Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Stream of Consciousness

I am not myself right now.
I don't know who or what I am, but I am not the person I know myself to be.
I can't decide right now if I want to cry, hit something or simply cease.
Just cease.
Sit down, stop breathing and stop hiding from the hurt that has been building in me.
I have NO idea what has brought this about.
I found myself on the treadmill at the gym tonight trying not to scream.
Just scream.
Scream and scream and scream until my throat was raw and my words were gone.
I still functioned.
I still hugged Matt and Brad goodnight.
I kissed Crystal's cheek and swore to call her as soon as I was home tomorrow - to go to the gym again.
I called Beachgirl back and carried on the same conversation I always carry.
But inside it felt like the wall that had protected me for years had split right down the middle.
I felt something spilling through the break.
It didn't rush, it didn't flow, it just oozed.
It was slow and aching.

I got home and tried to be normal.
I threw a CD in the disc player and cranked it up.
I did work related things and checked emails and blogs.
I ignored my ringing phone.
I couldn't stand the thought of faking speech.
Faking action is so much easier.
I just wanted to be quiet.
If I couldn't be quiet inside, I could out.

My brother came over.
I hugged him and talked as little as possible.
It wasn't that hard, he was on his own phone to his harem most of the time.
I hugged him goodbye and saw him out the door.
I locked it and collapsed.
I sat on the cold hard ground and cried until I couldn't breathe.
Then I got in the shower and cried some more.
And then I screamed.
I screamed and screamed and prayed the stereo was loud enough that my neighbors wouldn't run to check on me.

I turned off everything in the house and got in bed.
But I couldn't sleep.
I just . . hurt.

It's just hormones, it's just the drugs, it's just stress, it's just everything.
I'll be perfect in the morning.
I always am.
And I'll regret posting this.

Dance, Dance and a Dilemma

Dance, Dance

I would like Ang and True to know that I thought about them on the way to work this morning. I was listening to 93.3 The Razor (Always Rocks, Always Will) a completely kick-ass “all rock, all the time” station out of Little Rock and guess what songs came on The Rock Block?

Pour Some Sugar on Me - Def Leppard
You Shook Me All Night Long - AC/DC
Enter Sandman (One I forgot to include in party songs) - Metallica

So kids, you were on my mind.

And now for Auburn, who I engaged with conversation about our cute brothers and how we love them and do everything for them . . . but I won’t do this.

So, my brother has this bad habit of letting himself in my house.
Other than the two times I was naked walking around, this normally doesn’t bother me. However, last night I was a bit taken aback . . and embarrassed.

No, I wasn’t naked.

I was shakin’ my thang to Lo Fidelity Allstars - Battleflag. I do that a lot. Just put on a CD or the radio and dance around the house. It helps me calm down after work and traffic and the whole nine yards. Plus it makes me Hap Hap Happy. Anywho . . .so yeah, my brother walked in on me breaking it down. AND he apparently had been standing there a while because he engaged me in one of the grossest conversations ever:

“I wish I could dance. You can dance. I wish I could dance.” - the boy has a point, I don’t think he knows where his thang is, let alone how to shake it.

I’m desperately wanting to help him, but think teaching my brother how to bootie dance is a little odd. I mean, how do you teach a guy that if you can’t dance with him. And trust me, I am NOT going to back it up on my brother. Not happening. No, not never ever in a million years.

“You could take lessons or something.”
“How embarrassing! No way! What if, like, the guys found out.”
“Sweetie, most guys can’t dance. It’s not a big deal. What counts is that you’ll go out on the dance floor. But you won’t do that. Start just going out there. I promise, the girl will make you look good.”

Not gross so far . .

“I just wish I could dance. That would really make the panties wet.”

I immediately start to gag.
He’s my LITTLE brother. It doesn’t matter if he is 40, he will still be my little brother. I DO NOT want to think about my little brother getting anything .. . that three letter word that rhymes with pet.

“You’re a sicko.”
He’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe. “Why does that make you gag??”
“Because that’s nasty! You’re like . . . you’re . . . you’re my damn brother!!! I don’t wanna think about you doin’ . . . that!”
Ugh, Ugh, Ugh.
Gotta vomit now. Excuse me.

However, due to our blogging about dancing and my conversation with my brother, I did something bad. I took 5 minutes out of my therapy sessions with my 4-year olds (I only have 2 that are that old) this morning and taught them how to do The Roger Rabbit and The Snake. Come on, you know those old 80's dance moves. I listed it under “Following directions, “ so, it totally counts as therapy. Right? Okay, please no one report me to Medicaid. But I’m officially the “coolest” therapist ever . . . they told me so. What’s even scarier, is I taught these kids to do it listening to Paula Abdoul. YES, I still have TAPES of Paula Abdoul. Deal with it. Nothing like “Cold Hearted Snake” to learn The Snake to. How apropos.


I got a call a few minutes ago.
From a flower shop in Conway.
Apparently, I am to call them when I get home so that they may deliver flowers.
This particular shop is my favorite!
Conway Classic Touch (shameless plug for their kick butt business).
They have beautiful home decor and jewelry and all kinds of wonderful things. I go into Classic Touch at least once a month and blow far too much money.
But who the hell would be sending me flowers??
Luckily, I know one of the guys that works there.
So I hang up, wait 5 minutes, call back and ask for Chris.

“Oh, Chris, my lovely?”
“Uh oh, this is gonna be trouble. What’s up?”
Laughing, “No trouble. No trouble at all. Promise. Just need you to check something out for me. It seems that you guys are going to be delivering to me later this afternoon. I need a detailed description of WHAT you’re delivering and preferably an idea of who sent it or what the note says.”
“Meg, can’t you just wait and see?”
Now, almost everyone that knows me is aware that unless you’re 5 years old or younger; I have no patience for you . . or for anything. Kids, I’m great with. Adults and things I want - I have this astoundingly annoying sense of immediacy that must be satisfied!
Very whiney voice (yes, I’m ashamed and abashed): “Puh-lease, Chris?? Pretty, pretty puh-lease.”
“Don’t do that, you know that gets me.”
“Then just do it, puh-lease.”

I have THREE dozen roses.
36 roses.
36 black roses ; which means they were special order.
Which means he paid a veritable butt ton for these roses.
Which means he actually listens to me because I hate almost all other roses.

Who is “he”, you ask?
Mr. Clean.
Mr. Clean has sent me 36 roses from France.
36 roses which probably cost about $300.
That’s the one thing Chris wouldn’t tell me: “I’m not telling you how much the guy spent on you! That’s just tacky! Pull it together!”
But I KNOW they’re special order.
I know because I sometimes buy black roses for myself.
Just one or two because I refuse to pay that much for anymore . . and it’s stupid to spend that much money on something that’s just going to die.
The card says simply “Can’t wait to see you when I get back.”

He’s working his ass off to redeem himself in my eyes.
Care to clue a girl in on how to handle this one????

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Memories, Misty Water Colored Memories

Yeah, so, things have gotten to political lately. Plus I'm tired of being called Crazy, Pretentious and a Nazi. So . . . .
This is a total piece of fluff.
Oh . . and a warning, it's a LONG piece of fluff. But worth the read.
If you thought my list was revealing, this is probably more so!

I found an old CD last night after digging around for some jammin’ road trip music. I was doing this because dear Birdie ( and I have determined that we are going to Beale Street in Memphis this weekend come hell or high water. This CD may as well be the soundtrack of my youth. My best friend/roommate/most-beautiful-person I’ve ever met and I made a two disc set of music that we LOVED to dance to for road trips. It’s the “Carol and Meg Jammin’ Shit” discs one and two. It’s almost all rap, but only because that’s what you dance to!

I made the mistake of listening to Disc One on the drive to work this morning (45 minute drive) and could barely focus on the road for dancing and remembering:

3-6 Mafia ; Late Night Tip - Oh My God! I’m 21. I’m smooshed into the backseat of a Camaro. The bass is SO strong that I can feel my heart skipping beats to adjust. We’re driving to Fort Smith, Arkansas to spend the weekend with Wilson’s family. Carol is next to me, the two Stephens (called Baker and Wilson - last names - so as not to confuse them) are in the front. Carol and I are screaming EVERY word. “I’m not the type to get involved in long relationships. Taking trips and buying gifts, I’m sorry I’m not on that tip . . . “

Mo Thugs; Ghetto Cowboy - I’m 17. Riding in the backseat of an extended cab Z-71 truck with huge mud tires. I’m drinking Fuzzy Navel wine coolers from a cooler underneath my feet. I have a boy on either side of me. We’re driving 200 miles to Springhill, Louisiana (the closest place that lets 18-yr olds in a dance club) to “Rockin PV’s”. I’m 17 and everyone else in the truck is 20-25, but it’s cool. We know the bouncers. Can you get any more red-neck?

Notorious BIG; Hypnotize - I’m 15. God, do all these memories involve riding in vehicles?? Riding ON the console of a Mitsubishi Eclipse. A boy on either side of me. (I warned you, in earlier lists, that ALL my friends were guys!) They’re too old to be anywhere near me. I’m too young to care. We’re just driving the strip in town. I get my first kiss. It’s from a 21-yr old. Remembering that kiss makes my toes curl.

Prince; Pussy Control - I flash to EVERY club I’ve ever been to. I finally land on a great one. I’m 18. I’m dancing my ass off with my Freshman roommate and the wildest girl in the dorm. We’re breaking it down in Branson, Missouri under (I kid you NOT) a rhinestone covered saddle hanging from the ceiling. A strobe light is throwing sparkles at our feet.

Ludacris; Lick You - I’m 21. I’m dancing on a pool table with four friends at a fraternity party thrown in someone’s apartment. I smell strong cologne and pot smoke (NOT from me!). I’m drinking something blue. I NEVER drink anything blue after this night. Or anything containing vodka. I do think it was the one time in my life that I was under the influence of drugs . . . contact high. Never be in a small room with a mass of pot heads. Kris Grey later demanded that we pay to replace the felt on his pool table.

