I forgot to list the things I am thankful for yesterday, so despite being a day late though not a dollar short - since I'm not stupid enough to attempt any sort of shopping today - here they are ... And as usual in random order.
I am thankful for ...
My family ... Even though upon occasion I would like to move very far, far away from all of them.
My friends ... Even the ones who send me forwarded emails, creepy text messages, and ignore me from time to time.
My car ... On it's last legs, it just keeps going and going. Even though I know I don't change its oil often enough, and the engine light has been on for the last 6 months, it forgives me enough not to have broken down to the point where I've ever been left stranded on the side of the road.
My cat ... Considering my impending spinster status, is it any surprise that my cat deserves a round of applause for tolerating me while I cry all over her fur? This would be funny, if it weren't true.
My blog ... Because even when no one else wanted to hear another word, you were always there, a blank page waiting for me to fill. I've typed much, learned little, but at least now have a record of proof that I spend entirely too much time staring at my computer.
And my last round of thanks goes to you, the few regular readers that continually come back for more despite the fact that there are some days - ok most days - where even I know I am boring you to sleep. But thanks ...
And to show my appreciation, I won't even mention that you never leave me any comments though it's fairly easy to do. That would be trite of me to mention, and I am almost never trite.
But alas, that would be the end of my short list of thanks. I have much to do today with Mom's impending arrival this evening. Cleaning an entire house in one day should prove interesting.
Save a turkey, hug a friend.
As a matter of fact, hug two friends today just for the extra benefit of copping a cheap feel on this holiday of giving thanks. You never know, there could be somebody out there who just might appreciate you making the kick off to the Christmas season a little brighter than it was before. After all, nothing says loving like pinching the person who put the turkey in the oven, says the girl who got elected to make the pies. So much for blaming it all on the eggnog!
Anyhow, no matter who you are or where you are, have yourself a wonderful Thanksgiving whether you're with family or with friends. And remember, when all else fails you can always go home, unless you're already there.
As a matter of fact, hug two friends today just for the extra benefit of copping a cheap feel on this holiday of giving thanks. You never know, there could be somebody out there who just might appreciate you making the kick off to the Christmas season a little brighter than it was before. After all, nothing says loving like pinching the person who put the turkey in the oven, says the girl who got elected to make the pies. So much for blaming it all on the eggnog!
Anyhow, no matter who you are or where you are, have yourself a wonderful Thanksgiving whether you're with family or with friends. And remember, when all else fails you can always go home, unless you're already there.
The Beginning of Something Beautiful
Just popping in long enough to say I'm officially on vacation. So in other words, don't expect much from me this week ... I'm taking this time off thing to heart.
If I don't see you all before the big turkey day, have a good one.
If I don't see you all before the big turkey day, have a good one.
The Christmas Crawl
God save me from the Christmas season.
If there's one thing that I loathe more than anything else, it has to be shopping in November or December. Today, it took me all of ten minutes to fight my way to the back of WalMart to pick up a gallon of skim milk. But grabbing a gallon of milk just isn't that easy anymore.
Not when you've got a mob of ignorant shoppers before you in a line trying to figure out what it's going to be this week. 1% or 2 ... As for me, it's an easy decision. Skim milk yesterday, skim milk today, and skim milk tomorrow. No thought required. Just check the date and go. If only it were that easy for other people ...
On a Sunday afternoon, buying anything other than a gallon of milk is just asking for trouble. As anyone can tell you, it's a short trip down irritation road trying to manage a cart down as aisle that's too small and too filled with people who don't know how to pick one side from the other.
Middle shoppers are extremely annoying, standing there like stone statues waiting for a sign from God to prod them into action. Completely clueless. Trying to get them to move out of the way is like trying to be anyone other than Moses parting the red sea. It's just not going to happen. I usually offer up a polite excuse me, and when that doesn't work, I act the bitch and move their cart out of my way myself.
If there's one thing that I loathe more than anything else, it has to be shopping in November or December. Today, it took me all of ten minutes to fight my way to the back of WalMart to pick up a gallon of skim milk. But grabbing a gallon of milk just isn't that easy anymore.
Not when you've got a mob of ignorant shoppers before you in a line trying to figure out what it's going to be this week. 1% or 2 ... As for me, it's an easy decision. Skim milk yesterday, skim milk today, and skim milk tomorrow. No thought required. Just check the date and go. If only it were that easy for other people ...
On a Sunday afternoon, buying anything other than a gallon of milk is just asking for trouble. As anyone can tell you, it's a short trip down irritation road trying to manage a cart down as aisle that's too small and too filled with people who don't know how to pick one side from the other.
Middle shoppers are extremely annoying, standing there like stone statues waiting for a sign from God to prod them into action. Completely clueless. Trying to get them to move out of the way is like trying to be anyone other than Moses parting the red sea. It's just not going to happen. I usually offer up a polite excuse me, and when that doesn't work, I act the bitch and move their cart out of my way myself.
So what did Stacey get for her birthday? I hear it's what inquiring minds want to know ...
Perhaps a short list is in order.
Stacey's Birthday Gifts (in order as received)
1. Tori Amos, Tales of a Librarian thanks to my friend Mike who knows no birthday of mine would be complete without getting the new Tori release. I love Snow Cherries From France!
2. Sarah McLachlan, Afterglow courtesy of my sister Amy, Jen, Jamie and Jordan.
3. Elizabeth Berg, Talk Before Sleep. This tear jerker came from Dad, Becky and KC, thanks to their convenient use of my Amazon.com Wishlist. Way to go people!
4. $25.00 gift certificate and membership to the all exclusive Barnes and Noble book discounting club. Can we say Holy Grail?
Credit to sister's Jodi and Audrey for their thoughtfulness. (Although I think they were responsible for providing the idea rather than the fundage since college students aren't reputed to be in possession of too much cash.)
5. Present from Mom currently waiting to be in transit from North Carolina to New York, courtesy of Mom herself ... Which for brownie points alone, is the best gift this year that I can think of.
(It should be noted that while I love shopping at Bernes and Noble, most of my links are courtesy of Amazon. A site I think is much easier to get around and more catered to the things I like. Like you really wanted to know ... Right?)
Perhaps a short list is in order.
Stacey's Birthday Gifts (in order as received)
1. Tori Amos, Tales of a Librarian thanks to my friend Mike who knows no birthday of mine would be complete without getting the new Tori release. I love Snow Cherries From France!
2. Sarah McLachlan, Afterglow courtesy of my sister Amy, Jen, Jamie and Jordan.
3. Elizabeth Berg, Talk Before Sleep. This tear jerker came from Dad, Becky and KC, thanks to their convenient use of my Amazon.com Wishlist. Way to go people!
4. $25.00 gift certificate and membership to the all exclusive Barnes and Noble book discounting club. Can we say Holy Grail?
Credit to sister's Jodi and Audrey for their thoughtfulness. (Although I think they were responsible for providing the idea rather than the fundage since college students aren't reputed to be in possession of too much cash.)
