Ok, so count me among the millions of sheep who were addicted to the fluff that was "Dancing With the Stars". What can I say? I can't help it! For one thing, I, too, look just like that on the dance floor . . . in my own mind. For another - it's just good, wholesome, all-American entertainment, people!! If we all just danced more, we'd have fewer wars . . .
The above message brought to you by Polly Anna.
Part of my enjoyment of this show was directly tied to TiVo. If I haven't said so before . . . I freakin' LOVE my TiVo. How we ever lived without it before now is beyond me. Not only that, but I find myself wishing everything was TiVo-able. Get in the car, turn on the radio & realize you missed something really funny - just rewind it! Go to work, realize you'd rather be elsewhere . . . hit pause & then fast forward through the rest of your day! TiVo! It's not JUST for Desperate Housewives anymore!
But I digress.
The only parts of DWTS I was interested in was the dancing & seeing who got eliminated. I like Tom What's-His-Face well enough, but after about two weeks, I think I can figure out by myself that the judge's scores are only half of the total score & they want America to call in & vote for their favorite dancer to save them from elimination during the LIVE show on Friday - yada, yada, yada.
Speaking of the voting - it was watching this show that made me realize - we have our electoral process ALL wrong! Who really cares about the guy that's right for the country & what his campaign issues are, etc.? Judging from the literally MILLIONS of phone calls received by DWTS, it is perfectly clear that what we REALLY care about is the guy the judges think of as the joke of the contest. Not the woman who worked her (sickeningly fit & tiny) ass off & was a remarkable dancer; not the extremely fit news anchor considered "a real contender for this competition"; not even the dapper, older gentleman who was a laugh riot & always brought a high level of entertainment to each episode. Nope - give America a clod-footed rap star, "doin' it for his homeys" instead. I think it's the shoes - makes him more . . . "accessible".
So all you Republicans & Democrats & campaign managers out there - listen up! Don't waste your time arguing a long list of promises or planning meaningful debates. We'd MUCH rather see you DANCE your way into the Oval Office!
Hey - you want America to get involved, right??
Monday, February 27, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Partners in crime
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Get ta know me!!
Yes, I realize I'm copping out by posting these survey things - but it saves me from having to think about what to post on a weekend when I have to work.
What does your birthdate mean?
You have many talents, and you are great at sharing those talents with others.Most people would be jealous of your clever intellect, but you're just too likeable to elicit jealousy.Progressive and original, you're usually thinking up cutting edge ideas.Quick witted and fast thinking, you have difficulty finding new challenges.
Your strength: Your superhuman brainpower
Your weakness: Your susceptibility to boredom
Your power color: Tangerine
Your power symbol: Ace
Your power month: May
Besides - THIS will tell you FAR more about me than I could come up with on my own. ;-)
What does your birthdate mean?
***Your Birthdate: December 5***
You have many talents, and you are great at sharing those talents with others.Most people would be jealous of your clever intellect, but you're just too likeable to elicit jealousy.Progressive and original, you're usually thinking up cutting edge ideas.Quick witted and fast thinking, you have difficulty finding new challenges.
Your strength: Your superhuman brainpower
Your weakness: Your susceptibility to boredom
Your power color: Tangerine
Your power symbol: Ace
Your power month: May
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Why I'd never make it as a nun
Because I'm a quote lover, I have myself signed up to receive "daily inspirations" in the form of quotes from Beliefnet.com. This was the one I got a couple of days ago:
If you judge people, you have no time to love them.
Ok - I know Mother Teresa was a saint & all & did all this great stuff for humanity . . . but am I the only one who thinks that perhaps, just this once, she missed out on the real fun? I mean - c'mon! What's more fun than judging people?
Why else do we love Fug? And really - who watches awards shows for the entertainment value? Unless, of course, it's the entertainment value of picking apart what the celebrities are wearing (or aren't wearing, as is usually the case).
And celebrity watching is only HALF the fun! Hello, can we say "Wal-Mart"?!? One need only sit in the parking lot for a few minutes watching the other customers enter & leave this fine establishment to feel better about oneself. My most prevalent thought when walking in or around any given Wal-Mart is, "man, I want her mirror". You know the type - Molly McGoesNowhere, wearing some god-awful outfit, usually consisting of some version of t-shirt knit fabric stretched tightly across areas it inadequately covers, paired with pants in a similar material or - even better - pajama bottoms & fuzzy slippers.
Now, my sister would take me to task on this practice of being judgmental. In fact, she called me on it just the other day when I remarked on the woman I saw in Burger King - who I wasn't so much judging as wondering about aloud (Picture it - middle aged woman, roughly late 40's/early 50's (probably younger, but looked older), long, dark hair, black knit jumpsuit (yes - I said jumpsuit), over which she wore black ankle boot-like shoes. This in itself wasn't bad. However, she also wore black knee socks, which she pulled up over the pant legs in order to make it appear as though she were wearing actual boots. Then there was the black suede bolero jacket - again, not so bad - but over THAT was a red suede bolero-like thing with long fringe hanging from conchas - and the look was topped off with a Ducks Unlimited camo panama hat. It was . . . special). My sister's take on it was, "y'know, she was probably really proud that she'd found something good at the Goodwill." And she's probably right. But still - you can't tell me that wouldn't make you feel a LITTLE bit better about yourself . . . well, you could tell me, but that doesn't mean I'll believe you.