Busta Rhymes; Break Ya Neck - I’m 19. I’m in a fraternity house at Arkansas State University in Jonesboro. The basement has been painted black from the floor to the ceiling and people have written messages in day-glo paint pens on the wall. It’s lit by three huge black lights. Lorne (hottest boy EVER because he can SING and DANCE) is DJ’ing. Carie, Rae and I are dancing in a circle and Matt (affectionately called chicken legs) ducks into the middle of us to shake his groove thing. I start laughing so hard that I slip and fall on the floor. As I’m trying to get up, Matt starts air humping me. Damn clown. I can’t help but laugh remembering it.

Big Tymers; Get Your Roll On - I’m 20. I’m dancing in the middle of a packed dance floor on South Padre Island. Annslie sees a group of guys heading our way and slaps me on the ass and grabs a breast hoping to drive them away by pretending we’re lesbians. Instead, it makes them RUN to us. We end up ducking into the bathroom to save ourselves from being accosted. Annslie never was the sharpest crayon in the box. Later in the week she was arrested for having a fake ID. Funny thing . . the off duty cop who was bouncing for the club even admitted to her that it was the most real fake he had ever seen. She would have totally gotten away with it, but when he asked her birthday she said “July 10th, nineteen eight - uh uh uh seventy-nine.” Can you say Jail Bird?

Westside Connection; Bow Down - I’m 17. Senior Year of high school. This was our senior song. Can you tell 70% of my school’s population was black? I’m at prom. Red silk dress cut low and slit high. Seth’s pretending to know how to dance as he holds me. Cut to a different memory, a few weeks earlier. 5 of us cruising “the Block” during our open lunch period. “Bow Down” blaring from the car’s tape deck. Christina is hanging almost completely out of the car window; only Samantha holding her legs is saving her from death on pavement. She’s screaming along with the song “Bow Down, cause we ain’t no haters like you, bow down to some bitches that’s greater than you” at a group of girls that hate us. She pays for it later. Those girls found her alone in a bathroom and left her with a bloody nose, a black eye and a missing patch of hair. We find out, afterwards, that Christina was kissing one of their boyfriends at a party. Samantha said she deserved the beat down for kissing a black guy (Sam was, obviously, a bit racist back in the day). I said she deserved it for kissing someone else’s boyfriend. Who knows if either of us were right.

Coolio; Fantastic Voyage - Though this song was on the radio YEARS earlier, this is the memory I land on. I’m 20. Carie, Jaime, Sophie and I are wriggling on a dance floor in SOME bar/club in Washington, D.C. My cell phone is vibrating against my hip. Carie and I duck outside, still dancing. A guy we know from Magnolia, Arkansas is stationed at Norfolk. “You guys ready?” “Ready??” “Some of the guys and I borrowed a car. We’re driving to DC to get you. You’re going to party with us Navy boys tonight!” “Oh hell yeah!!!” Sophie and Jamie refuse to go. They’re too good even by good girl standards. Funny, but that totally reverses later on. Jamie is the crazy one and Carie is the one saying “No” to nights out with military personnel.

Limp Bizkit with DMX; Rollin - Memory continues. Still 20. Outside DC at Norfolk. Dancing in a sea of Navy boys. Watching a muted TV with the Florida vs. Florida State game on. Seminoles win. Winke is a god on the football field. I’m so happy that I kiss a random boy. Then I run and dance with Carie, because I’m scared that I started something I’m not sure I can finish. I still can’t go to DC without humming this song in my head.

Cypress Hill; Rock Superstar - I’m 21. I’m in New Orleans, Louisiana. We are IN the middle of EVERYTHING! If you were ever in New Orleans on Bourbon Street, you KNOW what I’m talking about. It’s Mardi Gras. I have enough beads on to weigh me down but I’m still dancing so hard it’s a miracle I didn’t pass out. I have a drink in one hand and a beer in the other. I’m surrounded by cute Cajun speaking boys and am begging Amy to NOT let me do anything I’ll regret. I end up being a lip whore. But kissing never hurt anyone, right?

Sweet Home Alabama; Lynard Skynard - VERY long story about how this random song was thrown on the CD, because obviously it doesn’t fit. However, ANYONE from the South knows that there are several odd songs that are at EVERY party – these are: Steve Miller Band - Joker, Jimmy Buffet - Margaritaville and Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw, Mo Thugs - Ghetto Cowboy, Poison - Every Rose Has It’s Thorn, Guns and Roses - November Rain and Paradise City and Sweet Child of Mine, and lastly - - Sweet Home Alabama! But my memory isn’t on a Southern party. It’s in Memphis, Tennessee on Beale Street. I’m 24. Bachelorette party. We’ve randomly met a Bachelor Party in the middle of the street. They’re from Alabama. They are gorgeous. They are loaded. They pay for our EVERYTHING all night. Including a trip to Platinum Plus. I’m watching some nubile girl, fully naked, do a backbend on stage. This does NOTHING for me. But watching the guys get turned on is worth the trip. Men become the biggest drooling idiots when there’s a naked woman in the room.

Eminem; Without Me - It’s EVERY Friday and Saturday night my Junior and Senior years of college . . . and my first year of Grad school. 4 girls, 8 guys. Girls are 21-24 throughout all these nights. The guys are 27-35 but always the same guys. Jeston, Bryan, Steve, Patrick, Darryl, etc etc. We LOVED these guys. Hell, Carie married one of them. We’re in the middle of the dance floor. Center of attention. Jeston is video-taping. We ALWAYS have a video-camera at the club, don’t ask. I constantly joked it was so the guys could one day remember which skank from which club gave them which VD. Steve has gotten a bit drunk, and even at 30, has taken off his shirt (girls, this man has always been RIPPED) and is swinging it in circles above his head.

Juvenile; Back that Ass Up - Oh wow. I’m 19. I’m at David’s apartment near the Air Force base. His roommate is trying to convince me to dump David (whom I’ve been dating for three months) for him. It will never happen. David comes home in his fatigues, grabs me and heads to the shower. We turn the stereo up as loud as it will go so his roommate and his girlfriend (yeah, he had one, still tried to convince me to dump David for him . .whatever!) won’t hear us fooling around. He’s 29, I’m a baby compared to him. Particularly in experience. I’ve messed around but never to certain extents.. . . until now. After the shower, I lose my virginity to Back that Ass Up . . . romantic, eh? Hey, maybe it is romantic to an Air Force boy??

Bravehearts; Ooochie Wally Remix - I’m with Carol again. I’m 21. We’re in Cozumel. I’m dancing so low that my knees are creaking in protest. I come back up and there’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in front of me. He grabs my hips and starts semi-dancing/semi-grinding. I’m about to faint I’m so turned on. Carol is behind him dancing and waving the thumbs up sign while mouthing “Would LOVE to!” (Side note - we used to see hot guys in public and would look at one another and then say ‘would love to’ to indicate . . you get the damn idea.) He’s at least 6'4" and has crystal blue eyes. I’m in Heaven. After three more dances, I never see him again.

Sylk E Fyne; Romeo and Juliet - I’m 16. It’s open campus at my highschool and Courtney and I have just broken the land speed record sprinting to her new BMW to beat everyone to the Sonic Drive-In to get medium ocean waters; yes, that was considered lunch - a soda. We’re flying down the road with all the windows down blaring this song while dancing around so hard that the car is actually shaking. How the hell did we not wreck a car every single lunch period???

Bone, Thugs and Harmony; Crossroads - I’m 16. Lifeguarding at the public pool. I LIVE at this pool. Swim team practice 6:30 - 9:30, give swimming lessons from 9:30 11:00, diving lessons from 11:00 - 11:30, pool opens for lifeguarding at 12, closes at 5, but private parties keep us guarding until 10:00. Then it’s party time. We blare rap, rock and country until at least midnight while we dance around and in the pool. I clearly remember blaring this song before there’s even water in the pool. It’s a million degrees and we are covered in paint. Every year, every damn year, we had to paint the interior of the concrete pool with white latex paint. Chris and Eric are entirely too white to rap, but they keep up with Crazy Bone anyway. They’re rapping their hearts out as Kelly and I ogle our new pool manager. Ronnie Ralph. He’s sex on legs. Then we’re too busy telling Eric he’s white to notice that we’ve painted ourselves into the center of the pool and can’t get out without messing up the paint. We were so stupid.

Dr. Dre; Nuttin' But a G-Thing - I’m 14, almost 15, but I think I’m 28. House party! I have one beer and think I’m the coolest thing EVER. I’m dancing in a far too adult manner with an 18 yr old. I’m scared beyond reason that my parents are going to come home at any moment, even though they left just that morning for Bermuda and Jamaica. I have locked my 10 year old little brother in his room so he can’t be corrupted. He NEVER forgives me for this . . and rats me out to my parents the minute they call. They immediately call my grandparents and I’m relegated to living in Moth Ball Hell for the next 10 days. I saw my grandmother naked. I had an urge to iron everything in sight for almost a full year afterwards.

Ice Cube: You Can Do It - I’m 19. I’m with the best friends a girl could ask for. We’re on Spring Break. I’m dancing on top of a table at Flori-Bama. A club on the Florida/Alabama border. It’s where Gulf Shores springbreakers went to meet up with their Panama City springbreaking friends. Someone remembers too late that they shouldn’t be on a table dancing while wearing a skirt. It’s not me - - I rarely am stupid enough to wear a skirt to the club.

Jay Z; Bounce With Me - I’m 18. Emily, older and wiser, is driving me to my first Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity party. Hell, it’s my first fraternity party period! I’ve been in college less than a week. I’m already slightly tipsy and Emily is warning me against taking ANY form of ANYTHING from any of these guys. Most of them are really good country boys, but some have been known to slip a girl a little something. I’m too excited to pay attention to her warnings. Luckily, it turns out that most of the PIKE boys are Hope guys. I walk into the party and know half the attendees. Granted they’re all older than me, but Hope is a small town . . . all the guys know all the girls and vice versa. Clint doesn’t let me out of his sight all night. Great, first real college party and I have a babysitter. I later find out that EVERY girl at the party was jealous beyond reason. Since I grew up around C-Bo (Clint), I forgot how hot he is. And he is HOT; jet black, thick hair, green green eyes, built, fair skinned but could tan well, tall. Apparently they were dying for him to chaperone them, but I had him. Looking back, I was lucky. Hot boy dancing with me all night, kissing the back of my neck a few times when he forgot that he was WATCHING me not JUMPING me. Gah! Will someone offer to babysit me now???