5. Present from Mom currently waiting to be in transit from North Carolina to New York, courtesy of Mom herself ... Which for brownie points alone, is the best gift this year that I can think of.
(It should be noted that while I love shopping at Bernes and Noble, most of my links are courtesy of Amazon. A site I think is much easier to get around and more catered to the things I like. Like you really wanted to know ... Right?)
There is a valuable lesson to be learned about reading books while you are at work. Though difficult to do, it can be done. A fact I proved yesterday, despite constant interruption and irritation that every single time I got to a good part full of sensory overload, my damn phone would start ringing off the hook again.
Now on a normal day, customers don't bother me. I'd even go so far as to say that I'm usually a pleasant person to talk to. But when I'm reading, watch out! I was pratically snarling at the phone every time it rang, and though I tried, it was useless to pretend there wasn't any agitation in my voice.
But despite all this, I finished the 200 some page book by lunch time. A good thing, since I had to go into the city to rescue my sister's car which was stranded on the side of the road thanks to a dead battery.
Until later all. I need to go waste a Saturday.
Now on a normal day, customers don't bother me. I'd even go so far as to say that I'm usually a pleasant person to talk to. But when I'm reading, watch out! I was pratically snarling at the phone every time it rang, and though I tried, it was useless to pretend there wasn't any agitation in my voice.
But despite all this, I finished the 200 some page book by lunch time. A good thing, since I had to go into the city to rescue my sister's car which was stranded on the side of the road thanks to a dead battery.
Until later all. I need to go waste a Saturday.
Tune up those vocal cords people! It's my birthday, and there's only one song I want to hear today.
It's the big 29. And although I do not feel another minute older, less a year I suppose I should feel some grand plan coming together now that I am just a year shy of 30.
A thought I will have to think on more later since I am running very late for work. Toodles all.
(Shhhh ... There's still time to buy presents ...)
It's the big 29. And although I do not feel another minute older, less a year I suppose I should feel some grand plan coming together now that I am just a year shy of 30.
A thought I will have to think on more later since I am running very late for work. Toodles all.
(Shhhh ... There's still time to buy presents ...)
I killed a cat today and I feel pretty damn shitty. I know when it comes right down to it, that when it's between your safety and an animal in the middle of the road, it's the animal in the road that has to go.
I saw him too late to make a difference.
This little tiny kitten, a gray ball of fluff dripping wet watching my headlights approaching, staring straight as me as I tried to break in time to miss him. I tried to swerve, even though I was cautious of roads slick with rain. But at the last second he moved, trying to avoid me as I was trying to avoid him.
I heard the thump as tire and cat collided, and I knew I hit him. And even though I turned around to check and see if maybe I had missed him, I knew he was dead. My headlights illuminating the darkness and his broken body crumpled in the middle of the road. I put my head down on my steering wheel and cried.
I kept seeing the moment right before I hit him, wishing there were some way I could turn back time and take an extra second picking KC up at the sitters, or leave work a minute later than I did. Anything so I wouldn't have been there at the time that kitten decided to cross the road.
But what was worse, was having KC in the car when all this happened. The both of us sat there like ninnies crying our eyes out.
Picking up my cell phone, I almost called my Father, wanting to rant and rave at him for not picking KC up after school and taking her to dance class. Thinking that I could use my anger as a way to appease the overwhelming guilt I felt for killing one of God's creatures. I called my Mother instead.
Mom's are good for making you feel better about bad situations, although I still felt and feel pretty bad over the whole thing. Still I needed to hear someone else say that no animal, cute kitten or not, is worth risking your own life to save.
So even if no one hears it. I'm so sorry.
I saw him too late to make a difference.
This little tiny kitten, a gray ball of fluff dripping wet watching my headlights approaching, staring straight as me as I tried to break in time to miss him. I tried to swerve, even though I was cautious of roads slick with rain. But at the last second he moved, trying to avoid me as I was trying to avoid him.
I heard the thump as tire and cat collided, and I knew I hit him. And even though I turned around to check and see if maybe I had missed him, I knew he was dead. My headlights illuminating the darkness and his broken body crumpled in the middle of the road. I put my head down on my steering wheel and cried.
I kept seeing the moment right before I hit him, wishing there were some way I could turn back time and take an extra second picking KC up at the sitters, or leave work a minute later than I did. Anything so I wouldn't have been there at the time that kitten decided to cross the road.
But what was worse, was having KC in the car when all this happened. The both of us sat there like ninnies crying our eyes out.
Picking up my cell phone, I almost called my Father, wanting to rant and rave at him for not picking KC up after school and taking her to dance class. Thinking that I could use my anger as a way to appease the overwhelming guilt I felt for killing one of God's creatures. I called my Mother instead.
Mom's are good for making you feel better about bad situations, although I still felt and feel pretty bad over the whole thing. Still I needed to hear someone else say that no animal, cute kitten or not, is worth risking your own life to save.
So even if no one hears it. I'm so sorry.
The Corporate World is affeered of bloggers!
According to gossip, an unfortunate fellow blogger lost his job over a picture he posted on his site, deemed as a breach of security by his company's watchdog.
Word of his termination has taken the blogging community by storm, precipitating a How Not To Get Fired From Your Job article in Blogger's self help section.
In an effort to save his job, our blogger extended an olive branch to company officials, offering to delete the post in question from his site. Big Brother however could not be appeased and returned the olive branch with a set of walking papers, proving only that reality can be harsh, when everyone is a critic.
This author has only one thing to say ... Break out the clever pseudonyms!
According to gossip, an unfortunate fellow blogger lost his job over a picture he posted on his site, deemed as a breach of security by his company's watchdog.
Word of his termination has taken the blogging community by storm, precipitating a How Not To Get Fired From Your Job article in Blogger's self help section.
In an effort to save his job, our blogger extended an olive branch to company officials, offering to delete the post in question from his site. Big Brother however could not be appeased and returned the olive branch with a set of walking papers, proving only that reality can be harsh, when everyone is a critic.
This author has only one thing to say ... Break out the clever pseudonyms!
One sentence can make you late for work. Two usually makes me at least 5 minutes past the time when I should have been punching in. Three, well three is bad. Very bad. Three means sneaking in the back door and pretending you've been there much longer then you have. Who? Oh me? No ... I've been here for hours ... Yes. Hours. All the while trying to hide the incredibly stupid grinning crossing your face that says Oh yeah. I'm lying.
Tori Amos's new double CD comes out in stores today. Being that there are only 2 shopping days left, someone in my aquaitance should have picked up my not so obvious hints by now that I expect this present wrapped up before me. Knowing my family as I do, I will not hold my breath. My Father told me yesterday that he was buying my present at BIG LOTS ... I about passed out! Trust me when I tell you, that there is absolutely nothing in that store that I would either (a) want for my birthday or (b) want anyone to even think that I might want something from there for my birthday. We'll have to see.
