. I wonder if I ever had such a deep and meaningful look on my face?)

Pocari Huh?

2009-05-05T13:58:00.000-07:00

The following post was a blog I posted on my old MySpace blog. I've since erased that account and all the blogs that were on it, except for a chosen few. This one just cracked me up too much to give up! Hope you enjoy it as much as I did/do. :)

******************************************

Stop looking at me like that.

“Like what?” I couldn’t help it. I was feeling a little defensive.

Like I’m some sort of a freak or something.

“Well…” I said, letting the word trail off, my eyebrows raised as I looked away. It was a good point, after all.

Why don’t you like me?

I glance over, nervous yet again, although admittedly there was a note of fascination in that one glance.

There, sitting on the window sill, sat the ball of nerves talking to me, glaring back with obvious resentment.

You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you.

It wasn’t a question.

“No, not at all! I’m not ashamed, as it were...” I paused, “just a little… um, scared is all,” my voice suddenly sounding higher and squeakier than usual.

Scared?! WHY?

“Well, look at you.”

Silence for about 20 seconds.

So, I’m blue. Is that it?

“That’s not it,” I said, shaking my head. This was going to be tough.

Well?

*sighing with exasperation* “Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t consume anything that professes to be ‘Sweat.’”

It’s a misspelling! I’m really SWEET! Honest!

“Sorry kiddo, you can’t fool me.”

Blast.

(And there it shall remain, perched on the window sill above my bed. Taunting me.)

*I’d like to thank Bill for sending me the package of goodies (and oddities) all the way from

Korea

. I was especially diggin’ the Hello Kitty hair clips. Rawr.

Just a Heads-Up

2009-05-02T20:18:00.000-07:00

Hey all! I just wanted to let you know that I've just put together a new blog called My Stranger, My Love. It's a blog dedicated to sharing my experiences as a birth mother, and the crazy roller coaster ride I've been going through and will continue to go through as a result.

I still plan on blogging on this site, too! But I wanted to get the word out about what it's like to be on the other side of adoption. There's just not enough out there on it. So please, if you don't mind, feel free to follow and support my other blog too. Thank you!

CLICK HERE to go to My Stranger, My Love

Welcoming Grant to this world!

2009-04-06T21:33:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to announce the arrival of my not-so-wee-one to the world.

Grant was born at 1:38am on April 1, 2009 after 20 hours of labor. He weighed 10 lbs. 9 oz. and measured 22 inches long. There were some complications to the labor and delivery which caused me to stay in the hospital for a bit longer than the average mom, but I'm much better now and back at home.

I love my boy more than anything else in this world. He is the most beautiful thing in my eyes, and nothing can change that.

Grant was adopted by my brother and his wife, made official by the courts today. So even though I will always see him as my boy, he is theirs and will be blessed with a life full of opportunities, love, and happiness. I love Dave and Laura and know that this is what Heavenly Father wanted all along. And no matter how much pain and anguish I feel or will feel, nothing will ever change the way I feel about the rightness of it all. I know it.

In the meantime, I will celebrate his life while I work on healing my own.

Pic of the Day!

2009-03-26T17:50:00.001-07:00

(click here to see the artist's page!)

I can't help it. This photo cracks me up! Oh sure, these people are spelling out the word "LOVE" with their bodies, but I had to have that pointed out to me in order to see it.

Of course, the first thing I thought when I saw this photo was, "buncha hippies." I know, I'm so insensitive. But hey, I thought they were trying to be all existential and doing some sort of ethereal hippy dance. Meh, close enough (wink-wink, nudge-nudge).

Still, it's pretty enough. :)

The Day After St. Paddy's Day

2009-03-18T22:53:00.000-07:00

Let’s just put it this way: I’ve had a rough day. And I’m pretty sure my face gave it all away as I was hobbling down the parking lot of Walmart earlier. Yes! Another trip to Walmart! I know, I just can’t get enough of that place. ;)

Even though I know none of those people who found parking spots right up front (seconds before I got there) knew that they were making a pregnant lady’s day just that much harder, I was still upset enough to slam the door when I finally did manage to push myself out of the car. Of course, I was far enough away for anyone to even remotely notice my small act of fury.

But anyone who looked at my face would’ve seen that any light and hope I might’ve displayed previously had been sucked out of me. Yeah, it’d been one of those days.

It was while I was looking like I’d just been hit by a train, a rolling pin, and dragged for a mile over glass that the dude started talking at me. He was passing me in the parking lot when he took one look at my face and then kept looking… doing the up-and-down scan that men tend to do when they’re performing the “routine checkup” on a woman. I had been attempting to ignore him when he started speaking loudly at me:

“Ooh, you’re a pretty lady. REAL pretty lady! You look fiiine!”

Ok, I know the guy had possibly recognized that I’d had a bad day and was probably trying to cheer me up in the one way he could think of. But.. ewwww! When he said, “REAL pretty lady!” he leered, stopping his progression down the parking lot so he could raise his voice and make it known to all that I, the hobbling pregnant lady, was “reeeeeaal pretty.” (*cue creepy, twangy music to the movie Deliverance*)

Even though he probably thought he was doing me a service, he only managed to creep me out. Besides, I’m pretty sure he was a leprechaun. He was at least 10 years older than me, a foot shorter than me, and was wearing a hat that brought to mind Ireland on a cold spring day. Just sayin!

From the Perspective of an Anti-Phone Person.