Finally, I’m at work. Ugh. Back to reality.
However, I am now psyched beyond all reason about taking my bum hip dancing this weekend. I can’t wait. Think I can convince Birdie and Crystal to abandon work completely on Friday afternoon so we can drive up early and spend Fri AND Sat night in Memphis???? Maybe I could find a babysitter like Clint . . .

Monday, November 28, 2005

Originally Titled: Can I have your vote for President?

So, I posted this like last April, but between Os's lack of memory for my cell phone numbers as license plate numbers and Steph's argument over on her blog, it's obvious I need to throw this out again . . . so here ya go, kids, enjoy!

Can I Have Your Vote For President???

Here are the items on my platform:

#1 - demolishing of the Welfare System as we know it. It will no longer be a free for all. I'm tired beyond measure of working my ass off to pay 50% of my wages in taxes so that I can support ignorant individuals who would rather sit on their ass and spit kids out of their nether regions than get a job.

The new welfare system would be as follows:

Resembling a student loan system, assistance would be available for only ONE nine month period. Throughout that period, persons receiving said assistance would have to provide proof every two weeks that they had applied to at least one job and made a genuine effort to obtain said job. Don't ask me what this proof would be - I just come up with the policies - someone else has to enforce them (I already sound presidential, don't you think?.

At the conclusion of the nine month period, said persons must have found a job. If they haven't, too damn bad. No more money, food stamps or medicaid for you.

Also, at this conclusion, you receive a notice that you have a 6 month grace period to get your finances in order. Following that period, you will begin making repayment to the government for the assistance you received. It will be a low monthly payment for the next 20 years (as I said, modeling the student loan system) with a higher interest rate because we had to support you to begin with. That interest rate must be no less than 7% and no more than 18%. These are the numbers that I just made up.

#2 - Youth sterilization. It is my opinion that some (approximately 50%) of the reason that we are in the welfare predicament to begin with is because people continue to have children when they are 14. Also, because they realize the more they spit out, the more money they get. Therefore, here is the plan:

All male children will receive a vasectomy at birth. Cool your jets, kids, vasectomies are reversible.

All women will be required to have an IUD implanted at age 11.

At the age of 25 - when these individuals have completed certain requirements, reversals can begin as can removals. What are the requirements, you ask?

A - Prove that you have held gainful employment for more than 1 year.
B - Pass an IQ exam - passing will be as easy as achieving a score of 100 or more. I would like to make the requirement higher, but I was told that was too harsh.
C - Pass a parenting class and receive a license to conceive. We have to have a license to drive, I think child bearing is SLIGHTLY more important than driving.

#3 - All license plate numbers will now be the cell phone of the individual who owns the vehicle. This is just a personal pet peeve. I want to be able to dial the idiot who cut me off doing 78 and yet promptly slowed down to 45 on the major interstate to know just how I feel about him, his lineage and the fact that I am quite aware he has fewer than 3 brain cells.

#4 - The legal age for drinking will be lowered to 16. Old enough to drive, old enough to drink. However, there is a stipulation here. People aged 16 to 21 will pay a 20% liquor tax - this should enable us to eliminate property taxes. Some may say this is unfair . .. however, these kids are already paying that much for alcohol. NO ONE has ever wanted alcohol (even 10 year olds) and not gotten it. They're going to get it anyway. And what they're not paying in 20% taxation, they're paying to Joe Blow College Student to buy them the alcohol to begin with. This is a win win for the kid and society.

#5 - All dry counties will be done away with. The concept of a dry county is just beyond all comprehension. Let's NOT allow people to drink here . . .let's make them drive 30 miles to get drunk so that they can drive back to their place of residence drunk as shit and kill everyone else who happens to get in the way. The death rate will probably go down considerably when you think about the fact that there is now just 3 miles between their drinking place and their home.

#6 - All drugs will be legalized. As with the alcohol, no one who has ever wanted drugs has not been able to get them. They always get them. Let's put this to our advantage. Place severe warnings on all drugs defining their side effects and future impairments to the body, so as to disallow anyone from suing the companies that manufacture them (think about how much money the tobacco companies would have saved); then tax them at a 50% rate. I'm relatively certain that over time, this may even allow us to get rid of income tax.

#7 - Gambling will be legalized. For the same reasons as the drugs and alcohol - anyone who has wanted to do it has done it regardless of the law. Let's make some money off of it. Also, it will be legalized in EVERY state. No more of this ignorant Arkansas bullshit about no gambling (thank you, ass crack of the bible belt, for your inherent stupidity) in the state. All that does is send people to Mississippi or Louisiana or any other state that allows lotteries or gambling thus driving our economy down by sending our money elsewhere. We need that economic boost. If the morons are ignorant enough to throw their money away, let them throw it to us.

There are many more policies I wish to enact, but this is good for now. Hope I have your vote.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Upping the Ante

Another update . . . .

The man I had written off for his complete callousness, AKA Dry Cleaning Man, just showed up to my house to see if my house was okay - since the tornado supposedly touched down mere miles from here.
He didn't know I had returned from family togetherness.
He flies out tomorrow for France.

Am contemplating giving him another try.
Any thoughts?

What Would You Do???

I just found out from a friend that an acquaintance from college is getting married.

That, in itself, is far less than shocking.
Here's the shocking part.

This girl is NOT unattractive.
She's not odd.
She doesn't sit home in the dark with an Atari.
She didn't have troubles making friends or getting dates.
She was what I would term "Normal".
Whatever normal is.

However, she apparently has always (who knew??) gotten in chat rooms for fun.
Not that odd.
I can see the appeal.
It's like blogging but shorter.
Now here's the odd part.

She started chatting with a guy and apparently hit it off quite well.
She added him to her friends list.
They started chatting, IMing and e-mailing each other various times throughout the day.
About a month into it, she finally gave into his requests for her phone number.
They started talking on the phone about twice a week.
They had loads in common, got on perfectly well and made each other happy for that brief time they were conversing.
She started to think she was falling in love.
He told her that he was falling in love.

He's from England.
ENGLAND. As in England, the country, across the ocean, the country.
NOT England, Arkansas (and yes, there really is an England, Arkansas).

Apparently he decided he was in love with her and he saved his pennies and flew here for a visit.
He was here for a week.
They both felt that they had fallen in love talking via email and IM and then further on the phone. That meeting just reinforced that everything they were feeling was truly REAL.

A month later, she flew there for a week.
The next thing anyone knew they were engaged.
He's moving here to be with her.
Visas are applied for and the whole nine-yards.

Now, I'm not saying this isn't off the wall . . . my first instinct was "She's marrying some guy she met on the internet??????" I wouldn't expect you guys to have a less extreme reaction. I think we all kind of lurch around a bit and think, deep down, that there was something wrong with these people if they weren't getting things done with their real lives.

And probably, a few months ago, I would have stuck with just that impression.
It would have gone no further.
But that was months ago.
Since then, via these blogs, I have met some of the most EXTRAORDINARY people.
Male and female.
I would not hesitate a second to call any of you friends.
You're all astounding and fun and wonderful and hilarious and it makes me happy to think about reading about your days and your ideas and your feelings.
I hope that you feel the same about me. . . .
But here's the question . . .

Do you think you could honestly, for a second, think that someone you met in this fashion was more than a friend? Could you start communicating with them in other avenues (I KNOW that most of us DO communicate via email as well, but that's different) and then escalate to a phone call and then to possibly more?

I'll answer first . .. I have NO idea.
I haven't been in that situation, yet.
I've thought about calling at least two of you.
Both were female (and you guys KNOW I'm not gay), but I just had such a connection. You know, those friends you meet and immediately feel like you've known each other for ages?????
I've met you wonderful people via blogging comments and some in email.
But, do I think I would want to start instant messaging you lot and then escalate to calling and what-not? Do I think I could fall in love with one of you?
Females - no way could I fall in love with you. I'm straight, straight, straight.
Males - thank God, I don't have to ask myself that . . most of you guys are married, in long term relationships or starting new dating escapades.
Until 3 hours ago, I didn't even THINK about anything more than friendships with anyone I'd met via any form other than face to face. But now I have to really think about it.

I guess I'll get back to you guys on this.
In the meantime, I would LOVE to hear your ideas . . . have any of you met other bloggers or, I guess, people you have met in some other way on the internet? Would you? Do you think it's possible to fall in love with someone you've never met face to face??

Saturday, November 26, 2005

How Bored Was I????

Thank God for interstates.
They lead me back home.
However slow, however toiling, they lead me back to civilization.

I occassionally forget that while Central Arkansas is still Arkansas, it is civilized to a point. Then I go back to my parents in SouthWest Arkansas and remember how good I have it.

THIS is exactly how bored I got in the town of 10,000 (and I think the census people included the cattle, chicken and pig count into that number):

Last night I drove 45 minutes with my parents and my brother. 45 minutes to go to a fish restaurant. FISH! You can't even get FISH in Hope. Anyway.

We get to the fish place which is thankfully in a wet county (meaning you can drink alcohol there)!!! We order the all you can eat (EVERY restaurant in the South has an all-you-can-eat something . . .and that's what you're expected to order, even if you only eat a handful of food) fish and shrimp. This means for the next 2 hours you get steaming hot plates of fried catfish, fried shrimp, boiled shrimp, french fries and a variety of sides delivered to your table. Of course, this is no good without freezing cold pitchers of beer, so we order them as well.

About a gazzillion plates of food and a 4 pitchers of beer later, we are ready to leave. We drive 45 minutes home only to discover it's still far too early to go to bed. There is NOTHING to do in that town! In fact, even 90% of the restaurants are closed by 9. So my brother and I are bored stiff and refuse to drive another 45 minutes to a semblance of civilization to go to a bar . . . so we drink a bit at home. Just a bit. And make bad decisions:

We decide to relive our high school experiences. First, this means getting in a big truck (his, as it turns out) and driving down dark country roads while drinking. Dark country roads because they are not paved and the cops don't bother unpaved roads.

Then, we do something that always amused us endlessly when we were in school. We go back to the house, steal my mom's car and a hair dryer and then go park in the middle of the funeral home parking lot on the main strip in town.