Shit. This has gone far beyond my three setence limit, and I have yet to wake KC up for school. I'm out people ... Have yourself a slamming two for Tuesday.
Tori Amos's new double CD comes out in stores today. Being that there are only 2 shopping days left, someone in my aquaitance should have picked up my not so obvious hints by now that I expect this present wrapped up before me. Knowing my family as I do, I will not hold my breath. My Father told me yesterday that he was buying my present at BIG LOTS ... I about passed out! Trust me when I tell you, that there is absolutely nothing in that store that I would either (a) want for my birthday or (b) want anyone to even think that I might want something from there for my birthday. We'll have to see.
Shit. This has gone far beyond my three setence limit, and I have yet to wake KC up for school. I'm out people ... Have yourself a slamming two for Tuesday.
Oh God. It can't be Monday ...
I am so not ready to go back to work today. Just when the weekend started getting good, it's over. Done. Finito. The end, there is no more. Wake up sleepy head, it's time for work, it's time for school.
So yesterday, KC, her little friend Nicki and I all went to the movies. It should be noted that taking two seven year olds to the movies is an experience all unto itself, as the girls spent half of the movie paying attention to the screen, and the other half in fervent whispers about some boy named Ryan whom it is believed that KC has a crush on.
(Never "DUH" your Mother my darling. Especially when she has a blog she can post your petite amours on.)
So anyhoo ... We went to see ELF, which to my surprise was actually good. (Normally Will Ferrel just doesn't do it for me.) It was a pleasant surprise.
After the movie, the girls and I hopped over to MCD's, where the girls were invited to help paint the windows with various kiddy designs. KC was thrilled. She absolutely loves to paint, and the funny thing is, she's not half bad either. As I watched, it came to me that I had just stumbled onto a perfect gift to get her for Christmas. (Perhaps if my sister Audrey were feeling generous, she might be willing to donate her old easel to the cause. I'll have to ask her.)
Damn. I just lost half of this post! Oooh how frustrating! Especially since I don't have time to write it all over again or fix all my little mistakes.
KC however wants you all to know that she made the neatest snowman last night, in the shape of Emma the Cat, although we made her pink with food coloring spray. Also, if someone could clue her in on why she shouldn't eat yellow snow, she'd be very interested in knowing.
I am so not ready to go back to work today. Just when the weekend started getting good, it's over. Done. Finito. The end, there is no more. Wake up sleepy head, it's time for work, it's time for school.
So yesterday, KC, her little friend Nicki and I all went to the movies. It should be noted that taking two seven year olds to the movies is an experience all unto itself, as the girls spent half of the movie paying attention to the screen, and the other half in fervent whispers about some boy named Ryan whom it is believed that KC has a crush on.
(Never "DUH" your Mother my darling. Especially when she has a blog she can post your petite amours on.)
So anyhoo ... We went to see ELF, which to my surprise was actually good. (Normally Will Ferrel just doesn't do it for me.) It was a pleasant surprise.
After the movie, the girls and I hopped over to MCD's, where the girls were invited to help paint the windows with various kiddy designs. KC was thrilled. She absolutely loves to paint, and the funny thing is, she's not half bad either. As I watched, it came to me that I had just stumbled onto a perfect gift to get her for Christmas. (Perhaps if my sister Audrey were feeling generous, she might be willing to donate her old easel to the cause. I'll have to ask her.)
Damn. I just lost half of this post! Oooh how frustrating! Especially since I don't have time to write it all over again or fix all my little mistakes.
KC however wants you all to know that she made the neatest snowman last night, in the shape of Emma the Cat, although we made her pink with food coloring spray. Also, if someone could clue her in on why she shouldn't eat yellow snow, she'd be very interested in knowing.
I don't know what it is lately, I just don't seem to have it in me to blog much anymore. When I first started this whole thing, missing a day could pretty much send me in a tailspin of guilt whenever I failed to post. But lately when walking through my living room, I've barely given a glance to the silent computer sitting over in the corner like a delinquent child being punished for having done wrong.
Half of me wants to write, wanting to tell you every mundane detail of how I spent my day, or what I thought as I was driving home from work, or something interesting I saw, like the pond yesterday that was covered with a very thin veil of ice that seemed like a whisper across its surface, and how the tall oak trees looked like sentries surrounding it, their gnarled branches blanketed by a covering of freshly fallen snow. And how if I had had my camera packed away inside my car, I would have stopped, to walk halfway between the road, the trees and the pond to take a picture, capturing the feeling of that moment in the lens of my camera, so that you could see what I saw and find yourself amazed by the things you miss when you close your eyes from really seeing the world around you. The hit and miss beauty of the landscape that is us.
But half of me urges me to be censored. To stop putting so much out there for anyone to read, thinking that maybe I've said too much already as it is.
I regret some of my posts.
The other day, I likened myself to Harriet the Spy, a book I read in 4th grade where the main character, Harriet, goes around writing in a special notebook everything she is thinking and feeling on a daily basis. Her journal becomes a slam book of sorts, and when it falls into the wrong hands, because eventually things like that always do, she begins to realize the danger of saying so many words.
Yesterday at Jamie's play premiere of Alice In Wonderland, I wondered if like Harriet, my notebook had been found out. My ex-stepfather didn't seem too happy to see me or maybe he simply wasn't happy to be away from his home on a Saturday, but his demeanor was cold. I thought back to one of my posts, and all the things I said and wondered for a moment, if his current wife who surfs the internet quite frequently had happened upon my site, and if she had, whether or not she had showed him what I had written.
Given an opportunity like that, I'm quite sure that she wouldn't hesitate to show him all the things I've wrote. I could even tell you what she would say, "I told you that girl was no good, never coming around, barely having two words to say when she is here. She's just a waste of your time."
And she would kill for an opportunity such as that, to get me, the reminder of my mother out of her house once and for all. To rid herself of memories she was never apart of, to kill the invisible family that was left behind, to finally feel like home in a house that was never hers. Yes, she would show him and take great pleasure in proving to him I was not the sort of woman one would want to call a daughter.
And what would I be able to say?
Was I to lie and tell him that he was never a link on the albatross hanging around my neck. Or could I explain that all the hurt and love I had for him existed in a place where only anger could touch? That in all these years I've never forgiven him for choosing the bottle over his family or that when I see him I still want to call him Dad.
Half of me wants to write, wanting to tell you every mundane detail of how I spent my day, or what I thought as I was driving home from work, or something interesting I saw, like the pond yesterday that was covered with a very thin veil of ice that seemed like a whisper across its surface, and how the tall oak trees looked like sentries surrounding it, their gnarled branches blanketed by a covering of freshly fallen snow. And how if I had had my camera packed away inside my car, I would have stopped, to walk halfway between the road, the trees and the pond to take a picture, capturing the feeling of that moment in the lens of my camera, so that you could see what I saw and find yourself amazed by the things you miss when you close your eyes from really seeing the world around you. The hit and miss beauty of the landscape that is us.