2009-03-08T23:44:00.000-07:00

When I wrote this I was VERY pregnant and pissy. But I was also trying to send a message (loud and clear!) to my stalker. I did have someone who obsessed over me at the time and she pushed me to my limit. Thus, this blog. Please forgive how blunt and rude I was. However, I am not going to make any changes to this blog because it reminds me of just how miserable I was at the end of my pregnancy. And I kind of want to remember that. :)

***************************************

Before I launch into this incredibly riveting rant about phones, I just want to make it clear that I do understand many peoples’ reasons for using their phones as often as they do. Some feel that the telephone is an essential part of existence, rationalizing that communication is key to any relationship. While I agree that communication is key, I do NOT agree that the particular form of communication has to be via the telephone. With that said I give you my perspective on the use of cell phones, that being the perspective of a non-phone person.

************************************

I’ve never been a phone person. Nope. Never. Not even with my family or closest friends. Go ahead and ask ‘em. They’ll be the first to agree with me on this one. Even when I was so infatuated/smitten by a guy that I hoped… no, PRAYED that he’d call me. If by some freak chance the heavens smiled down on me and the dude called, I’d find myself at a loss for words. It’s not that I couldn’t carry a conversation or anything. Truth be told, I'd rather talk in person. However, in these cases it was more that I had so desperately wanted the attention of that particular guy that I was willing to put up with a phone call, as lame as they (phone calls, not the dudes) are.

(The dreaded telephone.)

I think this sort of thing runs in my family, although I can’t be absolutely sure. What I do know is that my father is also not a phone person. A great example of this was when I was on a mission for my church out in Australia for a year and a half. When it came time to make one of the two phone calls home that was permitted each year, I’d called my parents and we talked for a whopping… five minutes before hanging up. This was a complete let-down (although no surprise), considering that my missionary companion had just spent the previous 4 hours on the phone with her family. I’m not even kidding.

(Me at the Sydney airport, eager and nervous to fly back home.)

How the convo went: “Yeah, miss you too, Dad. Yep, still spreading the word of God. Ok, I’ll continue to write. Yeah, ok, love you too. Bye.” *click*

Now, I’ve come to understand one of the main reasons why it is that I am not much of a phone person: I’m a listener, not a talker. People who are “talkers” love people like me because they’ve got a captive audience for however long it takes them to express whatever jumble of a story they feel they need to communicate. And, while it’s nice to know that I am providing a service for my talkative friends/family, it’s also apparent that these talkative souls have no idea how it affects me, the listener. Nope, I’m convinced that they have no clue how it is slowly killing me inside to know that there went another two hours of my life that I could’ve been spending in a more productive manner.

Hey, I’m not trying to be mean. I am merely pointing out the truth. And yes, this is how I truly feel.

And the truth of the matter is this: I do not like wasting my time. This is one of the two reasons why I stopped watching TV almost six years ago. Not only did I see it as a massive waste of time, but I couldn’t afford cable anyway so it wasn’t that difficult for me to just fall out of the brain-draining habit. That’s right, kids! In my book:

TV and Telephone = a big, fat waste of time.

Why, in the space of two hours I could have done the following:

--write and publish a blog

--write a letter to both of my grandparents AND make the trip to the post office and back.

--do all of my laundry, make my bed, vacuum my room, and possibly even clean the bathroom.

--go for a walk in Point Defiance while reading (ok, listening) to a great book. [I like this because I’m accomplishing two things at the same time. Extra kudos for me!]

--wash my car, fill the bird feeder, and do the dishes.

--if any friends or relatives were in the hospital, I could go visit with them for a while.

--update my resume, and even apply for a few jobs online while I’m at it.

--go out for hot chocolate (or maybe a Jamba Juice) with a friend or two and, you know, spend some quality time IN PERSON with that beloved soul.

See what I mean? There are other things I’d MUCH rather do with my time than to be stuck on the phone listening to someone else’s life. Instead, I’d much rather LIVE MY OWN LIFE. I know, it’s a hard concept to wrap one’s brain around… but trust me, it makes sense.

(Why, lookie there... I'm living life, and it's even caught on film!)

So, keeping in mind that I’m A) NOT a phone person, B) a listener, and C) annoyed with the waste of time most phone calls tend to be, why is it that I am suddenly being plagued by phone calls?! No, really. WHY?! Why is it that I have people who have started stalking me via phone?

It’s gotten to the point where I feel I’m being victimized. I seriously feel like a victim whenever I’m trapped on the phone for more than a few minutes. It’s as though someone is taking advantage of me in a most intimate manner and has the nerve to be smug about it the entire time. It’s almost as if my very life source is being sucked out of me. And it's extremely draining! Oh, and if there’s some sort of drama involved? Well then, I thank you for adding to my already skyrocketing levels of stress and ask that you please understand that there needs to be a moderation in all things, including phone calls.

I hate being the bitch about it, but there it is. I can’t handle your stress on top of my own. Especially not now. Not when I’m dealing with being 9 months pregnant and hormonal, ~~withdrawing from~~ OFF my mood-stabilizing drug of choice which I’d been taking for the past decade, living in an incredibly abusive (verbally) home with a clinically diagnosed psychotic person who happens to have the power to kick me out at any time she desires (and is fully aware of this power), depending on the goodness of others to help me get through this hard time (when I’m so used to being an uber-independent-type of person), also depending on the government to provide health care AND food stamps, trying to get back in good standing in the church that I’ve always known was true, going through bankruptcy, and oh yeah… trying to prepare myself to lose the baby that’s been growing inside of me for these nine months. The baby that is driving me crazy with hiccups right now. Yeah, that one.

NO! I’VE BLOODY WELL HAD ENOUGH.

[*catching my breath and trying not to cry again*]

This would also be the reason why my blogging has slackened recently. See? Nobody likes this much drama! Least of all me.

(Blasted Drama Llama keeps following me around with its wicked grin...)