Sidebar - My mom's car is a big ole land yacht of a vehicle. It's a cop car. Big ole State Trooper looking vehicle.

Now, in Hope, Arkansas, what you do for fun when you're under 21 is drive the strip. It's called cruising. You drive from one end of town to the other on Main Street and then turn around and do it all again. You typically speed while doing so. And the police are constantly hasseling you because they know you're either packed 12 deep in a vehicle designed for 4, drinking alcohol, smoking weed or doing some other form of lawbreaking which can take place in a vehicle. Also, because eventually, you see enough of your "friends" on the strip that you decide to all park in a parking lot and camp out on tailgates drinking in public.

The funeral home is smack dab in the middle of the strip. We park facing the road, turn off the lights and start pointing the hairdryer through the window at vehicles that speed by.

We realize it is stupid and childish to be doing this to these kids, but it's funny as all hell, because:

- They immediately assume mom's car is an unmarked cop car.
- They immediately assume the hair dryer is a radar gun.
- They immediately assume they are about to get pulled over for speeding, drinking, doping and being packed into a vehicle.
- They are wrong beyond all reason.

Is it sick and sad to have fun at the expense of the paranoia of teenagers? Probably. Did we give a damn? No.

Do it yourself. Get a hairdryer, a fake cop car and a small town. I promise you'll have gobs of fun.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Checklist for Thanksgiving Travel

Yes, it’s another damn list . . . but this one is a checklist for travel. TRAVEL!! Woo Hoo!! I promise you that this is NOT more things about me . . that was completed in the post below. THIS is a list that will save your life:

1. Tank full of gas. At 1.89 a gallon, which I’m thankful for because I was paying 2.73 at one point. CHECK

2. Bottled water so that I am not thirsty on the way down. Dasani only because I know that you ALL think that all water tastes the same, but it doesn’t, that damn Aquafina is sewer water, I’m certain of it. CHECK

3. Ziploc Bag. Yep, gallon size. And I’m going to tell you this story if you swear not to judge me. Sworn? Alright. Freshman year of college there was 18 ton of road construction going on and EVERY idiot in the state of Arkansas (and, it seemed to me, most of the continental United States at large) was on I-30 traveling West. Needless to say there were massive wrecks and huge delays. By huge, I mean that the normally 2-hour drive took me . . wait for it . . . 8.75 hours!!!!!! At one point, I was stopped for a full 3 hours with NOTHING in sight. Of course, this is when I HAD to pee. Damn that Dasani. I had a Ziploc bag with first aid thingees in my glove compartment (unfortunately it was like a PINT size one, but okay, in a pinch) . . . so I got out of the vehicle, grabbed my blanket out of the back of the vehicle (always be prepared, always have a blanket or sleeping bag in your vehicle), wrapped it around my waist, shoved my skirt up, my panties down and a Ziploc between my legs. Pissing commenced. NOT my finest moment, but damn it I HAD TO GO!!! The Ziploc full of piss was dumped, hours later, at a rest station. I had contemplated buying some Depends instead of the Ziploc bag, but the idea of sitting in my own urine . . . shudder. CHECK

4. Rockin Out Tunes. Uh huh. Have two of my 250-CD holding binders in the passenger seat. Not to mention some classic mixed tapes – YES, Trueborn, tapes – from when I was in junior high and high school. (Remind me to e-mail Toyota and thank them profusely for still putting tape decks in 2005 loaded vehicles – I understand the stripped down models have only the CD changer). CHECK

5. At least two books. “Wicked” by Gregory Maguire and “Sex with Kings” (historical non-fiction, NOT some cheesy sex romance novel, guys) by Eleanor Herman. I’ll be damned if I am stuck in traffic with no reading material. CHECK

6. Cell phone charger. I can’t live without internet access (partially for work purposes, partially to keep in touch with my adoring fans . . you). If my cell phone goes down, I have no way to contact the State Police when a guy inevitably (this truly does happen on EVERY road trip I take) tries to pull me over because he thinks I’m cute or shows me his privates (this has happened FOUR times) and no way to check my email to see the comments you lovely people leave on my site. CHECK

7. Clothes. Yep, a plethora, everything but the kitchen sink. NOT because I overpack, but because this is Arkansas and the weather changes faster than Michael Jackson’s nose. Two days ago it was 89 degrees Farenheit. Today it is 38. WTF??? Also, two pairs black shoes, two pair brown, one pair killer red ones just in case I go out with . . . an old high school mistake. Many changes of underwear so that I don’t embarrass my mother if I’m in a car accident. A bathing suit - because you should always have one just in case. Jewelry, jewelry, jewelry (nothing gold, well except for the heart). CHECK

8. Drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. Some because I have to take them everyday. Others are preventative medications needed when visiting family. Migraine medications because I am smart and KNOW that my family will MOST CERTAINLY give me a migraine of epic proportions. Topomax, Zomig, Maxalt. Throw in some over the counter, too, just in case it’s not THAT big a migraine (uh huh, yeah right) - Advil Migraine gel caps. CHECK

9. Alcohol. Because you never go to a family gathering without alcohol. My father’s rule. I stick to it. It just makes sense. Case of beer, bottle of red wine, bottle of white wine, Jose Cuervo Especial, Kahlua for mudslides. CHECK

10. Baby or small child. Thus to ward off any and all remarks about how I’m 25 yrs old (stop the presses, people) and not yet married or with child. You know, I don’t even think they care about married now. I think they would just be happy to see me knocked up. (Thank GOD my mother and father don’t ascribe to any of this hooey. But my extended family does . . boo hoo hoo). Does anyone think the cabbage patch doll I threw in the back seat will fool anyone for more than 5 minutes?? SO UM NOT CHECK

11. Make-up and Hair Fixin Fixins. Yep, I was mostly raised in the South so I have all these things packed first. In fact, I keep a bag of these things in my vehicle at all times. A Southern woman is NEVER seen without her hair done and make-up pristine. Having said that, I am a disgrace to most of the women in my family because I believe in the less is more approach. I actually LIKE the natural look on myself. This is a SIN. I will be flogged upon approaching gathering and re-made-up to look like Baby Jane upon entrance. CHECK, kinda

12. Mental dictionary and plethora of witty come-backs. All my family was provided this at birth. It is a necessary survival tool. We show love and affection by hacking at one another with words. The bigger the words, the deeper the cut. Funny fact, alcohol actually HELPS us in these endeavors. My uncle thinks it frees the mind of that pesky “I don’t want to hurt the ones I love” inhibition. CHECK

13. Elastic waist pants. Yeah, so this is a very risky fashion choice. In fact, it is one that only old women and children can get away with. The only elastic waist pants I own are for the gym and the occassional Yoga session. However, I did pack something listed under subsection-B, line-2, fourth bullet. The largest pair of pants I own. You know the pants, ladies. They are your fat day pants, your bloated Aunt Flow is visiting pants, your I can eat a truckload of cake and may want to throw up but I will still have circulation at my waist pants. And they are, of course, gorgeous beyond all reason because everyone knows that your family gatherings are a fashion plate. Um hm, you have to show all these people that you see only twice a year (less than that if you have in-laws, you lucky ducks) that you CAN dress and do it well and therefore are NOT embarrassing them by carrying the family name around in a pair of sweatpants. NOT REALLY A CHECK, BUT DAMN CLOSE

12. Pajamas. Because you do remember that you are NOT in your own home and therefore nakedness is not an option unless in a shower or bath. Also, because your parents turned your bedroom into a library/reading room the SECOND you left for college (while leaving your younger brother’s room a BEDROOM when he left????) and you will therefore be sleeping on the couch in the living room. Yes, that’s right, you will be on public display for all that chose to enter the house before it is the rightful waking hour. Unfortunately, if your male family members hunt . . and congregate at your house as the initial meeting ground, you’re screwed. I have no delusions that at 4 A.M. tomorrow, I will not be awakened by the loud noises of at least 6 of my uncles, 18 (this is a VERY conservative estimate) of my male cousins and at least 2 dogs entering our dining room, directly off the living room. I will then be subjected to my Uncle Roy yelling “Hey, Meg, you still sleepin?? Get ur ass up, girl! It’s late! You got work that needs done.” I have oft wondered if I pretended to enjoy hunting, would the male relatives provide me with a rifle that I may eventually use on Uncle Roy? CHECK

13. Money. Lots of money. Preferably in rolled coin format. This is to allow you to buy off your younger cousins (and the children of your older cousins) so that they don’t rat you out to your mother, grandmother or aunts when you are hidden in the back room watching football instead of doing. . .those womenly things. You know, peeling potatoes, stuffing turkeys, slicing (oh vomitous) cranberry jelly, buttering rolls, etc. Now, IF there was a TV in the kitchen, I’m all about helping cook. I’m a great damn cook. But there is NO television in the kitchen and I’m not missing football to cook for men who get to tramp around the woods while I cut my fingers to ribbons while peeling potatoes. I’m going to watch football. I will deign to butter a few hundred rolls during half time. I promise. CHECK

14. A pocket knife. It is a long standing joke, though it’s not that funny seeing as it’s true, that EVERY member of my family ALWAYS has a pocket knife. Always. This is more helpful at Christmas when needing them to cut open boxes and such. But you never know when you’ll need one at Thanksgiving. Last year, because I’m always overly prepared, I was Queen of the Thanksgiving festivities because I was the Thanksgiving Savior. The electric can opener broke. I was the only one (male or female) who had a Leatherman (think Swiss Army knife, Southern style) which happened to have a can opener. It may be the only five minutes of my family gathering life where someone was not harping on me because of my lack of children or spouses. CHECK

15. A prayer list. Yes, a prayer list. My uncle (one of the many) is a Baptist preacher. We will all engage in a very lengthy prayer before consuming dinner and every family member is expected to have a short list of prayer requests. This year, my list includes Chairborne . . though how I will explain who he is is a mystery, and have no doubt, I will be asked (mainly because ANY male name exiting my mouth is pounced on as a spousal prospect) and the other men and women that serve our country. CHECK

And that should conclude the list. Yes, there are other things I probably have packed or should have packed, but those are the main necessities.

