Welcoming Grant to this world!

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!

(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

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.

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. :)

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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!)

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.

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*


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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?

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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*

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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.


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Fake Blogs Are OK Too, Right?

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?

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?!

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!

(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?