But half of me urges me to be censored. To stop putting so much out there for anyone to read, thinking that maybe I've said too much already as it is.
I regret some of my posts.
The other day, I likened myself to Harriet the Spy, a book I read in 4th grade where the main character, Harriet, goes around writing in a special notebook everything she is thinking and feeling on a daily basis. Her journal becomes a slam book of sorts, and when it falls into the wrong hands, because eventually things like that always do, she begins to realize the danger of saying so many words.
Yesterday at Jamie's play premiere of Alice In Wonderland, I wondered if like Harriet, my notebook had been found out. My ex-stepfather didn't seem too happy to see me or maybe he simply wasn't happy to be away from his home on a Saturday, but his demeanor was cold. I thought back to one of my posts, and all the things I said and wondered for a moment, if his current wife who surfs the internet quite frequently had happened upon my site, and if she had, whether or not she had showed him what I had written.
Given an opportunity like that, I'm quite sure that she wouldn't hesitate to show him all the things I've wrote. I could even tell you what she would say, "I told you that girl was no good, never coming around, barely having two words to say when she is here. She's just a waste of your time."
And she would kill for an opportunity such as that, to get me, the reminder of my mother out of her house once and for all. To rid herself of memories she was never apart of, to kill the invisible family that was left behind, to finally feel like home in a house that was never hers. Yes, she would show him and take great pleasure in proving to him I was not the sort of woman one would want to call a daughter.
And what would I be able to say?
Was I to lie and tell him that he was never a link on the albatross hanging around my neck. Or could I explain that all the hurt and love I had for him existed in a place where only anger could touch? That in all these years I've never forgiven him for choosing the bottle over his family or that when I see him I still want to call him Dad.
Quick and easy tonight, since the power has already flickered on and off a couple of times with this freak snow/wind storm.
It took me half of forever just to get home this evening. It felt like I was crawling, my car never going above 30 mph, as I tried my best to see the road in front of me, and avoid all the cars that were lining the ditches. People just don't get it! When it snows like this, you just can't go 55, despite what Sammy Hagar may say.
Idiots!
So I'm cranking up the heat and readying the candles. If I had to guess, at some point tonight the power is going to go, and I'm going to be as prepared as possible.
It took me half of forever just to get home this evening. It felt like I was crawling, my car never going above 30 mph, as I tried my best to see the road in front of me, and avoid all the cars that were lining the ditches. People just don't get it! When it snows like this, you just can't go 55, despite what Sammy Hagar may say.
Idiots!
So I'm cranking up the heat and readying the candles. If I had to guess, at some point tonight the power is going to go, and I'm going to be as prepared as possible.
It's downright silent around here.
Having pointed your attention towards the comment blogger, I thought by now someone would have stepped up to the plate, at least to say hello and we're out here, if no other commentary came to mind. Instead it's like listening to a remake of the sound of silence, and I'm here feeling all alone.
Alone and blogging.
Which is kind of an oxymoron since technically, blogging is a solitary thing, and I really have no right to bitch that there's not a single response lately to speak of. Had I but considered this fact, I might not have set myself up for disappointment when adding this feature to NWTLO. I did however, have faith that my mother would not fail me, and would be one I could count on for a comment, even when my posts were inordinately boring. And yet, Mom has let me down.
What is a girl to do when her entire family drops her in the grease failing to leave comments or send a simple email inquiring as to what she would like for her birthday?
Have I mentioned there are only 8 shopping days left!
Trust me when I tell you, that no birthday of mine has ever gone (1) unnoticed, or (2) off without a hitch. It seems birthdays and me are a recipe for disaster. Something always goes wrong. Take for instance my 25th birthday. A birthday I felt was marking a milestone in the life of Stacey, as I was no longer closer to my teens than I was to my 30's. 25, being such a venerable age, I considered that my birthday present would be something great indeed, an extravagant present from my parents to mark their successful rearing of a responsible member of society.
Instead I got a doll.
Now I know you are all thinking that a doll must have been some well thought out joke planned by my family to egg me on over being such a brat about my birthday. But I kid you not, there was absolutely no joke involved. In fact, my Father was quite proud of himself, thinking he had hit the jackpot this go round with this birthday present.
It was not to be.
To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. But I tried to be cool and tried to keep from saying what I really wanted to say which was, "Is this some kind of sick joke? Or am I really supposed to take this one seriously?" I just looked at the box, a stupefied expression on my face and managed a very small thank you, thinking all the while that I must really be an ungrateful brat to never be happy with a single birthday gift my Father has ever chosen. (Remind me to tell you what he got me in 4th grade, that practically had me in tears.) All the while thinking to myself, that even as a child, not counting Barbies, I was never one to play with dolls, let alone ask for them as any type of gift ever.
So this is what is making me nervous, because I am a brat and nobody other than my Mother, has asked me what it is I would like for my birthday. No one has even mentioned that fact that they took a look at my WISHLIST at Amazon, a place I intentionally directed them to in hopes they might choose something from my list. Instead, I am left with the sinking fear that they have all decided to go it on their own once again, to find me the "Perfect" present.
I have just one thing to say ...
It's never too late to check my list at Amazon people!
Having pointed your attention towards the comment blogger, I thought by now someone would have stepped up to the plate, at least to say hello and we're out here, if no other commentary came to mind. Instead it's like listening to a remake of the sound of silence, and I'm here feeling all alone.
Alone and blogging.
Which is kind of an oxymoron since technically, blogging is a solitary thing, and I really have no right to bitch that there's not a single response lately to speak of. Had I but considered this fact, I might not have set myself up for disappointment when adding this feature to NWTLO. I did however, have faith that my mother would not fail me, and would be one I could count on for a comment, even when my posts were inordinately boring. And yet, Mom has let me down.
What is a girl to do when her entire family drops her in the grease failing to leave comments or send a simple email inquiring as to what she would like for her birthday?
Have I mentioned there are only 8 shopping days left!
Trust me when I tell you, that no birthday of mine has ever gone (1) unnoticed, or (2) off without a hitch. It seems birthdays and me are a recipe for disaster. Something always goes wrong. Take for instance my 25th birthday. A birthday I felt was marking a milestone in the life of Stacey, as I was no longer closer to my teens than I was to my 30's. 25, being such a venerable age, I considered that my birthday present would be something great indeed, an extravagant present from my parents to mark their successful rearing of a responsible member of society.
Instead I got a doll.
Now I know you are all thinking that a doll must have been some well thought out joke planned by my family to egg me on over being such a brat about my birthday. But I kid you not, there was absolutely no joke involved. In fact, my Father was quite proud of himself, thinking he had hit the jackpot this go round with this birthday present.
It was not to be.
To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. But I tried to be cool and tried to keep from saying what I really wanted to say which was, "Is this some kind of sick joke? Or am I really supposed to take this one seriously?" I just looked at the box, a stupefied expression on my face and managed a very small thank you, thinking all the while that I must really be an ungrateful brat to never be happy with a single birthday gift my Father has ever chosen. (Remind me to tell you what he got me in 4th grade, that practically had me in tears.) All the while thinking to myself, that even as a child, not counting Barbies, I was never one to play with dolls, let alone ask for them as any type of gift ever.