Soooo… It’s gotten to the point where I’ve decided to take a break from the phone. Actually, my thoughts were more along the lines of “screw the effing phone! I hate that thing and I refuse to answer it.” It’s true I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and I was finding that the majority of the phone calls I’d been receiving were only contributing to my stress. And, at the recommendation of those I trust, I decided it would be best to freakin’ throw my phone against a brick wall again and again until it shattered into a million pieces, whereupon I would then stomp and trample the bits and pieces until there was nothing left but a fine, blue, powdery substance that was once my cell phone.

But since I don’t technically own the phone I decided to do the next best thing: ignore it.

Surprised? You shouldn’t be. In fact, here’s how I, the non-phone… nay, the ANTI-phone person sees it when you, the phone stalker, calls:

1. You are forcing me to leave whatever it was I was doing at the time in order to satisfy your own needs.

2. If what I was doing at the time was sleeping, then believe me when I tell you that it was much more important than you could’ve known. You may assume differently, but just remember what assuming does.

3. When you decide to call me to see how I’m doing, that’s sweet.

4. When you decide to call me with the intention to see how I’m doing, but end up spending an hour talking about yourself, that’s selfish.

5. If I don’t answer your call, there is always a good reason. Don’t be offended because that’s just a big ol’ waste of time, much like watching TV.

6. If you don’t leave a message, I refuse to call you back. Plain and simple.

7. If I do answer the phone, count your many blessings, but don’t you DARE take advantage of me. Otherwise you’ll find that I suddenly am not taking your calls anymore.

8. If you seriously need to communicate something, those of you who know me best already know that EMAIL is the most efficient form of communication with me. Text messages come in second, unless it’s an emergency, then Texting trumps Emails (sample text: I’m in hospital, can you pick me up?).

9. The whole reason I got a cell phone was in case *I* found myself in an emergency situation. I used to travel a lot and had broken down a few times without any means of communication. Getting a cell phone alleviated any worries that might’ve been associated with that.

10. I REPEAT: the reason I have a cell phone is in case of emergency. In other words, I’m not going to call on a whim because I’m bored or am curious to see how the weather is out your way. No. Should this be a surprise? NO.

Now, if you’re attempting to call me because you are concerned for me then I thank you. But I will also say GET OVER IT. I’m a big girl, am not stupid, and can take care of myself very well. I am nowhere near suicidal (although that could come as a surprise to those of you who’ve met my mother), and would never resort to harming myself. If I happen to be hurt then I will use my most-despised cell phone to call for assistance. *IF* that’s necessary at all. If I’m having a baby, then STOP WORRYING. Women have been having babies since the dawn of time. I’ll survive, but you need to give me my space. Get it?

I do apologize to those of you who have no clue what has triggered this rant of a blog. To you I give a heart-warming THANK YOU! Thank you for respecting my intelligence, space, and independence. Thank you for trusting that I am an adult who can take care of herself. And thank you for just plain reading my blog! I’m super impressed by that alone. ;)

To those of you who have fallen into the phone-stalker category—and there are a few of you—again I do apologize for being a total wonder wench from hell. But considering how far I’ve been pushed, it was only a matter of time before such an explosion was to happen. Please, just back off, ok?

THANK YOU!

*beaming warmly at all of you*

*…and turning the phone off and tossing it into the closet*

(Just leave a freakin' message.)

My Excursion to Walmart (with footnotes!)

2009-02-26T16:19:00.001-08:00

I needed to get out of the house last night, especially after watching my mother stand and admire her brand new baby… Baby Grand piano, that is, from across the room. Many, many times. I almost gagged when I saw the lust in her eyes. I wanted to find a (mostly) sharp object and hurl myself onto it just to get away from the sickeningly happy look on my mother’s face. Jeez, you’d think she just found love for the very first time… very rich love with lots and lots of gold and jewels. Smeared in cake and ice cream.

(Cue music: "Oooh Sweet Mystery at last, I've finally found yooouuu!" This photo can be found on DeviantArt.com. Just click here to see!)

Bleh, I think I’m going to be sick.

So I got myself out of the house for a bit. These days I don’t have a whole lot of energy, so I wasn’t planning on going very far. After huffing and puffing my way up the stairs (and subsequently taking a five minute break at the top to catch my breath…), I made my way out the door, into my car, and over to the nearest Walmart. Yeah, thrilling, I know.

Walmart: where the weak-minded and thin-pursed congregate to butt heads and shopping carts with one another. Walmart: where there is no shortage of dim-witted rude people eager to place judgment on you once they’ve succeeded in taking a comprehensive glimpse into your cart to examine its contents. Ahh yes… Walmart. The place everyone loves to hate, but eventually find themselves going back again and again because of those wacky low prices. Curse those everyday low prices and that menacingly cheerful smiley face that adorns every sale sign!

Hello, my name is Carrie and I am a Walmart shopper.

Putting all drama aside, I was pretty dang proud of myself for making it all the way out to Walmart AND having the gumption to actually get out of the car and do the shopping I’d intended to do.* I took my time hobbling down the aisles of the Wal-Mart super store and found myself going over the mental list I’d made of what I’ll need for THE bag. You know, The Hospital Bag… the one thing you hope to high heaven you don’t forget in your rush/panic to get to the hospital when all hell (a.k.a. your water) breaks loose. After all, that was the whole purpose of my errand this evening: to get the goods that will fill my Hospital Bag.

Items on this list included but were not limited to:

- travel toothpaste (I’ve already got the toothbrush and mouthwash)
- small bottle to hold shampoo (because I don’t trust hospital brand shampoo)
- heartburn medicine (a necessity of life for me, doesn’t matter if’m preggers or not
- Ace bandage (for the binding of the bubs… if you don’t know what I mean then you’re not ready to know)
- pads of the maxi sort *sigh*
- Puffs Ultra tissues (I’m expecting a snot storm. Getting teary-eyed tends to lead to snotting on one’s self)
-Snack Wells brand devils food cake snacks (I’ve heard it’s normal to be famished during or after the process of birthing a baby. Go figure.)
…and most importantly…
- Tucks and/or Preparation H medicated wipes

That last item would’ve scared the bejeezums out of me to purchase at any other time in my life. But tonight? Not so much. Let’s just say that I got enough Tucks and PrepH wipes in my cart to make anyone nervous of being within a 10-foot-radius of me for fear I might shoot deadly flames out of my rear.