I hope you ALL have everything on your list and are safe in your travels! HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

As for you Aussies and other fantabulous out of country blogging friends - don't do too much while I'm gone, it takes me FOREVER to catch up on your blogs . . reading every post since I left, reading the hundreds of comments, commenting myself. Actually, do whatever you want, it will give me something to look forward to after the family festivities and then huge bonfire gathering of friends.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

TA DA . . . The End

Aren't you guys glad that this is all out of the way now??
Also, I'm mightily impressed that the majority of you have limited your questions to private e-mails to me. Hmmm. . . a secretive lot you are.

Drumroll please. And now the final 22 things about me.

22. I could jump the lead singer of Audioslave on his voice alone. OH . . . MY . . . . GOD! He could be two feet shorter than me, look like a frog, have a pelt on his back and I would still want to throw him down and lick him. Period. WHERE did he get that voice??

21. I have a horrid habit of secretly hating my mother for being so judgmental of me. I realize it’s because she loves me. Yes, she is my best friend. But if she tells me one more time “I know how hard it is for you and how it’s all medically related, but you really need to get at least 20 lbs off.” and then hands me a box full of chocolates, skittles and cookies, I swear I’m going to bludgeon her in the head with a baseball bat.

20. I’m addicted to horrible TV. In fact, I ration myself to it. I ONLY allow myself to watch it on Sundays. So, between football games, you can picture me watching MTV nonstop for the crappy reality shows like Real World, Laguna Beach and My Sweet Sixteen. Oh, so sad. Someone save me from myself!

19. I love heights. I am terrified by heights. When I went skiing I would go to the top of the mountain and then refuse to look down. I’m a freak. I deal with it.

18. I would probably be a nymphomanic if I could reconcile it morally with myself. As it stands, I can’t do the one night stand thing or sex with a person I just met thing. I wish I could. I love sex. I miss sex. Immensely. Terribly. I’m getting carpal tunnel syndrome.

17. I missed the first week of graduate school because I got Chicken Pox . . . Again. Ah, the joys of working as a preschool teacher to get yourself through grad school. I now know why you get chicken pox as a kid . . because it’s HELL as an adult. My friends finally duct taped oven mitts over my hands so I couldn’t scratch myself.

16. I’m a beer girl. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I could be a Cosmo girl. I think it was having all male friends. I grew up doing tequila shots and beer while watching football. I love it, but sometimes I wish I could be the girl in the corner with the Cosmopolitan and the ability to discuss manicures instead of the girl out front discussing the Steelers drinking a Corona with a lime (even if I am stylishly dressed with snazzy shoes while doing so).

15. I think I’m becoming more ignorant as the days pass by. I used to think I was fairly smart and intellectual. But since finishing graduate school, I think I’m dumbing myself down. When I read, I read non-fiction exposes and fiction crap instead of the philosophy and classics I used to love in college. My conversations are more “How ‘bout them Steelers?” and “Can you believe Katie is pregnant by Tom?” than “Do you believe in performing tasks for the greater good, or is selfishness truly a virtue?”

14. I don’t think I will ever marry. I hope I will find someone whom I love more than anything and who returns the emotion, but as I’ve gotten older, I doubt it highly. And the sad part is, this has ceased to trouble me. Que sera sera.

13. I hate pity. I hate when people pity me. There was this real ass of a guy that worked for one of the daycares I frequent for work. Everyday he would watch me struggle with two ton bags filled with therapy toys and my keys to get into the building then into the therapy room. Suddenly, because I was hit by a car and in a wheelchair and then on crutches he was rushing to open the doors and carry my bags. Eat shit and die, if you couldn’t do it before, don’t bother now - okay??? Okay.

12. I love dark, stormy days. I love bad weather. Particularly when accompanied by cuddling on the couch under a big blanket and watching old movies.

11. I hate basketball. I hate the NBA. I think they’re all a bunch of thugs.

10. I want a huge house, the size of Twelve Oaks in Gone with the Wind. I want to put tons of gorgeous furniture throughout it. I want to pay for it all myself. I don’t want any help. But I would take a Rhett Butleresque man saying “You should be kissed . . and often .. . by someone who knows how.” And possibly a few kids to put crayon marks on the furniture to give it character.

9. I want to be accepted for who and what I am. I am tired of living up to everyone else’s expectations. I don’t want someone to love me for who I might be, I want them to love me for who I am.

8. I have never let anyone too close. I have secrets from everyone. I have friends that no one will ever meet. I have secrets no one will ever know. It scares me to think of certain friends or family members finding out some of the things I have done, said or thought. Terrifies me in fact.

7. My teeth go numb when I’m drunk. Neither my friends or family can tell when I’m drunk because I don’t slur my speech, trip over myself, or any of those normal “drunk” things. Here’s a clue, if you see me tapping my fingernails against my teeth . . . you can be relatively sure I’m drunk.

6. I make movie and song quotes all the time. And no one gets them. Probably because my taste in both is pretty obscure. Or because no one pays attention to lyrics. Either way, I really feel like no one gets me sometimes. (Side note: On the drive home from a friend’s tonight I rocked out to the following playlist: Elvis - Suspicious Minds, 50-Cent - In Da Club, Fiona Apple - Criminal, Van Morrison - Brown Eyed Girl, Milli Vanilla - Blame it on the Rain, Abba - Dancing Queen, Clint Black - Like the Rain - - scary, I know - - wonder why no one gets my references)

5. I secretly (oh God, I’m going to regret telling this to anyone) long to be a soccer mom. It’s why I probably bought a big SUV. I dream of being married to a guy who wears a tie and makes enough money to support me raising his children. I want to load them all up and deliver them to various practices, then meet my husband in his office on his lunch hour, give him a quickie and then go get the kids. Dear God, what is wrong with me?

4. I hate being told what to do. Hate it. Unless I’m in the bedroom. I have NO idea what’s going on there. I could speculate that I’m so IN control of EVERYTHING else in my life that I need to have that ONE place where I have no control . . but who knows. As I’ve said before, Freud would have a field day with me.

3. I was told once that I was a bad catch. That because I was “more intelligent and more successful” than most guys (I was told this by a male friend) that I would probably never find one that wanted to marry me. What if I start to believe that . . .

2. I sometimes wonder if I’ve ever really been in love. I wonder at times if I just tell myself I loved Golden Heart boy so I don’t feel like the freak who has buried her heart so deeply that no one can ever touch it. Other times, I know I loved/love him because I feel it so deeply that I want to scream in anguish, cry for days and then move to Canada to wrest him from his loving wife. (NO! I would NEVER actually do it!)

1. I don’t know that I like myself. I wonder why I expect other people to like someone who can’t even reconcile who she is to herself. In person I project this really self- assured/self-confident image so that no one knows deep down I will probably always wonder if I’m good enough.

SO now you know far more than you ever wanted to know about me.
Have no fear, posts will now return to normal.

An Update of the Out of Date

Umm . . yeah.
SO on the phone with Mr. Clean, talking about airport coffee.
Talk moves to the kids I work with.
I express my exhasperation with children in general, of late.
He drops a bomb. Actually several bombs at once:

"I have three kids." (BAM!)
"I want at least six more!" (BOP!)
Mental side note here - umm, he's not Catholic, why does he want to single-handedly field a football team with his off-spring?? It's not the fifties!! We don't need that many to pick cotton and allow us to keep our two room house.
"I don't know that I could be happy if I didn't have more kids of my own." (BOOM)

Yeah, so time to have the talk.

"Well, then I suppose you should know that I had a tumor. I only have one ovary now. It is rather unlikely that it will be easy, if at all possible, for me to become impregnated. In fact, I have been contemplating removal of all reproductive organs to reverse medical problems the tumor has caused."

Dead silence.

"So this means if we did start sleeping together, I wouldn't have to use condoms, right?"

Is it just me, or did his attractiveness drop by half with that statement?
And before you ask, NOPE he wasn't joking.

Monday, November 21, 2005

And the Hits Just Keep On Comin

Since I'm leaving soon to go home for Thanksgiving, I need to post these lists quick. Next to the last today. Last tomorrow. Enjoy:

(Imagine a really whiney voice wailing this) AGAIN with the list?????

35. I pick the chicken out of chicken noodle soup and throw it away. I do the opposite with chicken pot pie; I eat only the chicken and the crust, I throw all the vegetables away.

34. I love tomatoes. Especially homegrown ones. But I hate tomato soup and tomato juice. Just the thoughts of them make me ill.

33. I, apparently, have very odd tastes in men. Examples of how my tastes aren’t mainstream follow: Leonardo DiCaprio - even at 30, he looks like he’s 10 . . and an ugly 10 at that. Matt Damon - simply NOT attractive at all. However, Hugh Laurie - gorgeous beyond all reason, I have NO idea why. Gerard Butler - sex on legs, anyone who’s seen him can tell you why.

32. I have never found blondes (male or female) attractive. This is problematic, since I was born blonde. I, therefore, have never found myself that attractive (Freud would have a field day with this). About 4 months ago, I figured life was too short to be unhappy about trivial things. I now pay someone every 4-6 weeks to dye my hair a gorgeous dark chocolate brown color with pretty highlights.

31. I hate the smell of vanilla. In fact, I hate all those sugary sweet smells that you find in candle shops and body lotions. Anything that smells like you could eat it, I can’t stand. However, I love the following: Victoria’s Secret - Basic Instinct, Clinique - Happy Heart, Kenneth Cole - Black for Women, Davidoff - Cool Water for Women, Elizabeth Arden - Green Tea. Oh . . and men, if you want me to jump you on sight - wear Acqua Di Gio cologne by Armani. OH-MY-GOD that stuff . . . wow.

30. I hate hot tubs. Probably goes back to that hating heat and hot weather thing. I spend about ten minutes in the hot tub, ten minutes sitting on the edge cooling off, ten minutes in the hot tub, ten minutes on the edge cooling off, you get the idea.

29. I hate oak. I basically hate all light colored woods in general. Every wood in my house (save the kitchen cabinets, that they had installed before I okayed it) is either cherry, walnut or mahogany. It just looks more rich, more classic.