So this is what is making me nervous, because I am a brat and nobody other than my Mother, has asked me what it is I would like for my birthday. No one has even mentioned that fact that they took a look at my WISHLIST at Amazon, a place I intentionally directed them to in hopes they might choose something from my list. Instead, I am left with the sinking fear that they have all decided to go it on their own once again, to find me the "Perfect" present.
I have just one thing to say ...
It's never too late to check my list at Amazon people!
OK ... A short one this morning, since I woke up late and I have a horrible neck crink from sleeping oh so wrong, which means that unless I'm looking 45 degrees to my right, any other position is fraught with pain.
KC was sick last night. And I do mean that literally. The poor kid ended up heaving her guts out into the toilet, which surprisingly enough made her feel better in the long run. I ended up sitting with her in her room for a little while, holding a cold compress to her forehead and talking about my plans for redecorating her room, to take her mind off how bad she was feeling, until she finally fell asleep. So much for that being a surprise now.
It's a good thing she has off from school today. I wouldn't want her to lose her perfect attendance over a silly cold. Now if only I could stay home to keep her company, rather than send her off to Grandpa's house.
Later ya'll.
KC was sick last night. And I do mean that literally. The poor kid ended up heaving her guts out into the toilet, which surprisingly enough made her feel better in the long run. I ended up sitting with her in her room for a little while, holding a cold compress to her forehead and talking about my plans for redecorating her room, to take her mind off how bad she was feeling, until she finally fell asleep. So much for that being a surprise now.
It's a good thing she has off from school today. I wouldn't want her to lose her perfect attendance over a silly cold. Now if only I could stay home to keep her company, rather than send her off to Grandpa's house.
Later ya'll.
I am a re-reader. I think I've mentioned this before.
I'm not one of those kind of people who believe that once a book has been read, it's needs to be given over to the local library to line their dusty shelves so someone else can gain the benefit of reading a good book.
Nope. I'm selfish with my books. Ask my Mom.
Even as a child, my books always had a special place. The one thing in my room that I always took care of. Books were like gold, precious pages of pressed ink. I remember just how excited I would be, just by opening a new book, and hearing the small cracking sound as the spine stretched open, unlocking its treasure.
I was the kind of kid who got goofy over book plates.
The "This book belongs to Stacey" in an assortment of designs, that I'd sticker very neatly on the inside cover proclaiming my ownership to hasten its return, just in case I actually let someone borrow a book.
But I almost never let anyone borrow any of my books, and for good reason.
Books have rules.
An average reader doesn't understand the complexities of the attachment issues associated with a true reader. They don't get the gist, that by loaning them a book, it's like trusting them with a small child. And like a small child, you expect to get the book back in the same exact condition it was given.
I know of no other way to better kill a friendship, then by loaning out a book, only to get it back in a condition to deploreable to mention here. After such an experience, I admit I was unwilling to take the chance that my books would ever be treated so callously again, thereby giving birth to the following.
What Not To Do With One of Stacey's Books ... A list.
Bookmarks
Have one, use one!
No dog ears, no upside down tepees to break the spine, no heavy objects set on top of the pages to weigh them down.
I saw this once, and was quite shocked. A glass of water, almost full, set directly in the center of a book, precariously holding the pages down as the reader was off and about doing something else. I couldn't help myself, I removed the glass of water, found a small strip of scrap paper and marked the book where the reader had left off. But I knew, if someone could do that to one of their own books, they wouldn't hesitate to do it to mine.
Improper Book Usage
Speaking of which, my book is not a coaster. When you're not reading, don't think to use it as a beverage holder, bed lift, or appallingly true, a trivet. The only things that belongs on my book is one thing ... Your hands. And they better be clean!
Where not to read my books
In the kitchen cooking spaghetti (sauce), in the bubblebath (suds and water), in the bathroom ... Hey! If you own it feel free to read in the "reading room", but if it's mine, you better find your seat somewhere else!
Stray lines, doodles and other kinds of drawing
And less I forget, pens and/or other writing utensils are expressly forbidden from coming into any contact whatsoever with any part of my book, regardless of any reason.
And finally the contract
I {insert your name here} do swear to borrow this book and follow all of the stated rules above so that upon returning, said book will be given back in the exact same condition as it was given. I promise, that if I fail to return the book or return the book with (a) broken binder, (b)wrinkled jacket and/or cover (c) bent pages (d) water marks and/or other assorted food matter and/or (e) any other assorted damage not listed above but not approved of by owner, that I will (a) replace the book with a new copy or (b) give Stacey money to cover the cost of the damage so she can buy a new copy and (c) never, ever in my entire life ever ask to borrow a book from Stacey again as I failed to adhere to her book borrowing rules and have absolutely no respect for anyone else's property.
I am an illiterate scumbag.
Signed {Your Name Here}
I'm not one of those kind of people who believe that once a book has been read, it's needs to be given over to the local library to line their dusty shelves so someone else can gain the benefit of reading a good book.
Nope. I'm selfish with my books. Ask my Mom.
Even as a child, my books always had a special place. The one thing in my room that I always took care of. Books were like gold, precious pages of pressed ink. I remember just how excited I would be, just by opening a new book, and hearing the small cracking sound as the spine stretched open, unlocking its treasure.
I was the kind of kid who got goofy over book plates.
The "This book belongs to Stacey" in an assortment of designs, that I'd sticker very neatly on the inside cover proclaiming my ownership to hasten its return, just in case I actually let someone borrow a book.
But I almost never let anyone borrow any of my books, and for good reason.
Books have rules.
An average reader doesn't understand the complexities of the attachment issues associated with a true reader. They don't get the gist, that by loaning them a book, it's like trusting them with a small child. And like a small child, you expect to get the book back in the same exact condition it was given.
I know of no other way to better kill a friendship, then by loaning out a book, only to get it back in a condition to deploreable to mention here. After such an experience, I admit I was unwilling to take the chance that my books would ever be treated so callously again, thereby giving birth to the following.
What Not To Do With One of Stacey's Books ... A list.
Bookmarks
Have one, use one!
No dog ears, no upside down tepees to break the spine, no heavy objects set on top of the pages to weigh them down.
I saw this once, and was quite shocked. A glass of water, almost full, set directly in the center of a book, precariously holding the pages down as the reader was off and about doing something else. I couldn't help myself, I removed the glass of water, found a small strip of scrap paper and marked the book where the reader had left off. But I knew, if someone could do that to one of their own books, they wouldn't hesitate to do it to mine.
Improper Book Usage
Speaking of which, my book is not a coaster. When you're not reading, don't think to use it as a beverage holder, bed lift, or appallingly true, a trivet. The only things that belongs on my book is one thing ... Your hands. And they better be clean!