The mere thought of which made me smile.

But seriously, you should’ve seen the looks I got from the people there at Walmart! When I was in the toiletries section picking out my toothpaste two dudes of a Latino nature strolled by at different times. However, both men managed to eyeball my belly not just once, but at least three times. EACH. Their technique was sloppy, though, as was obvious by the fact that I was staring right back at them to see if they’d actually raise their eyes to my FACE. No such luck. I have to admit that I was a bit amused by the whole thing, though, since they’d obviously taken a peek at all the “feminine protection” items I’d piled into my cart. And by “feminine protection,” I don’t mean a chartreuse flame thrower.

Besides, they probably had no clue they were staring quite as intensely as they had been. And if they were aware, they probably thought they were being sneaky, staring at the big, round, tired-looking Juera.**

Those guys were just the first obvious gawkers of the evening. My favorite of all the gawkers, however, also happened to be the last.

She had passed me in the baking goods aisle where I was contemplating buying more tapioca. As I stood there calculating just how much tapioca I could consume, a mousy-looking woman in a brown trench coat walked by ever-so-slowly, taking her sweet time to examine the contents of my cart (by this time I’d sort of tried hiding the massive quantities of butt wipes I had piled up in my cart under the huge bag of maxi pads. Not that it made any real difference). I also saw how her critical eye then slid over to my pregnant belly.

What was a little surprising was the fact that she took a double-take. And on top of that, I was disturbed by her look of disgust and disbelief. It was at that time that I reached out and grabbed her mousy brown hair and yanked her head back, pulling it down to my belly while shouting, “go ahead, have a good stare! Take it all in because you’ll never know what it’s like with a rat face like that!”

Ok, okaaaay, so I didn’t actually do or say that, although I sure wanted to. Just the thought of it made me smile. But I didn’t do it because that would’ve been rude, and I sort of felt sorry for her having to look so much like a rat.

Instead, I found that I’d unconsciously chosen the same checkout stand as her, and was morbidly amused by her shock that I’d followed her. Yes, she took yet another double-take, only this time she looked at my face, which expressed a deep exhaustion and a fierce, “don’t EFF with me or I’ll set you on fire with my flame-throwing ASS!” look as I glared right back at her.

I smiled for the third time that night as she scurried away. Hmph. Wimp.

(Everybody sing with me: "THE SUN IS A MASS OF INCANDESCENT GAS, A GIGANTIC NUCLEAR FURNACE...WHERE HYDROGEN IS BUILT INTO HE-LI-UM AT A TEMPERATURE OF MILLIONS OF DEGREES! THE SUN IS HOT, THE SUN IS NOT A PLACE WHERE WE COULD LIVE... BUT HERE ON EARTH THERE'D BE NO LIFE WITHOUT THE LIGHT IT GIVES!" *bum bum*)

Footnotes:

*Lately I’ve found it incredibly difficult to find the motivation to do those more mundane tasks, like grocery chopping, going to the library, or turning over in bed. You may laugh now, but wait until YOU’RE eight months pregnant and ready to pop. Yeah, that’s right. Suddenly it’s not so funny anymore and you find yourself thinking, “do I really need to wash my hands again? I mean, I washed them the 6 other times I got up in the middle of the night to pee and my hands are bleeding and cracking, they’re so dry. Surely I haven’t gotten that much fecal germ matter on my hands in the brief time it took to trickle out what little pee I could muster, right?” Then, shuddering at the thought of a fleck of rogue fecal matter making it onto your hands which will, no doubt, make it to your face sometime before the next pee break, you sigh deeply and proceed to wash your hands for the 7th time that night.

**According to the Urban Dictionary, a “Juera” (pronounced WHERE-ah, only you roll the ‘r’) is, “a white girl, especially a blonde female. An American girl.” Of course, I didn’t need the Urban Dictionary to tell me this since I’d found out the meaning the hard way. In two words: sexual harassment. I quit that job shortly after what I refer to as The Juera Incident. I’ll never understand why Latinos/Mexicans (whatever the more appropriate politically correct term-du-jour is) fancy us blondes so much.

Random Thoughts and Insignificant Nothings.

2009-02-19T15:28:00.000-08:00

Life for me has been rather complicated as of late, and I do apologize for not blogging as often as we’d all like. But the way I see it, rather than ranting on and on about how crap-tastic everything has been for me, I’d just shut my trap until something a little more positive or amusing happened. I hope you don’t mind. Besides, who cares about overly-hormonal-pregnant-lady-going-through-withdrawals issues? I know *I* don’t. ;)

("Grrr!" Click on the photo to see the artist's page.)

Moving right along….

Let me just start by asking you this:

Have you ever tweezed your nose hairs before? Yeah, just a friendly heads-up:

DON’T DO IT! It’s a trap! A conspiracy, I say!

Holy crapola. I think my eyes watered for a good twenty minutes straight, which of course immediately led to me snotting all over the place. My poor shnoz… It feels like its swelling or something, as though I’ve just pierced it with a rusty needle a hundred million times in the same spot. OWIE! *pouty lip*

(Look at that adorable shnoz! See... HE doesn't have to tweez. Hmph.)