28. I have to have at least 3 pillows to sleep. Preferably four. The placement is: (keeping in mind I sleep on my side) Under my head with one arm underneath the pillow, my free arm wrapped around another pillow clutching it to my chest, one between my knees and the fourth at my back - so it feels like someone is spooning me.

27. Regardless of pillow position preferences, I hate for someone to spoon me. It’s all good for about 30 minutes right before your falling asleep to have that cuddling “oh I care about you” contact, but then . . . get the hell off me, I want to sleep.

26. I technically own three vehicles. One is the vehicle I drove in college - there was no point trading it in, it isn’t/wasn’t worth more than $500 as a trade in. It was worth more to me to have an extra vehicle. One is a 1991 Honda Accord station wagon that I paid cash for 2 months ago because my brother wrecked the vehicle I drove in college (and we thought it was totaled - but eventually had to pay only $500 to fix it) and I needed something with really great gas mileage to travel the 200 miles per day that I travel for business. The last one is my BABY. My pride and joy. The majority of my expense each month. 2005 Toyota Sequoia Limited. Fully loaded. Has everything but the kitchen sink. LOVE it beyond all reason.

25. I am the ONLY female grandchild in my family (on either side - and there are about 30 of us) who has not gotten married and had children. Yep, even the younger cousins have done so. My father’s mother does not understand this and gripes at me every Thanksgiving and every Christmas that I’m not getting any younger. Would someone please tell this Southern Bred and Born woman that being 25 and unmarried with NO children is NORMAL and NOT the end of the damn world as we know it? Just because I live in AR and didn’t let some fumbling boy knock me up in the bed of his pick-up truck and put a ring on my finger right after (or before in some cases) high school graduation does NOT mean I’m going to die alone.

24. I keep in touch with NO ONE from high school. I had great fun in high school, but the few friends that I counted as “close” all followed the pattern of getting knocked up and married directly after high school . . . they didn’t go to college, they never left our hometown and after 6 months at college - we had nothing to talk about. Nothing. Our lives were just completely different. I live in terror that this will also happen with my college friends. As it is, out of the many many people I counted as “close” only about 8 of us keep in touch. In fact, it already has been happening. See Birdie’s blog for further information:

23. I have VERY extreme political views. And I always think I’m right about them. Even when I’m wrong. Telling me your political views and reasons behind them won’t make me change mine. Trust me. (Ex. - Abortion should always be legal. Always. As should the death penalty. Don’t believe me? - read my blog about my recently deceased friend.)

Had enough yet? Too bad, there are still 22 to go . . .

Captain Forgetful Strikes Again

You may all thank Adam for being my reminder fairy.

I fully intended the list below to be my only post today/yesterday, but Adam brought to my attention via e-mail that I had failed to update my beautiful bloggers about the man from the Dry Cleaners.

He did call back.
3-days after I had called.
Decent amount of time.
We spoke for almost an hour and a half.
We attempted to make plans.
It seems we both suffer from packed schedules.
Last week was completely booked for both of us.
This week I am out of town for family obligations.
Next week he is out of town (France!!!!) on business.
We have resorted to phone friends for now.
I will let you know what happens next.
Somewhat promising!

Sunday, November 20, 2005

(Sonny and Cher music) And the List Goes On, And the List Goes On

Does it ever stop?!?!?!?!

58. I can’t mow my own lawn. Literally, CAN NOT. This is for a couple of reasons: 1- Because we discovered when I was 13 that I am allergic to manual labor. No, really, I promise. I break out in what looks like hickeys all over my body. It’s called “Progressive Pigmented Perpura.” It happens when I overly exert myself. What’s odd is that I have NEVER broken out while playing sports. And I’m ultra-competitive so you KNOW that I really am exerting myself. 2 - Because I leave crop circles in my lawn and my neighbors. Literally. I have no idea how to turn a mower to make straight lines. I always make big circles in the lawn and they look like crapola.

57. I have a maid. She comes once every other week. This is because even though I CAN clean, I HATE to do certain things. Like dust and vacuum. HATE it. My house is always spotless anyway (because I’m a neat freak), so I just pay someone to take care of the incidentals. I used to feel bad about having a maid. However, now I look at it in a positive light. I’m giving someone a job. I’m helping the economy. This does not make me lazy, it makes me benevolent.

56. If I ever lost my job, I would be screwed beyond all reason. I added it all up the other day, and even cutting out all the incidentals, my bills each month total almost $4,000.00. And before you judge me, look at the breakdown a bit: House Payment $800, Car Payment $900, Health Insurance $350, Retirement Plan $400, Student Loans from Graduate School $200, Utilities $200, Natural Gas $50, Consolidation Loan for the debt I acquired from NOT being able to work because of the two car wrecks $750. And the list goes on and on.

55. I am self-employed. I started my own company when I was 24. This is good and bad. Good because I make my own schedule, do what I want when I want and never have to take crap from anyone but me. Bad because the government treats self-employed people like bastard step children. We pay more taxes than ANYONE. And we pay 17% of our yearly income into Social Security. Also bad because if I am sick or injured, I have no income. There is no sick leave, no paid vacation, no nothing for the self-employed.

54. My favorite book is The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. I used to read it at least twice a year, but I’ve dropped off to once a year. It’s amazing. You really should read it.

53. I’ve never dated anyone younger than myself or my same age. In fact, all the men I’ve ever dated have been at least 5 years older than myself.

52. I plan on having at least three surgeries next year, if I can save up the money to pay for them all - - since my health insurance won’t pay for anything. I am going to have a hysterectomy. I am doing this because my reproductive system is the base for all my medical problems and this could circumvent all that. Also, because the chance I could ever bear children is minuscule at best - so why keep everything that is making me sick for an off chance? I may or may not freeze whatever eggs they find in my remaining ovary. At the same time as the hysterectomy, I am going to have a lapband. This is similar to gastric bypass in that it cuts off a portion of your stomach. In my case, we will probably cut off 2/3. My doctors are torn on this. Technically I’m not near overweight enough to consider this surgery, but my body’s insulin resistance is quickly making my weight rise. Therefore, this would be cutting that weight gain off at the pass while allowing me to lose the weight I’ve already put on. The third surgery is a breast reduction. I’m tired of back aches. The third surgery may not be necessary if the lap band and hysterectomy work – the weight loss may make my breasts go down as well. I doubt it though, even when I was “thin”, I had huge breasts.

51. I am VERY big on being on time. I don’t understand how or why people are late. If there’s a catastrophic car accident and you’re stuck behind it, okay. Power’s out and your alarm didn’t go off, sure. Anything else makes NO sense to me what-so-ever. You knew what time you had to be there and you didn’t allot enough time to get ready and be there, it’s your fault. My friends KNOW that if I’m not 15 minutes early, then I’m probably not coming at all. If I didn’t call, you should start calling the police to search the roadways. I’m dead somewhere or have a flat tire (of which I have NO idea how to change).

50. I hate to have my hands dirty. Hate it. When I weed my landscaping, I wash my hands about every 5 minutes. The dirt and grime drive me crazy.

49. As a general rule, I hate gifts. Mainly because they make me feel as though I am weird beyond reason. This is because my friends and family rarely purchase a gift I actually like. And that makes ME feel inadequate because I wonder, “What have I done or said to give these people the impression that I would like something like that? They’ve been to my house 100 times, they’ve seen me dressed everyday, does this gift even look like my taste??” So bad gifts don’t anger me, they make me doubt myself. I realize this is a VERY odd reaction.

48. I dislike MOST flowers. And by flowers, I mean the pretty ones arranged in vases that you are sent in the hospital or for a special occasion. The exceptions are: Calla Lilies, Tulips and Black Roses.

47. My favorite artist is Gustav Klimt. This concerned my mother for a long while, since all of his best work is of nude females. She even once asked if it were possible I were gay.

46. It is completely impossible that I am gay. I love men and sex far too much to ever be gay.

45. I don’t trust men in the South that don’t drive big trucks or SUVs. I blame my father for this. I was just always taught that if a Southern man didn’t drive a big ole’ truck or an SUV the size of an Army tank that he was girly and therefore unworthy. Oddly enough, I don’t feel that way about Northern or Western men, nor do I feel that way about men from other countries.

44. I listen to music as much as possible. Though not because I love it (which I do), I listen to it constantly to drown out my own thoughts. If I’m singing and having to remember lyrics then I can’t think about everything else in my life. It’s called (bear with me, I made this up) loud, chaotic peace.

43. I lie to my friends. Not about important things and not a lot, but I do. Mainly for one reason - to avoid going out. I have periods where I am just completely anti-social. I don’t want to answer the phone, I don’t want to answer e-mail and I don’t want to go to a bar, dancing or even to dinner. I don’t think my friends (Birdie can vouch for this) will be satisfied with an “I don’t feel like it” response, so I lie and say I have other engagements.

42. I love fish. But only if it doesn’t taste like fish. I hope that makes sense, because there’s no other way for me to explain that.

41. I used to love kids. All kids. Every kid. Loved them. Adored them. Sought them out. After spending two years working with spoiled brats that tell me they don’t have to listen to me because I’m “white”, I am losing my affinity for children. And quickly.

40. I hate carpeting. It’s hard to keep clean, it doesn’t look as nice and putting gorgeous decorative rugs on carpet just looks silly. When I have the money, I am going to redo all the floors in my house. Right now, the options are a dark hardwood floor, ceramic tile or staining the concrete slab. I love concrete floors.

39. I am not very religious. I don’t go to church at all. I am very spiritual. I believe there is an omnipotent being. In my mind, that is God. But I don’t think Buddhists or Muslims or Catholics or any view of a god is wrong, per se. I think God presents himself to every individual in a way that they can relate and understand him. Now, having said that, I think the Mormons are from Mars. I will never understand anyone who believes their religion started out with a man reading the writings of an angel through a seeing stone in a hat. That’s too much like aliens.

38. I think tapered legged jeans are the worst thing to happen to the fashion world. A close second is colored jeans. No one looks good in hot pink denim. DENIM. Scary. (Oh, and please, don’t buy anything with pleats at the waist either, this is as bad as having a tapered leg. Flat front pants only, please - especially men.)

37. I don’t understand why they make ANYTHING spandex or lycra above a size 8. Even size 8 people don’t look good in that stuff. Included in this should be my befuddlement at the fact that they make bikinis up to a size 3 X. Why tempt fate??? If you didn’t make these things, obese people wouldn’t buy them.