Where not to read my books
In the kitchen cooking spaghetti (sauce), in the bubblebath (suds and water), in the bathroom ... Hey! If you own it feel free to read in the "reading room", but if it's mine, you better find your seat somewhere else!
Stray lines, doodles and other kinds of drawing
And less I forget, pens and/or other writing utensils are expressly forbidden from coming into any contact whatsoever with any part of my book, regardless of any reason.
And finally the contract
I {insert your name here} do swear to borrow this book and follow all of the stated rules above so that upon returning, said book will be given back in the exact same condition as it was given. I promise, that if I fail to return the book or return the book with (a) broken binder, (b)wrinkled jacket and/or cover (c) bent pages (d) water marks and/or other assorted food matter and/or (e) any other assorted damage not listed above but not approved of by owner, that I will (a) replace the book with a new copy or (b) give Stacey money to cover the cost of the damage so she can buy a new copy and (c) never, ever in my entire life ever ask to borrow a book from Stacey again as I failed to adhere to her book borrowing rules and have absolutely no respect for anyone else's property.
I am an illiterate scumbag.
Signed {Your Name Here}
I am far from being girl accomplishment this morning, having far more to do than having got done yesterday.
I, as hard as this seems to believe, am easily distracted. A trait my friend Linda takes great pleasure in reminding me of.
Last week, she ordered everyone not to speak to me, until I had answered her question. Standing in front of me like a bull dog, as I hemmed, hawwed and then finally pointed out my answer on the sheet.
"Thank goodness!" she exclaimed with a weary sigh. "This taking two hours to pick out what you want to have for lunch is getting ridiculous, especially considering that you always get the same thing."
I gave her a cheeky grin.
Candy laughed. "Let me guess ... A grilled cheese sandwhich and the chicken soup from Knuckles?"
The two looked at me, anticipation on their faces, waiting for my reply. I dared not disappoint.
"You know, you two can be really annoying." I said in a mock huff, attempting to flip my short hair with attitude as I strode out of the room, their laughter following me.
Halfway down the hallway, I turned back quick enough to yell,
"And just for the record, I don't always get the soup!"
My comment immediately followed by more laughter.
"Only because they don't have it everyday!" they countered back. A good point to be sure.
It's a bitch being predictable.
I, as hard as this seems to believe, am easily distracted. A trait my friend Linda takes great pleasure in reminding me of.
Last week, she ordered everyone not to speak to me, until I had answered her question. Standing in front of me like a bull dog, as I hemmed, hawwed and then finally pointed out my answer on the sheet.
"Thank goodness!" she exclaimed with a weary sigh. "This taking two hours to pick out what you want to have for lunch is getting ridiculous, especially considering that you always get the same thing."
I gave her a cheeky grin.
Candy laughed. "Let me guess ... A grilled cheese sandwhich and the chicken soup from Knuckles?"
The two looked at me, anticipation on their faces, waiting for my reply. I dared not disappoint.
"You know, you two can be really annoying." I said in a mock huff, attempting to flip my short hair with attitude as I strode out of the room, their laughter following me.
Halfway down the hallway, I turned back quick enough to yell,
"And just for the record, I don't always get the soup!"
My comment immediately followed by more laughter.
"Only because they don't have it everyday!" they countered back. A good point to be sure.
It's a bitch being predictable.
And it's another Saturday morning here in Wonderland.
Yet today, there'll be no wondering as to what I'm going to do. KC's room is in dire need of motherly assistance, and just as soon as I've had breakfast and tossed today's first load of laundry into the dryer, I'm going in ... Though chances are I may never come out.
The girl has yet to learn the art of picking up and putting away, a trait, some would say she inherited right from her mother. But I've gotten better, albeit it's a slow progress. Just look inside my laundry room and you'll see how far I've come along. Once you wouldn't dare open that door for fear of laundry spilling out the moment you touched the knob. Now, you can walk inside without having to wonder which pile is clean and which pile is dirty because there are absolutely no piles anywhere to be seen. Yes, this is a proud moment and one my Mother would be happy to see.
Speaking of my Mother ... With her impending visit looming up for the end of this month, it's really no wonder at all, what has spurred this latest round of cleaning frenzy. For once, it would be nice if my Mother could come up for a visit and not have to help me out putting my life back together by attempting to organize my chaos. This is my goal. A nice relaxing visit, with no worries and no cares.
And since there is no time like the present ... I'm going to get to going. Have yourself a wonderful day.
After post note ... Birthday/Xmas Ideas ... See bottom of page or tune in to Amazon where my wish list is fully stocked and ready to go. (Have I mentioned I am shameless when it comes to my birthday yet?)
Yet today, there'll be no wondering as to what I'm going to do. KC's room is in dire need of motherly assistance, and just as soon as I've had breakfast and tossed today's first load of laundry into the dryer, I'm going in ... Though chances are I may never come out.
The girl has yet to learn the art of picking up and putting away, a trait, some would say she inherited right from her mother. But I've gotten better, albeit it's a slow progress. Just look inside my laundry room and you'll see how far I've come along. Once you wouldn't dare open that door for fear of laundry spilling out the moment you touched the knob. Now, you can walk inside without having to wonder which pile is clean and which pile is dirty because there are absolutely no piles anywhere to be seen. Yes, this is a proud moment and one my Mother would be happy to see.
Speaking of my Mother ... With her impending visit looming up for the end of this month, it's really no wonder at all, what has spurred this latest round of cleaning frenzy. For once, it would be nice if my Mother could come up for a visit and not have to help me out putting my life back together by attempting to organize my chaos. This is my goal. A nice relaxing visit, with no worries and no cares.
And since there is no time like the present ... I'm going to get to going. Have yourself a wonderful day.
After post note ... Birthday/Xmas Ideas ... See bottom of page or tune in to Amazon where my wish list is fully stocked and ready to go. (Have I mentioned I am shameless when it comes to my birthday yet?)
In exactly 13 days I will be turning 29, and I am not the least bit happy about it.
Despite the usual complaints about aging, my biggest problem with turning 29, is all the things I haven't done. The things that I promised myself would be done by a certain age. With 30 just around the corner, it's all I can do to feel that this final year in my twenties, won't be one that leaves me feeling as if I'm cramming for a test that I've no hope to pass.
Last night, I decided to have a conversation with God, to get some answers about where it was I was supposed to be, but all I got was silence on the other end of the phone. God doesn't tend to give up the gossip when it comes to finding the right path, expecting us instead to figure it out on our own. But I was a bit miffed, wanting to know why I'd been struggling to hit all the curve balls, when so many other people get a straight shot down the middle.
And then I felt instantly guilty, remembering that for all my complaints, that there was another complete list of things in my life, that God had blessed me with. And I was thankful ...
But still there was this nagging feeling of wanting something more in my life than what I have and I wanted to ask God, well how about it and why not? And I wanted to be told an answer, given an epiphany, as I was standing there, waiting for the golden light to shine down on me like it always happens on Touched By An Angel. But the trumpets didn't blare, and the light, well it was the normal 60 watt shining in my living room.