And all I can think of now is how men had better appreciate the lengths to which women go in order to maintain their beauty. *sniffle*

*****************************************************
Today I felt like splurging a little on myself since I’ve accomplished so much this week. So, to treat myself I bought some Halibut-n-Chips for lunch (worth approximately $12) from a café in the Harbor. I also stopped by (*gasp!*) Starbucks and got myself a decaf Raspberry Latte (since I’ve seriously lowered my caffeine intake since I’m consuming for 2 now), and a chocolate donut. Mmmm. It was nice to treat myself. After all, I’ve had to eat enough crap sandwiches lately to feed a village.

(Mmmm... bring on the crap sandwiches! Yes, I'm fully aware that the little girl looks like she belongs in a horror movie. Creepy!)

My mother was also feeling the need to splurge a little today. To treat herself, she went out and bought a piano. Typical.

But let's put things into perspective here. Why, just the other day she told me that she was once bucked off of a horse and landed on her head. Need I say more?

*****************************************************
While I was out and about today I found myself driving behind a minivan with tinted windows. What made me smile was the fact that the kids in the back of the minivan were under the impression that I couldn’t see them. They started sticking their tongues out at me and making crazy faces. So, naturally, I stuck my tongue right back out at them. Soon enough we were in a face-making contest, only I let them win because I wasn’t in the mood to scare them with my ultra-impressive fingers-pushing-the-nose-up-and-eye-lids-down look that has won me many-a-face-making-battle in my days.

Besides, I was laughing too hard. Their poor mom already had enough to deal with. *beaming*

*****************************************************

So I cancelled my MySpace account good and proper earlier this week. The dirty bastards. See, I went on there to respond to an email I’d gotten from someone I thought was pretty cool but hadn’t heard from in over a year. And after spending the time it took to write her a nice long email, I was informed that my email hadn’t passed the spam filter. WTF?! So when I attempted to go to my home page I was then informed that my account had been phished. Not only that, but it was suddenly difficult to navigate around the site. Then after changing my password again, I was once AGAIN informed me that my account had been phished.

That did it for me—I’d had enough. So, after deleting all of my photos and going through the account cancelling process, I was led to a page where they asked why on earth I would possibly want to leave the all-mighty MySpace. And I cheerfully took a moment to state the following:

“The security on this site SUCKS ASS. Every time I log onto this site my computer freezes, and the ads you have on here are incredibly obnoxious. I’m tired of getting spam, phished, and whatever other crapsandwiches that float around on here like virtual STDs.”

(Cat = me unleashing my kung-fu powers on slobbering dog = MySpace)

And with that I hit the cancellation confirmation. And it felt gooooood.

*****************************************************

Fake Blogs Are OK Too, Right?

2009-02-12T01:53:00.001-08:00

Ok, so I know that this isn't technically a blog, but I figured it's been too long since I've posted. I originally posted this on Facebook (yes, it's one of THOSE deals), but I figured that just because it was one of those trendy little surveys floating around the FaceBook-o-sphere doesn't make it any less true. Or fun. Or Nerdalicious! So I'm re-posting it here in the hopes that these 25 Random Things About Me might bring a slightly crooked smile to your face. OH, and don't be shy... let me know what you think!

25 Things About ME!

1. I am currently in love with Safeway's Baked Potato Soup. I bought three tubs of it yesterday and am sad to report that I just cracked open tub #3 for dinner tonight. You know what they say about potato soup... "It fills the cracks of the heart." *snort*

2. I stole that quote from the movie Mall Cop, which I've never seen. But I've heard the clip many times on my favorite talk radio show called Too Beautiful To Live (TBTL), which airs M-F from 7-10pm. I ADORE that show because they are freakin' hilarious, play awesome music 'bumps,' and actually do NOT discuss politics. I heart TBTL. Forizzle.

3. I love to laugh and have a seriously twisted sense of humor.

4. I have a retarded middle finger. Don’t mess with me or I might be forced to show it off to you, suckuhs.

5. I’m an audio book addict. I bought an iPod just so I could listen to audio books while I’m doing things like grocery shopping and going for walks. I do most of my “reading” that way and it freakin’ ROCKS! Plus, I listen to the TBTL podcasts on my iPod regularly. Rawr!

6. I love to blog, and love it even more when people comment on it. I just recently set up a new blog at http://DreamsAreFerFree.blogspot.com/ and all are welcome to read and leave your thoughts (comments)! Please. No, really, I’m begging you.

7. My younger brother and I almost got kicked out of Disneyland back in the 80’s because we got caught spitting off the sky ride. They’ve since torn that ride down… I wonder why?

(click on the photo to see the artist’s page!)

8. I hate mangoes. They make me gag.

9. I have an incredibly bad memory. No, I’m dead serious! And it’s not because I did any drugs or anything. I’ve just always had a terrible memory. I barely remember high school, let a lone anything else before it. Heck, there are loads of things I don’t remember that happened AFTER high school. It’s only gotten worse now that I’m pregnant. I’ve always figured my bad memory was a blessing, though, because that way it’s nearly impossible for me to hold a grudge against someone. Just, please don’t be surprised if I can’t remember your name, ok?

10. I think it’s absolutely disgusting when people don’t wash their hands with soap and water after “potty time.” *shudders*

11. I’ve been robbed at gunpoint before.

12. I don’t watch TV. As a result I’m pop-culturally retarded.

13. I’m a huge believer in visual aids. Can’t you tell? ;) And the secret to my photos? I snag most of them from www.DeviantArt.com, but you’ve gotta be careful because they’ve got a crap load of AWFUL photos, including very graphic ones. So filters help! And since I snag other peoples’ work, I always make sure I turn the photo into a link to that artist’s page so that I’m giving them their due credit. Heck, I’ll be the first to admit that I have no talent for photography! But I can definitely admire the works of those who do. *beaming*

14. I have a phobia of what I lovingly refer to as “Overflowing Toilets of Nastiness.” I dream of them at a bare minimum of once a week, although I can safely say that I average dreaming about horrific potty experiences around 3-4 times per week. Yeah, I’ve got issues.