36. I will never understand why people, men in particular, have such a hard time matching their belts with their shoes. Why would anyone wear a brown belt and black shoes? Or vice versa.

I like the fact that 36 is divisible by 3s. I like the number 3. I have no idea why. But that’s a good enough reason to stop today.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Wooo Pig Sooiee!!

Another little hiatus from the list.

Just got home from the Hogs game.
My head hurts SO badly.
Mainly because I'm far to overzealous at games and I tend to: scream, yell, stomp, dance around, high five EVERYONE in my section, heckle the opposing team, heckle the refs, heckle our own coach because he's a moron, etc.

It probably also hurts because I can't eat before a game, too nervous. Gah! You would think I was going to be on the field handling the ball. Scary.

Anyway, I was proposed to (does this sound familiar Armaedes?) by two guys sitting near me. When I giggled (probably the only girly thing I do at games) and asked, "Umm . . . what makes you ask?" They both went into long tirades about exes who couldn't bear to be in the same room with a football game on the television let alone be at an actual game. I can't say I was shocked, I've heard about these women. Hell, I've even read about these women on blogs. So . . this is for you ladies:

A - A little football never hurt anyone. WATCH the game with him once in a while. You expect him to drag around shopping (fellas, I'm with you, that sucks) with you or watching a chick flick . . why can't you watch one little game with him.

B - Be a student. And a quiet one at that. Let him teach you what the game's about. I've seen some of you out there - you wouldn't know a holding call from an illegal procedure call if they flashed it in neon lights above the refs heads. Some guys, in fact most of the ones I know, would find it cute and endearing to teach you about the game. Let them tell you what's going on. What positions people are playing. What people are playing those positions. Ad nauseam. But DON'T interrrupt the game to ask questions. Wait until a time-out or quarter breaks or half-time. Asking questions during the actual plays will serve not only to annoy him and have you banished from the room (or stadium) during game time, but will also get you bitch slapped from those around you who are also trying to watch the game. Also, as part of the student gig, get him to teach you how to properly spiral a football. I count the hour that a certain male taught me proper grip and toss of the football as one of the best of my life. It requires LOTS of personal contact . . . and if by the end of it, you aren't lying on the living room floor kissing one another until you can't breathe, I'll give you a dollar.

C - Two words ladies - TIGHT PANTS. Even if you can't make yourself like football for the game (and, personally, I think you're really missing out), you can always admire muscular men in tight pants. Holy buddha, the butts on some of those guys. I almost fell out of the stands today because I was paying such close attention to the particularly luscious hiney of Peyton Hillis. When else is your man going to give you carte blanche to stare at men's . . . assets?

D - It's rather addictive in the end. I've spent so long (thank you, daddy and various uncles) watching football that it's as though I'm family with some of the teams. I know most of the player's names, their positions, their injuries, their stats, even their family situations. I can rattle off coaches, records, rankings, standings and everything else. Sometimes it's a bad thing - like today when I'm watching the game in front of me and checking my cell phone every five minutes for the score of the Vanderbilt/Tennessee (ALRIGHT VANDY!!!) game . . . but other times it's like watching your favorite TV show or reading your favorite book - you can't help but feel excited and heart warmed and involved.

E - If for no other reason (and it's sad that I'm stooping to this level to get you ladies to watch a game!), think about it like this. If you're single - - you will ALWAYS have a conversation topic FEW other women can boast. You watch a few games, get a little knowledge under your belt, and mention to the hotty bartender something simple such as "The Steelers are still doing pretty well, but we really need Ben back at quarterback. He had such a presence on the field." Even if you have NO idea what you are talking about, most men will blink and then say "uhh (the uhh is necessary because they're shocked that you're approaching them and that you know what football is or who Ben is) . . . uhh . yeah! His injury has had a big impact on the team. You just like the Steelers or you into the Colts, too?" INSTANT conversation starter.

If you're in Austraila, I have been led to understand that Soccer is the sport you should brush up on. IF your only goal is to meet men or have them adore you - then, by all means, brush up on soccer. But (sigh), I am afraid I never could get into the game . . probably because my mind is completely on football.

I have to go now. The headache is reaching epic proportions . . and the Nittany Lions (YEAH! PENN STATE!) are playing Michigan State.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

For Auburn

To my new friend who helps the elderly, is following the path she believes she needs to take and has introduced me to my Japanese name:

The Golden Heart

As you already know, I received it as a birthday gift.
And as much as we loved each other, I could never sacrifice for him.
I will always blame it on my youth and believing I was tied to where I was.
He wanted me to be with him.
But I had school and scholarships and family.
And he had a job in Canada.
I am still completely head over heels in love with him.
I have been since before I even knew what the feeling was.
I fear I always will be.
But our time has long since passed.
He is currently in Canada, married and has a new baby boy who is adorable beyond all reason.
He lets his son "type to me" sometimes.
He even sent me a video of his son typing to prove it truly was him. :)

Am I sad about what I know I've lost forever?
Do I begrudge it in any way?
No. I know he is happy and I have no way of knowing that I could have ever made him happy. I know (at least I think I know) that I couldn't have given him a son; and that seems to be what he derives the most happiness from at this time in his life.

We are still friends.
I talk to him as we can.
I haven't told him that I'm still in love with him.
I did tell him once before, when he was engaged to another woman.
I broke down and cried to him and told him how I always thought I would be the one wearing his ring.
He left her at the altar.
I don't delude myself that it was for me.
It was just that he knew it wasn't right for him to be with her.
But I would never tell him how I feel now.
He knows I love him, but he (I think) believes that love is the love we all have for our friends. That is how I want him to think. I don't want him to feel like he failed me in any way. And I want to come to terms with the fact that my not leaving my life for his was not failing him.

And there ya go. The sum up of the golden heart situation.

Filed Under P for Continuation

And if you didn’t get enough yesterday, here’s more . . .

80. I can not stand to fly anywhere. I hate flying. I’m 25 years old and I still cry every time I get on a plane. I cry the whole flight almost. Luckily, I have always flown with friends or family, or been lucky enough to have a very sympathetic male next to me. 3 out of 4 times, it has been a member of our American Armed Forces. The last trip, the male next to me was an Army man. He was WONDERFUL. He was 28 and when he noticed me crying he grabbed my hand and said “You need to know, if it were socially acceptable, I would be crying too. I hate to fly, but I do it almost every weekend.” We got into a long conversation (which consequently took my mind completely off the flight) and it turns out he is stationed in Texas, but his wife (also in the Army) has some high profile appointment in Washington, D.C. (which is where we were headed) and he flies there every weekend to be with her. Love like that is what makes me keep dating.

79. I always sleep better in hotel rooms than in my house. I have discerned that this is because I turn the air conditioning down to 60 and I refuse to do it in my own house because the utility bill would be $800 a month. I always sleep better in the cold.

78. I spend all year waiting for cold weather. I love the cold. I hate heat. You can always put more clothes on, you can’t always take enough off.

77. More about shoes. I love high heels. I would wear 3" stilettos everyday if I could. However, the wreck in December that broke my hip combined with the wreck in February that tore the ligaments in my ankle has effectively prevented me from wearing heels. My doctor has ordered that I not wear heels for at least a year. I sometimes cheat and wear them when I know I won’t be on my feet long, but when I do that, I quickly understand why the doctor doesn’t let me. My hip and ankle then ache and intermittently send shooting pains through my body for days afterwards.

76. I hate clowns. Clowns are scary beyond all reason. They are, quite possibly, Satan’s minions sent to earth to win over the souls of small children.

75. The more I drink, the more critical I become of other people’s attire. I am the one you see in the bar saying to her friends, “Ummm, why is that girl in plaid ANYTHING? Let alone a shirt. I’m fat, you don’t see me in plaid . . . because it’s a BAD idea!”

74. I am addicted to books (see # 84). I think it’s inherited from my mother. We will pour over book stores for hours. We have SO many books that we had to spend 3 weeks typing a list of all the books we had, alphabetizing them and putting them in a binder that we could carry with us at all times – to prevent us from buying books we already had. At last count, we had 3,868 books.

73. I am addicted to music almost as much as books. I have 4 full binders of CDs. Those binders hold 250 CDs each. My music taste is entirely eclectic. I like EVERY genre and have music from the 50's on up. Generally, I can tell you the name of the song and the artist who sang it within five seconds of hearing any part of it. I’m not sure if I’m proud of this fact or ashamed?

72. My closet is interesting to see. I have about 35 black shirts and then only 2 or 3 of every other color. I love black. It’s classic, it’s slimming and it never goes out of style. I also have about 35 deep red shirts. Because that’s the color of my two favorite football teams and I have to have an assortment to chose from when I go to a game.

71. I think I would be a happier person if the health insurance companies in this country all went bankrupt. I pay $350 a month for health insurance that NEVER pays for anything. They were the ONLY health insurance company that would take me, considering all my pre-existing conditions (see # 96), and have denied anything to do with my pre-existing conditions and my “reproductive system” in general. And somehow they manage to tie EVERYTHING to my reproductive system. They won’t pay for my migraine medication because they say the headaches are tied to a hormone imbalance which is caused by the removal of my ovary which therefore makes it a reproductive problem. That is the most NORMAL example of what they won’t pay for. I could give you a veritable butt ton of weird off the wall examples of things they won’t pay for and I still have no idea how they manage to tie them to my reproductive system. I spent almost $3000.00 last month paying medical bills my insurance denied payment on.

70. My brother is the most naive person in the world. This is partly my fault and partly my parents. We love him more than anything and do everything for him. Everything. Example: About 5 months ago I took him to the bank and helped him open his first checking account (he’s 21). A few weeks ago he calls me in a panic: “How do you get more checks?” “What??” “I’m out of checks! Don’t they like send you some every coupla months?” “Umm, NO, brain child, you actually have to get them yourself.” “How?” “What????” “How? How do I get more checks?” “You go down to the bank and order them.” “They don’t just have some??” “Umm . .. NO.” “How long do they take?” “About 2 weeks.” “What do they expect people to do until they get here??” “They expect people to order them when they SEE they are running out. NOT after they have already run out.” “That sucks.”