Now trust me - I am no fashion plate. I am not above buying clothes at Wal-Mart occasionally - nor am I too good to take used clothing from someone who wants to give it to me, for whatever reason. Hey, ya grow up poor, you can't afford to be proud. But this whole judgmental thing really has nothing to do with where your clothes are from as much as how you put them together. You could have bought your entire ensemble from Goodwill, for all I know - but if it's clean & well combined, nobody would ever know (trust me - I know from whence I speak). Basically, I consider my people judging to be my own cheap form of therapy. As long as I know there are others out there who look worse than I do (in my view), my self-esteem remains somewhat intact.
If you judge people, you have no time to love them.
Mother Teresa
Why else do we love Fug? And really - who watches awards shows for the entertainment value? Unless, of course, it's the entertainment value of picking apart what the celebrities are wearing (or aren't wearing, as is usually the case).
And celebrity watching is only HALF the fun! Hello, can we say "Wal-Mart"?!? One need only sit in the parking lot for a few minutes watching the other customers enter & leave this fine establishment to feel better about oneself. My most prevalent thought when walking in or around any given Wal-Mart is, "man, I want her mirror". You know the type - Molly McGoesNowhere, wearing some god-awful outfit, usually consisting of some version of t-shirt knit fabric stretched tightly across areas it inadequately covers, paired with pants in a similar material or - even better - pajama bottoms & fuzzy slippers.
Now, my sister would take me to task on this practice of being judgmental. In fact, she called me on it just the other day when I remarked on the woman I saw in Burger King - who I wasn't so much judging as wondering about aloud (Picture it - middle aged woman, roughly late 40's/early 50's (probably younger, but looked older), long, dark hair, black knit jumpsuit (yes - I said jumpsuit), over which she wore black ankle boot-like shoes. This in itself wasn't bad. However, she also wore black knee socks, which she pulled up over the pant legs in order to make it appear as though she were wearing actual boots. Then there was the black suede bolero jacket - again, not so bad - but over THAT was a red suede bolero-like thing with long fringe hanging from conchas - and the look was topped off with a Ducks Unlimited camo panama hat. It was . . . special). My sister's take on it was, "y'know, she was probably really proud that she'd found something good at the Goodwill." And she's probably right. But still - you can't tell me that wouldn't make you feel a LITTLE bit better about yourself . . . well, you could tell me, but that doesn't mean I'll believe you.
Now trust me - I am no fashion plate. I am not above buying clothes at Wal-Mart occasionally - nor am I too good to take used clothing from someone who wants to give it to me, for whatever reason. Hey, ya grow up poor, you can't afford to be proud. But this whole judgmental thing really has nothing to do with where your clothes are from as much as how you put them together. You could have bought your entire ensemble from Goodwill, for all I know - but if it's clean & well combined, nobody would ever know (trust me - I know from whence I speak). Basically, I consider my people judging to be my own cheap form of therapy. As long as I know there are others out there who look worse than I do (in my view), my self-esteem remains somewhat intact.
This confession of shallowness brought to you by
the number 5 and the letter Q.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Friday musings
How pathetic is it that I only come to work to chat via Yahoo Messenger - because I still only have dial-up at home?
How sad is it that the only things I look forward to in this job are my Internet access, the aforementioned chatting . . . and the few times that my boss is out of the office? Oh, and the occasional Friday meetings with the Creative dept. , because they're a fun group who GET me.
Sadder still - the fact that none of my co-workers and I want to "waste" a day out of the office when our boss isn't here. We will actually NOT take a vacation day on a day that she is out of the office - because, you know, that's like, wasting a free day, man.
I have a quote at my desk that says, "Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at change." I posted that in my cubicle in a desperate attempt to help me see the brighter side of things when I'm here every day. So far - it's not working. This being the first job I've had in a long time that I've actually loathed, it's been a struggle to find my "happy place" when I'm here. So I spend as much time as possible chatting with friends, working on other, more interesting things going on in my life. This, of course, can turn into a double-edged sword, should I get caught too often doing non-work things.
I try to keep this blog as entertaining as possible, because truth be told, nobody likes reading whiny posts all the time (unless you do so to make yourSELF feel better - for which I am guilty as charged - and Holly knows what I'm talking about). But sometimes, reflection is good for the soul.
Another thing good for the soul (in moderation, of course)? Taking a road trip alone for several hours. This is one of my weekends with my son, which means I'll be driving the 3-1/2 hrs. east to pick him up. One bright spot in that, aside from the fact that I get to see my kiddo, is the fact that I WON'T have to drive all the way BACK tonite. I'll actually be spending the weekend at my sister's, babysitting her kids tomorrow nite while she & her husband take the rare opportunity to go out. Trust me - that quick round trip thing can turn into quite the beating after a while.