(p.s. I couldn’t bring myself to post the nastier photos I found of toilets because of my phobia. Seriously, I wanted to puke.)
(p.p.s. I would HIGHLY recommend NOT looking for photos of toilets on www.DeviantArt.com. Apparently there’s some sort of fetish that involves toilets that I found to be incredibly disturbing. Just FYI!)

15. In the past decade alone I’ve lived in six different states: Washington, Utah, Texas, New Jersey, New York, Missouri. Moving sucks duck butts.

16. I have a passionate hatred for: Monkeys, Incense, Patchouli, Booger Bubbles, Violence, and Lies.

17. I am so good at handing out advice but am terrible at keeping it myself.

18. I have a passionate love for: Ice Cream, Peach flavored Fresca, Iced Water, Flowers (but not floral print clothing), Cats…ok, my cat in particular, Law Enforcement, Witty Banter, and Back Rubs.

19. I’ve always wanted but have never had beautiful legs. Mostly, I’ve wanted hot legs so I could wear funky socks and tights, like the ones pictured below. Instead my legs don’t see the light of day due to the wear-n-tear of age and bad veins. *sigh* Isn’t it true that we always want what we can’t have?

(click on the photo to go to the artist’s page!)

20. I have double jointed fingers and toes.

21. I can’t stand Alanis Morissette’s music, but every time I go sing karaoke I sing her song, “You Learn.” That, and Dido’s “Here With Me.” I’m a sucker.

22. I am a firm believer in being grateful! And right now I am SUPER grateful for Rolaids and Tylenol PM. And sleep. And strawberries (they're the new pineapple!).

23. I *love* doing laundry!

24. Phlebotomists love me because I have transparent skin and great big fat veins.

25. I’m good for accidentally walking into a men’s bathroom at least once a year.

(It's just ahead!)

Am I the Only One?

2009-02-05T17:14:00.000-08:00

I can't help but wonder if I'm the only one who is reminded of Madonna when looking at this photo. In particular, her choice of braziers. Just wondering!

Holy Crap, is that Paulie Bleeker?!

2009-01-31T12:46:00.000-08:00

In your mind’s eye, imagine this:

He’s standing on the corner at the bus depot at the Lakewood mall, completely oblivious to everything and everyone around him. He adjusts his backpack with a shrug of his shoulder but otherwise doesn’t move.

He’s wearing red running shorts and a light colored t-shirt under a somewhat puffy jacket. You also notice that he’s wearing the old-school type of tennis shoes with socks pulled up almost to his knees. His socks are white with red stripes at the top. He has coordinated his color scheme and accented it with… yes, you can’t believe your eyes but its true… red wrist bands and a red headband that doesn’t seem to push back his shaggy hair as much as you’d hope it would.

(He looks a heck of a lot like Paulie Bleeker from the movie Juno, only 15 years older…)

He’s at least 6’2” and sandy blonde with a short but unkempt beard that makes you think he’s roughly in his late-20’s or maybe even his early 30’s. But it’s hard to tell since you are taking in this intensely curious image within the space of less than 5 seconds.

The part that makes this image crystal clear in your mind? He’s got a copy of one of the Series of Unfortunate Events books being held an inch away from his nose with one hand, and his other hand is picking his nose in a more than aggressive fashion.

(I’m pretty sure it was this one in particular.)

Attractive, eh? I swear I saw this exact image—now burned into my brain forever—just yesterday while driving past the Lakewood Town Center bus depot. *snort* You just can’t make this stuff up!

Pic of the Day!

2009-01-30T19:05:00.000-08:00

(click on the photo to see the artist’s page)

There is so much I could say about this photo. I think everyone could take a glance and read something into it. But here’s my take:

I think this girl is trying to figure out if she’s really alone or not. At first I thought that she was. But then I took a closer look and noticed that there are two pairs of shoes on the dock next to her. And it made me wonder, where’s the owner of the second pair of shoes? I kept thinking that maybe the other person was submerged and that this girl—the one in the photo—was holding her breath, waiting for him to re-emerge from the dark depths of the watery abyss. She certainly seems focused on the water. Is she watching something just under the surface, or maybe waiting for something to happen? How long has this mysterious second person been out of sight? And how long is she going to wait for him before giving up? The longer I look at this photo, the more questions I ask myself.

Now, if you thought that I was going to compare this photo to myself and my relationship status, well… you’re absolutely right. But I’ll let you come up with the different parts of the analogy yourselves. It could be very simple, but most of the time it turns into something far too complex. At least, too complex for me to sit here and try to explain in a way that would make sense to you, my lovely readers.

But here’s my final question to you:

How long do you think either of them can hold their breath before they realize that everything has changed?

Shots Fired! Well, Sort of.

2009-01-24T15:24:00.001-08:00

When my dad knocked on my bedroom door this morning and told me he wanted to speak with me I started getting that feeling. You know, that ominous feeling like, “Oh crap, now what’ve I done?” Which kind of surprised me because it’s not like I’ve ever been in a situation with my dad where he’d be all, “BAD girl! BAD!” to me. Of course, when I thought about it I had to laugh because it came out a-la Cartman from South Park when he shouts at his kitty, “No kitty, this is MY pot pie. BAD KITTY!”

(click on Cartman to listen to what I mean! *giggles*)

Anyway, So about an hour later I finally made it over to talk with Dad. I sat across the room from him sipping on my Crystal Light while he sat in front of his computer. Thankfully, all he wanted was to see how my siblings were doing. He mentioned how bad he felt for not keeping in touch with them as much as he’d like and blah blah blah… you know, the usual good-dad stuff (‘cause he’s rad like that).