Despite the usual complaints about aging, my biggest problem with turning 29, is all the things I haven't done. The things that I promised myself would be done by a certain age. With 30 just around the corner, it's all I can do to feel that this final year in my twenties, won't be one that leaves me feeling as if I'm cramming for a test that I've no hope to pass.
Last night, I decided to have a conversation with God, to get some answers about where it was I was supposed to be, but all I got was silence on the other end of the phone. God doesn't tend to give up the gossip when it comes to finding the right path, expecting us instead to figure it out on our own. But I was a bit miffed, wanting to know why I'd been struggling to hit all the curve balls, when so many other people get a straight shot down the middle.
And then I felt instantly guilty, remembering that for all my complaints, that there was another complete list of things in my life, that God had blessed me with. And I was thankful ...
But still there was this nagging feeling of wanting something more in my life than what I have and I wanted to ask God, well how about it and why not? And I wanted to be told an answer, given an epiphany, as I was standing there, waiting for the golden light to shine down on me like it always happens on Touched By An Angel. But the trumpets didn't blare, and the light, well it was the normal 60 watt shining in my living room.
The problem with taking a sick day off in the middle of the week, it that it kills your drive to go back to work and finish it out.
Unfortunately, I can't seem to shake the sense of duty I have to go in today, being that it is Thursday and all, which is why I will be readying myself momentarily to face the day ahead. Still to be quite honest, I am feeling worse now than I did all day yesterday and I am quite sure that talking will soon be a thing of the past as I can no longer feel my throat, except for a dull ache.
But a day convalescing on the couch, doesn't interest me too much either. I spent most of yesterday, washcloth slapped across my forehead, wondering when it was that daytime programming took a swan dive into the garbage dumpster.
After clicking my way through 70 channels and back, I was horrified to find, that there really wasn't anything on that appealed to me enough to watch. Deciding on the lesser of all evils, I tuned in to TLC, watching their "Stories" ... The Make-Over, The Dating, The Wedding, The Baby. Otherwise known as people whose lives appear much better than yours crammed into a single half hour.
By the time I tuned out, mild depression was sinking in and I did what I should have done from the start, and stuck my nose into a book, tossing the remote to the far corner of the room. (Take that TLC!)
I did however have interesting dreams last night, which may have been induced by the grape tasting cough syrup and the halls vapo rub I had slathered across my neck. Since it's almost time to head out, I'll have to give you the long story short version later. Hopefully I'll remember enough by the end of the day to write down in words the extreme weirdness of my subconscious.
Now to go find a box of Kleenex ...
Unfortunately, I can't seem to shake the sense of duty I have to go in today, being that it is Thursday and all, which is why I will be readying myself momentarily to face the day ahead. Still to be quite honest, I am feeling worse now than I did all day yesterday and I am quite sure that talking will soon be a thing of the past as I can no longer feel my throat, except for a dull ache.
But a day convalescing on the couch, doesn't interest me too much either. I spent most of yesterday, washcloth slapped across my forehead, wondering when it was that daytime programming took a swan dive into the garbage dumpster.
After clicking my way through 70 channels and back, I was horrified to find, that there really wasn't anything on that appealed to me enough to watch. Deciding on the lesser of all evils, I tuned in to TLC, watching their "Stories" ... The Make-Over, The Dating, The Wedding, The Baby. Otherwise known as people whose lives appear much better than yours crammed into a single half hour.
By the time I tuned out, mild depression was sinking in and I did what I should have done from the start, and stuck my nose into a book, tossing the remote to the far corner of the room. (Take that TLC!)
I did however have interesting dreams last night, which may have been induced by the grape tasting cough syrup and the halls vapo rub I had slathered across my neck. Since it's almost time to head out, I'll have to give you the long story short version later. Hopefully I'll remember enough by the end of the day to write down in words the extreme weirdness of my subconscious.
Now to go find a box of Kleenex ...
Somebody sneezed on me, and now I'm feeling sick.
My throat is scratchy, I have a cough, and my eyes are turning into giant pools of water. I want to stay home.
But I have to go to work.
If I don't go, they'll think I'm faking it. If I call in, they'll say all I wanted was a day off in retaliation for Saturday's inventory debacle. If I don't show, someone will have to go into my office, and try to decipher the mess of organized disaster stacked up in piles on my desk.
If I don't go, when I go back, I'll be given over to the dogs, made fun of for letting a few sniffles bring me low. Teased and tormented for an entire day, to make up for an entire day of being gone.
This is how it is. This is how it always is.
So I'll go to work, and I'll sputter and cough, and sneeze on someone else to pass the germs around, just so they can blame me, when they start feeling as bad as I do (without all the guilty feelings about calling in) proving my fortitude as I stand there wavering in the face of ultimate devotion as one by they one they come up to say, "Ooooh Stacey ... Not looking good today. You feeling ok?"
And I'll just nod my head and simper some comment out into the air, while making sure to breathe in their direction.
*** After Post Note ~ 5 Minutes Later ***
Work? Who needs to stinking go to work? This girl is taking the day off with pay, and taking some much needed R & R.
Until later all, maybe I'll post again over a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
My throat is scratchy, I have a cough, and my eyes are turning into giant pools of water. I want to stay home.
But I have to go to work.
If I don't go, they'll think I'm faking it. If I call in, they'll say all I wanted was a day off in retaliation for Saturday's inventory debacle. If I don't show, someone will have to go into my office, and try to decipher the mess of organized disaster stacked up in piles on my desk.
If I don't go, when I go back, I'll be given over to the dogs, made fun of for letting a few sniffles bring me low. Teased and tormented for an entire day, to make up for an entire day of being gone.
This is how it is. This is how it always is.
So I'll go to work, and I'll sputter and cough, and sneeze on someone else to pass the germs around, just so they can blame me, when they start feeling as bad as I do (without all the guilty feelings about calling in) proving my fortitude as I stand there wavering in the face of ultimate devotion as one by they one they come up to say, "Ooooh Stacey ... Not looking good today. You feeling ok?"
And I'll just nod my head and simper some comment out into the air, while making sure to breathe in their direction.
*** After Post Note ~ 5 Minutes Later ***
Work? Who needs to stinking go to work? This girl is taking the day off with pay, and taking some much needed R & R.
Until later all, maybe I'll post again over a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
I do not care how the weather is anywhere else but where I am.
I don't know why my Weather Man is under the impression that on a need to know basis, it has become his duty to inform me when it is windy in Chicago, raining in Seattle, or hot and sunny down in Miami Beach, when the only thing that concerns me is whether or not I am going to be freezing my own ass off today.
It's 45 degrees here, cloudy skies and not much hope of seeing any sun, with perhaps snow flurries to be seen later on in the week.
But my weather is not your weather, which you gives you every right not to care about whether or not my outer extremities fall off from the cold, or if my car doors are frozen shut in the morning when I am attempting to leave for work.