69. My family is completely dysfunctional. ONLY because we are the most functional family I know. When I lived at home, all four of us sat down every night and had a home cooked 4 course meal. You drank milk with this meal. You had no other choice. Milk is good for you. You drank milk. My mom is my best friend. My dad is my brother’s best friend. My brother lived with me until April; he now lives less than 2 miles down the road. He’s still at my house more than he’s at his own. The whole family gets together at least once a month. In the fall, this normally revolves around a weekend at my house and attending at least one football game. Two if our favorite (the Arkansas Razorbacks) and my alma mater (University of Central Arkansas) stagger their games so we can get to both.

68. I dance around in my car. And sing at the top of my lungs. I didn’t realize how odd this must look until the other day. I was cruising down the interstate bouncing around my vehicle when my cell phone rang: “What the HELL are you doing?” “Huh???” “It’s Stephen. I’m in front of you on 630, what the hell are you doing bouncing around? Is there a spider on you?” Properly chastised, I reply: “Umm . . no . . .I was, uh, dancing.” “Oh sweetie, don’t ever do that again. People probably think you’re having a seizure in your SUV.”

67. That being said, I am a relatively good dancer. Just, apparently, not when I’m limited to the confines of a vehicle. I love to dance. I miss dancing. Hard to dance with a bum hip.

66. I didn’t learn how to apply make-up until I was 23. I still rely on Birdie to apply my make-up if we are going out. It just looks so much better when she does it. When I do it, I look human. When she does it, I look SuperModel extraordinaire. She’s VERY lucky that I don’t run over to her apartment every time I have a date.

65. When I was 21, I had a house built. I was finishing up undergrad and could no longer live in the free dormitory (thank God for academic scholarships!) And refused to throw away money on rent. Especially not when I could pay for a house for the same amount of money every month. I love my house. I especially love that now that I think it’s too small, I can sell it for $50,000.00 more than I paid to have it built. I know this because I had it appraised. God bless the Real Estate boom.

64. I cried like a 3-year old when I signed my mortgage papers. I was a bit naive. I thought a $100,000.00 house was $100,000.00. I didn’t realize that in 30 yrs all the interest built up and up and up and that the paperwork would reflect that my $100,000.00 house was actually going to cost me $250,000.00. When I saw that figure, it was Niagra Falls on my face. My parents pulled me outside and practically screamed, “Those had better be tears of happiness!” and I screamed back “I’m 21 years old and a quarter million dollars in debt!!” They both laughed until they were crying, too. I didn’t see the humor.

63. Driving is cathartic to me. In college, especially graduate school, I would just drive for hours with the windows down and what I called “Driving Music.” It could be anything from Ani Difranco to Metallica to Miles Davis to Simon and Garfunkel. It just depended on my mood. I wore out two particular CDs: Candlebox and Depeche Mode.

62. I have had 4 long term relationships and an engagement. The engagement was to a real shit of a man, but I am still hung up on him to this day. We still talk about three times a week. I would never be stupid enough to get involved with him again, but I can’t say that I don’t still wonder “What if . . . “

61. My favorite drink is skim milk. A close second is a margarita.

60. I had a nervous breakdown in highschool. I felt like everything was my responsibility and I didn’t know how to tell people “No.” I was way over-extended in my obligations and trying to maintain valedictorian status. It finally hit rock bottom one night when my parents woke me up at 7 PM (I had apparently come in from school and just passed out laid across their bed) and I screamed: “I wish I was stupid! I want to know why I couldn’t have been born stupid! NO ONE expects things of stupid people! I can’t take this anymore, always having to be the best, always having to help everyone, always doing everything!” I still wonder sometimes if it wouldn’t be better to be ignorant. Ignorant people seem so much happier.

59. I long to be a writer almost as much as I long to be a doctor. I have written a million poems, two million short essays and some very lengthy “short” stories based on my life experiences. I took several creative writing courses in college and my teachers were constantly trying to get me to submit my work for publication. I never did it. Not because I don’t think it’s good enough . . . but because some of it - the best of it - is very graphic. I don’t want my parents reading it and saying “My daughter’s a freak.” Maybe when they leave this earth, I’ll become a writer.

59 is a prime number, right? Right. Sounds like a great place to stop.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

This is filed under Q for list

100. I have horrendous road rage. It’s quite awful. I know they can’t hear me but I still scream and curse and wish that I could run the offensive driver over. I have no understanding for why people can not drive. It’s not hard. But, apparently I’m quite colorful in my cursing because my friend Zach calls in the afternoons attempting to catch me during my commute. He says he loves to hear “what things you can come up with” and that he’s going to audiotape them and sell them to a distributor one day – thus ensuring he will become a multi-millionaire.

99. I hate hearts. The shape, not the organ. They are horrid and people plaster them all over everything.

98. I hate gold. Unless it’s white gold, but even then it’s a bit horrendous because I know it’s gold. I think gold is heinous.

97. Knowing about 99 and 98, you will understand the significance of this. Most times, under my shirt, I wear a gold heart necklace. The man who may still be the love of my life, had a gold heart necklace engraved with an “I love you” message and his name and gave it to me for my birthday when I was in high school. I believe it was my 15th birthday. He was 21. He didn’t know I hated hearts or gold. I wear it for him. And I’ve never told him I hated it or that I still wear it. He doesn’t need to know.

96. I only have one ovary. The other was removed when I was 18. It had to go to ensure that the entire tumor was removed.

95. I really hate pink. Probably for the same reason I hate hearts. They were forced on me when I was a little girl. I am likely to choose any other color in the world other than pink. Even if it’s a horrendous pukie green.

94. I, as you may have read on Steph’s blog, was probably the earliest masturbator around. I had NO idea what I was doing; I just knew it felt really, really good. I used to ball my blankie up and shove it between my thighs and rub it against myself. My mother discovered this when I was 3 and took my blankie from me. Which only served to enlighten me to the fact that the blankie was muffling the pressure and therefore lessening the pleasure.

93. I have always wanted to travel to three particular places: Scotland, Alaska and Australia. Yes, Australia. Way before I knew Adam, Steph, Muffin, Auburn, Bevis and the rest of you lot existed, I wanted to go to Australia. I think it stemmed from that horrid movie I watched when I was like 11 . . . and my friend Kelly and I continually walked around squealing at one another “Did the Dingo eat your baby??” And then laughing hysterically. Yes, I know I was a twisted kid. What’s sad is that to this day if I run into Kelly, we do the whole thing over again. We’re 25 now.

94. I swam competitively for 5 years of my life. I was state champion in the 50 meter Free-Style, 100 meter Free-style, 100 meter Butterfly and led my 4-man relay team to championships in both the Free-style and Medley relays with me as anchor. After I swam, I coached. If there was an empty lane when my older males or females (16-18) were swimming, I would swim exhibition so they could pace themselves to me. They hated this. They found it discomforting that their “old” coach could still kick their butts even though I wasn’t swimming 3 miles a day in training like they did.

93. I hate feet. Period. Hate them. I don’t want anyone near mine or to be near anyone else’s. I think they are grotesque.

92. I love shoes. Love them. I, apparently, also have good taste in them since EVERY pair I decide I want to buy is $150 or more. However, I will settle for a really cute cheaper pair if it comes right down to it. I probably have 150 pairs of shoes. Really.

91. If given my choice, I will go barefoot. Even though I hate feet and love shoes, I would still rather be barefoot. It’s a sensory thing for me.

90. I hate almost all condiments. I don’t eat mayonnaise, mustard, any salad dressing other than Italian, brown gravy, sour cream, guacamole, wasabi or anything such as that. I will eat ketchup but ONLY on French fries and/or chicken nuggets and only if I put it on each one individually.

89. I have the most sensitive nose on the planet. At the daycare centers where I work, I am known for walking down the hallway and pinpointing a dirty diaper from 50 feet. This is VERY inconvenient when working with kids.

88. My sensitive nose is only exceeded by my sensitive stomach. At the mere smell of defecation I begin to gag. This is also VERY inconvenient when working with kids. I also begin to gag and will even throw up if I just HEAR someone else throwing up.

87. My sensitive stomach is NOT affected by blood and guts. When I worked at the hospital I would sit in on surgeries just because I loved them. One of my patients once coughed three days after open heart surgery and split his stitches all the way down his chest. I could see EVERYTHING, including his heart pounding away. While the Speech Language Pathology student I was mentoring was in the corner puking in a trashcan, I was pointing out his various anatomical parts and marveling at the human body.

86. I wanted to be a doctor. But I was too lazy to go to college any longer than 7 years. So I settled for speech language pathology since it was still medical and allowed me to have tons of Neurology training and still guaranteed that I could make medical diagnoses. I still dream of being a doctor, but it will never happen.

85. I would rather be watching football than reading.

84. I would rather be reading than doing anything else, besides watching football.

83. I have very few female friends. Mainly because they tend to be dishonest, backstabbing, selfish bitches. But there are some exceptions. They are few. And very far between.

82. I love to white water raft. I love the physical exertion of it, the rush of the water, the knowledge that at any minute you could hit a rapid so horrendous that you could be disfigured or die.

81. I have been in 5 wrecks that ended with totaled vehicles. NONE were my fault. You can check the police reports if you don’t believe me. The first few were three years running. All of them were in April. By sophomore year at college, my friends were stealing my keys from me and not allowing me to drive in the month of April at all. I thought all my wrecks were behind me. Then in December, while at a stop light, we were T-boned in my door. It broke my hip and caused a few other minor injuries. Just after I was beginning to recover, a man who had been up 72-hours straight and was strung out on methamphetamine decided to commit suicide by hitting the biggest vehicle he saw head on at 65 miles per hour. The biggest vehicle just happened to be mine. There were many varied and sundry injuries from this wreck. He didn’t have insurance. Car insurance people hate me. Particularly since the majority of the people who hit me DON’T have insurance . . . but they can never blame me because it’s never my fault.

And that is a great place to stop for today. If you have any questions you would like me to address in the remainder of the countdown, let me know. Oh, and you can blame Adam for this list. He says he’s realized he doesn’t know the whole story behind any of us, I’m trying to give him a glimpse.