It was while we were just chatting about the sibs when we heard the shots. The noise was so loud that I shut up immediately after the first shot and looked out his window towards the noise. We could tell it was close. Then I made some comment like, “that doesn’t sound good.” A few seconds later, after hearing four or five shots in a row my dad jumped out of his chair and said, “That’s gunshot!” and he started hurrying towards the door. I stood and listened a little bit closer, knowing that my dad is also half-deaf (literally) due to his years of firearms experience. “No, that’s FIREWORKS,” I managed to say before he left the room. But he didn’t hesitate and went out onto the front porch to see where the noise was coming from.

Sure enough, across the street and two houses down we could see a plume of smoke rising and a surprising amount of little popping noises (is that called “report?”) accompanying it. At 1pm on a relatively sunny day. “Fireworks,” was all Dad said as he pointed to the plume of smoke rising above the neighbor’s house. He went back in about 30 seconds later, mumbling something about how that was his “Marine friend’s house.” So he got his shoes and socks on and headed on over to check things out.

By this time I was so amused by the whole thing that I was kind of hoping that it was something bad. I know, I’m terrible. But we rarely get any excitement in our neighborhood! My brain kept sifting through the endless possible scenarios of what might’ve really happened. Like, what if the house was on fire and it accidently set off some old fireworks the neighbor had been storing? Or what if someone was trying to cover up the sound of gunshot by setting off the fireworks? Or (*gasp!) what if it was some burglar setting off a booby trap in the Marine’s house?! Ooooh, what if the Marine neighbor (who I’ve never seen before) was like a modern-day urban Rambo/Mr. T and he was teaching some fools a lesson? Dang, that’d be AWESOME!

(Don't mess with Mr. T!)

Aw, but no such luck.

When my dad finally got back he told me that the Marine wasn’t home, but the woman who lives next door to him was. Turns out that it was just some dorks setting off some huge fireworks on the golf course that our neighbors’ houses border on. Why they decided to set off the fireworks directly behind some houses is a mystery to me. And the best part of the story? Apparently when the neighbor lady went out to see what the heck was going on she heard some man eventually say, “Well… I guess we should get a broom.”

Der-Dee-Der.

(This photo can be found on DeviantArt.com. Just click here to see!)

"Police Activity" on the Narrows Bridge

2009-01-15T15:14:00.000-08:00

I was a little troubled by my initial reaction as I drove past the Jumper on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge today. Let me explain.

Earlier today (around 11am) I was online at a local news site checking out the latest headlines when I noticed a Traffic Alert bulletin posted at the top of the page. The alert stated that the right lane of The Bridge had been closed due to "police activity." This activity had apparently been going on since before 9am, something that I would learn hours later.

(I took this photo about a year ago. From this vantage point I am standing in GH looking at Tacoma.)

At around 1pm I was heading across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge making my way towards Tacoma when I noticed that the right lane was still closed. Ok. So I moved my butt over and slowed way the heck down along with all the rest of the traffic that was heading the same direction. I admit that I was rather annoyed that so many people were "goosenecking," that is until I started goosenecking myself.

I was amazed to see AT LEAST 12 emergency response vehicles (cop cars, sheriff's, ambulances, fire trucks, Incident Response Vehicles, etc.). It wasn't until I passed the small camper with the phrase "Negotiations Team" painted on the side that I realized what I was seeing. And what's worse? There was some dude in jeans and a t-shirt shimmying down one of the heavy metal suspension wires of the bridge! There was a cluster of about 7 cops surrounding the spot where the dude would eventually land, but they all seemed so casual (except for the one annoyed looking cop that was waving traffic on), that I had to wonder if I was really watching a Jumper being talked out of killing himself.

And what was my immediate response? I muttered in a deeply annoyed voice, "Freakin Jumpers."

Yeah, can you believe it?! I was all miffed that some dude was so down-and-out that he'd attempt to hurl himself to a watery grave. Talk about cold-hearted. Naturally, I immediately felt guilty for being such a wench and thinking such horrible thoughts. But as I pondered my reaction I started realizing a few things:

1. What a sad state of affairs! Not only have I been jaded by years and years of jumpers seeking attention in such a public and horrific way, but the WA state Department of Transportation (WDOT) doesn't even bother closing the bridge anymore when there's a jumper! *shaking my head* Talk about tragic.

2. I've come to believe that people who try (or even succeed) to commit suicide are selfish. They don't take into consideration those around them who might witness it, let alone the family and friends they leave behind who have to deal with such a sudden and brutal turn of events.

3. Don't these people do their research?! I mean, history has shown that jumpers who decide to jump from above the driving platforms on the Narrows Bridge almost always land ON the driving platforms of the bridge. It's due to the high winds that are almost always constant through the Narrows. Not only that, but talk about rude! Not even caring if you land on a car driving past you below, splattering guts in broad daylight and (no doubt) causing a countless number of people to go into counseling for who knows how long. It all just reeks of selfishness.

4. But most importantly, no matter how much life sucks it can *always* get worse. And it's NEVER so bad that you have to end your own life. NEVER. So make due with what you've got and go from there. That's my philosophy.

Anyway, as I was driving back the other way a couple hours later I noticed that there was still loads of "police activity" happening on the east-bound bridge but no sign of the Jumper. My guess is that they whisked him off to the nearest hospital, and then off to the nearest mental hospital. But what a crazy day, eh?

Oh Happy Day!

2009-01-13T11:42:00.000-08:00

I can't help it. If I'm glowing it's only because I'm having such a FABULOUS day! If I could have a sound track for the day it would be the following:

1. What You Wish For, by Guster
2. The General Specific, by Band of Horses
3. E-Pro, by Beck
4. Float On, by Modest Mouse
5. Feel Good Inc, by Gorillaz
6. Such Great Heights, by The Postal Service
7. The entire Luna-Penthouse CD.