So I will not talk about the weather, a dull and boring topic to be sure, and one only brought up in conversation when there really is nothing much else to say. And I have lots to say.
Some people would say that I should say less and not yap my mouth so much. But I think, that if I were to be quiet, they would miss my constant chatter, and after a while silence would seize to be quite so golden.
This could be just my opinion, a somewhat over-inflated sense of self, that I think is true, because I would miss me if I didn't have a voice ... And I think, you would miss me too.
So pardon me, if I don't ask you about the weather.
I don't know why my Weather Man is under the impression that on a need to know basis, it has become his duty to inform me when it is windy in Chicago, raining in Seattle, or hot and sunny down in Miami Beach, when the only thing that concerns me is whether or not I am going to be freezing my own ass off today.
It's 45 degrees here, cloudy skies and not much hope of seeing any sun, with perhaps snow flurries to be seen later on in the week.
But my weather is not your weather, which you gives you every right not to care about whether or not my outer extremities fall off from the cold, or if my car doors are frozen shut in the morning when I am attempting to leave for work.
So I will not talk about the weather, a dull and boring topic to be sure, and one only brought up in conversation when there really is nothing much else to say. And I have lots to say.
Some people would say that I should say less and not yap my mouth so much. But I think, that if I were to be quiet, they would miss my constant chatter, and after a while silence would seize to be quite so golden.
This could be just my opinion, a somewhat over-inflated sense of self, that I think is true, because I would miss me if I didn't have a voice ... And I think, you would miss me too.
So pardon me, if I don't ask you about the weather.
Have I ever mentioned just how corny I can get after having a good weekend? If not, all it takes is reading what I wrote last night to confirm my worst fears ... My prose license needs to be revoked.
I mean hello ... What was with the crustacean kick? Festival of trees? And all this mountain music I was mumbling about?
Me thinks I actually forgot what it was that I was really about, since the whole trip north to the boonies this weekend, was to patron a good old boy bar, just to see my friend's band in action.
Perhaps, had I wanted to be a bit more factual, I would have mentioned the horrid red, white and blue wallpaper that desperately clung to the wall, in fear of the big bug eyed buffalo head that hung on the opposite wall. Or maybe I should have mentioned the worn out wood floor, with knicks, chips and knotholes worn away over time, by the constant tread of country dances. And worse yet, maybe I should have mentioned the locals ...
Anyhoo, good morning, Monday morning. Despite the fact that I would be more than willing to head back upstairs and back to bed, I feel quite refreshed and ready for another day.
I did a whole bunch this weekend, that I'll have to fill you all in on later, but for the record, since I did hear tale of a bad review, let me say that I highly recommend Disney's Brother Bear.
The message may be a bit deeper than your average kid can catch hold of, but all in all, the flick was quite good. So good, I cried three different times, once within the first 10 minutes of it starting.
I think it's Disney's penchant for killing people off that does it, and I've got a complete list of Disney casualties to prove it. (Remind me to post it here on a later date.)
But I hold to the belief that just maybe some day, Disney will do me a favor and not make a movie that makes me cry. There's something about sitting there in the dark, tears streaming down your face in the middle of an emotional moment, with a thousand little children surrounding you watching a cartoon, that makes you feel like a complete wussball.
However, I'll have to say more later on that topic, since now it is time to get to work. Happy Day all ...
I mean hello ... What was with the crustacean kick? Festival of trees? And all this mountain music I was mumbling about?
Me thinks I actually forgot what it was that I was really about, since the whole trip north to the boonies this weekend, was to patron a good old boy bar, just to see my friend's band in action.
Perhaps, had I wanted to be a bit more factual, I would have mentioned the horrid red, white and blue wallpaper that desperately clung to the wall, in fear of the big bug eyed buffalo head that hung on the opposite wall. Or maybe I should have mentioned the worn out wood floor, with knicks, chips and knotholes worn away over time, by the constant tread of country dances. And worse yet, maybe I should have mentioned the locals ...
Anyhoo, good morning, Monday morning. Despite the fact that I would be more than willing to head back upstairs and back to bed, I feel quite refreshed and ready for another day.
I did a whole bunch this weekend, that I'll have to fill you all in on later, but for the record, since I did hear tale of a bad review, let me say that I highly recommend Disney's Brother Bear.
The message may be a bit deeper than your average kid can catch hold of, but all in all, the flick was quite good. So good, I cried three different times, once within the first 10 minutes of it starting.
I think it's Disney's penchant for killing people off that does it, and I've got a complete list of Disney casualties to prove it. (Remind me to post it here on a later date.)
But I hold to the belief that just maybe some day, Disney will do me a favor and not make a movie that makes me cry. There's something about sitting there in the dark, tears streaming down your face in the middle of an emotional moment, with a thousand little children surrounding you watching a cartoon, that makes you feel like a complete wussball.
However, I'll have to say more later on that topic, since now it is time to get to work. Happy Day all ...
I now declare this unofficial BLOG BREAK weekend officially over.
After Thursday's nothing much to talk about post, I quickly came to the realization that I needed a break. I was drained, storied out, blogged out, and bummed out, wondering why I was trying to write, when I didn't have anything of any interest to say.
I felt like a stagnant pond, knee deep with water but void of life.
Living around the clock by the numbers, stuck in the same old routine of getting up, going to work, coming home, making dinner and going to bed. I might as well have been a hermit crab, carrying my house around on my back, inhabiting my shell like creatures with soft bodies are bound to do, unwilling to lose my armor.
But outside, I could hear the mountain music calling from its highest peaks, all the way down to the bottom of the valley. "Live." it said. "Celebrate life, the festival of trees shining in bright colors around you, the frozen spikes of frost that hold green blades of grass. Breathe, and don't be afraid of taking in too much air. There's plenty here for all to share."
Without any excuses of why not to go, I grabbed my keys, shut the lights off, locked the door and stepped out into the night, back into life and the world that was happy to have me back.
After Thursday's nothing much to talk about post, I quickly came to the realization that I needed a break. I was drained, storied out, blogged out, and bummed out, wondering why I was trying to write, when I didn't have anything of any interest to say.
I felt like a stagnant pond, knee deep with water but void of life.
Living around the clock by the numbers, stuck in the same old routine of getting up, going to work, coming home, making dinner and going to bed. I might as well have been a hermit crab, carrying my house around on my back, inhabiting my shell like creatures with soft bodies are bound to do, unwilling to lose my armor.
But outside, I could hear the mountain music calling from its highest peaks, all the way down to the bottom of the valley. "Live." it said. "Celebrate life, the festival of trees shining in bright colors around you, the frozen spikes of frost that hold green blades of grass. Breathe, and don't be afraid of taking in too much air. There's plenty here for all to share."
Without any excuses of why not to go, I grabbed my keys, shut the lights off, locked the door and stepped out into the night, back into life and the world that was happy to have me back.