I know, there are a few songs on there that are so syrupy sweet that you just might get a cavity, but ya know what? Sometimes we have some sugary sweet moments in life and most people are glad of them. I'm certainly not complaining!

(a gratuitous photo for your visual entertainment. You can find this and more of the artists works at http://claudio88.deviantart.com/)

So here's the news that made me so happy: I do NOT, I repeat, do NOT have Gestational Diabetes. Ha! Take that! My mother wasn't thrilled to find out. She'd been all excited when I told her I might have it. So excited, in fact, that she wouldn't stop talking about what SHE has to do to regulate HER diabetes, and how she just *knew* that I also had it. See, you have to understand that with my mother EVERYTHING is about her. Not only that, but she's always assumed that I am her "mini-me," and as a result I go through great pains to prove that I am NOT anything like her. Just the thought sends shivers down my spine. *shudders*

But wait, there's more!

So I just went online and was flipping through the different websites I frequent when I came upon an awesome sight. You can see it for yourselves at http://www.mynorthwest.com/?nid=93 and scroll down. Trust me, it's mind blowing. Ok, to me it was mind-blowing. ;) Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am FAMOUS! Be jealous.

And even though it's not even 1pm just yet, I'd say this day is off to a good start. Jeez, even my hair looks good today. So I'm going to curl up next to my kitty (who is snoring lightly on the bed) and take a nap now. And if I wake up and find that it's all been a dream I will truly be miffed.

Cheers!

Pic of the Day

2009-01-12T23:38:00.000-08:00

Today's Pic of the Day:

(This can be found at http://melizyaa.deviantart.com/art/autumnal-point-109259540)

This just stood out to me tonight and seemed like a place I wouldn't mind finding myself in. Yeah, call me crazy but that chair is calling my name! ;)

Earlier this week I drove past a house that had a small fruit tree standing out front. It had no leaves and seemed extremely naked. How did I know it was a fruit tree? There were loads of apples sitting colorfully around the base of the tree, accompanied by at least ten robins picking at the fruit and the bugs it attracted. I thought it was a strange juxtaposition, considering the season and all the snow/rain we've had over the past month. I had been used to getting around in a world of grey, only to have my attention captured by the bright red and yellow tinges of the fruit in that person's yard. It was like a small reminder that Winter is only a visitor and Spring is just around the corner. At least, I sure hope so.

Fuzzy Wuzzy

2009-01-10T15:08:00.000-08:00

Oh. My. Gosh. I FOUND FUZZY WUZZY! And he wasn't a bear. See, here's what happened.

It's been a very long time since I've washed my Jeep. And I mean a *very* long time, like seven months. Now, normally I take pride in having a clean and pristine vehicle, but once I got knocked up my priorities sort of changed. So I sort of "let it go," as some would say.

Anyway, I was at the car wash earlier today and decided to vacuum out the inside of the Jeep, including the very back part. Would that be called the trunk? Meh, whatever. But it needed to be done, especially since there were particles of dried cement back there, but that's a whole other story. And what you have to understand is that in order to do a good job I had to bend way down and lean waaay forward in order to get all the rubble-filled nooks and crannies. It was while I was doing that that I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

Now, some of you are aware that I pride myself on having excellent peripheral vision. And others of you know that I have a rather bionic sense of smell--unusually powerful (what I like to refer to as "the Super Shnoz"). So it came as a HUGE surprise when I discovered this:

(It's FUZZY WUZZY! ewwwwwwwww.)

Naturally my first reaction was "ew!" But immediately afterwards I was struck by an intense sense of amusement. I mean, how the heck had I gone so long without smelling such a horrid thing?! And how the heck did those rice cakes get back there?! I just kept laughing at it, which only intensified when I took pictures of it, causing those around me to pause and stare at the cackling chubby round lady. And their wonder made me laugh even harder. Yeah, it was just one of those moments.

So after I vacuumed out the back I went back and reached in with some old napkins I'd saved from previous meals-while-on-my-wheels and carefully pulled out the foul and decaying evidence.

(I left it just inside the lip of the garbage can so others could admire the beauty of my find.)

Who would've thought that my Super Shnoz was foiled by something so vile? But it did not stink. And even as I carefully placed my prized findings inside the lip of the garbage can I had to step back and admire the fact that not only did it NOT stink, but it was so hairy that the mold was actually stringy, like a spider's web. *sigh* Precious.

So once again my Jeep is clean and pristine as I've always thought it to be. And who knows what my next find will be. A shriveled up old apple core? Hm. Well, anything's possible.

Pic of the Day!

2009-01-09T22:13:00.000-08:00

I thought it would be fitting that the first post on this blog would be a Pic of the Day, especially since I can't think of anything insightful or witty to share with you. But since this is the pilot blog on Dreams Are For Free, I thought it was appropriate to share one of my favorite photos I snagged from Deviant Art back in the day. I tried finding it on there again so I could give the artist his or her due credits, but apparently it's no longer displayed on that website. With that said, I give you the Pic of the Day!

(This was originally called "Night Flys," by Bliss87 on www.DeviantArt.com)

I chose this pic not just because it's totally random (like me!), but also because I loved the Alice In Wonderland feel it gives me. It's strange how it seems as though the subject in the photo is actually dreaming away while these amazing things are happening all around her. And it made me wonder if maybe we're all so caught up in living our lives and pursuing our dreams that maybe, just maybe we're missing what amazing things are truly going on around us. Sometimes we need to stop and open our eyes to our surroundings and that's all it takes to realize that things aren't what they seem. Life is complicated and fun and mysterious and crappy and exciting all wrapped in one giant package (with a huuuge bow on top!).But whether or not that package is a good thing is up to us to decide.

As for me? Well, I choose to think this gift of life is good, and I'll keep walking forward with my eyes wide open.