So I will leave you now, readers, as I pack up my desk & look at the bright spots in my life as a weekend kick-off: The boss left early, which means I can leave early; I have almost four hours in the car to spend learning my newest piece of music; I get to see my son, my nephew & my nieces tonite; and Sunday, I get to come home to a man who loves & adores me - and I him.
Yeah - I have a crap job. But that's just a few hours a day. Everything else? Pretty damn good.
Yay me. Maybe that quote is starting to work after all.
How sad is it that the only things I look forward to in this job are my Internet access, the aforementioned chatting . . . and the few times that my boss is out of the office? Oh, and the occasional Friday meetings with the Creative dept. , because they're a fun group who GET me.
Sadder still - the fact that none of my co-workers and I want to "waste" a day out of the office when our boss isn't here. We will actually NOT take a vacation day on a day that she is out of the office - because, you know, that's like, wasting a free day, man.
I have a quote at my desk that says, "Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at change." I posted that in my cubicle in a desperate attempt to help me see the brighter side of things when I'm here every day. So far - it's not working. This being the first job I've had in a long time that I've actually loathed, it's been a struggle to find my "happy place" when I'm here. So I spend as much time as possible chatting with friends, working on other, more interesting things going on in my life. This, of course, can turn into a double-edged sword, should I get caught too often doing non-work things.
I try to keep this blog as entertaining as possible, because truth be told, nobody likes reading whiny posts all the time (unless you do so to make yourSELF feel better - for which I am guilty as charged - and Holly knows what I'm talking about). But sometimes, reflection is good for the soul.
Another thing good for the soul (in moderation, of course)? Taking a road trip alone for several hours. This is one of my weekends with my son, which means I'll be driving the 3-1/2 hrs. east to pick him up. One bright spot in that, aside from the fact that I get to see my kiddo, is the fact that I WON'T have to drive all the way BACK tonite. I'll actually be spending the weekend at my sister's, babysitting her kids tomorrow nite while she & her husband take the rare opportunity to go out. Trust me - that quick round trip thing can turn into quite the beating after a while.
So I will leave you now, readers, as I pack up my desk & look at the bright spots in my life as a weekend kick-off: The boss left early, which means I can leave early; I have almost four hours in the car to spend learning my newest piece of music; I get to see my son, my nephew & my nieces tonite; and Sunday, I get to come home to a man who loves & adores me - and I him.
Yeah - I have a crap job. But that's just a few hours a day. Everything else? Pretty damn good.
Yay me. Maybe that quote is starting to work after all.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Way Back Wednesday
Because I'm easily influenced by peer pressure. And because now I won't really have to think too hard about my Wednesday posts.
Let the public humiliation begin:
Let the public humiliation begin:
Ok - lemme 'splain . . .
I believe I've already mentioned my affiliation with the Rich-Tones. Ok - so most every year, we do a Christmas show. Last year, we all dressed as toys. Some were more . . . creative than others.
The above photo is me with my former quartet, Alibi. Yes, that IS a giant dreidl. And no, as much as I'd like it to be so, I am NOT the gorgeous brunette on the far left.
Yes, my left eye is closed. And yes, it's closed on purpose. Taped down, in fact. And that's a ginormous false eyelash there below it (and above the other one - duh). Remember the old baby dolls with the eyes that closed when you laid them down? Remember how, after a while, one eye never would open? It always stuck closed?
There ya go.
Yes, my mind is twisted to have come up with this idea. And yes - the most fun part of the entire day was the looks I got from parents & kids alike . . . I think they all thought I was either an alien or permanently paralyzed. Quite funny, actually.
Ripping that tape off my face after many hours in one place . . . NOT so funny.
There's a longer story behind how I came up with the idea to do this in the first place . . . but that's for another time. For now, let's just say that my only regret about this choice, besides not planning on the pain of the tape, is the choice of pajamas - and the decision to NOT wear the "proper undergarments" underneath.
Oh - and the wig color. I am SO not a blonde.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
The kids, they are a changin'
Wow, how much do I suck? I just noticed it's been a week since I last posted. Gosh - talk about getting caught up in one's own life. I'm sure all two people who read this on a (semi)-regular basis have been cursing me for days. I'm not sure today's post will put an end to that trend, but I'll give it a shot.
Brief history lesson: I am the oldest of four children. Well, technically, I'm the oldest of seven, if you count my dad's other three kids from his second marriage. But I digress. I have one child of my own, a 14 year old boy who is probably the best kind of 14 year old you can ask for - smart, funny, reads voraciously, enjoys being with his mom . . . all that stuff. He'll be 15 next month, which I can hardly believe - doesn't seem possible that he can already be 15 - one year away from driving a car - because I have not gotten any older. Amazing how that works. For the sake of maintaining his anonymity & innocence, we will call him . . . "Frodo" - because he loves Lord of the Rings.
"Frodo" has spent his formative years growing up out in the country, so there is a bit more innocence to his 14 years than you'll find in most boys his age. This includes not being shy about (or, rather, not thinking about) being undressed in front of mom. This didn't used to bother mom, having given birth to him & therefore having seen it all already - until that fateful day that he threw back the shower curtain unabashedly as I was there brushing my teeth - and I saw hair.
Yes - THAT hair.
Talk about a snapshot your brain doesn't want replaying in your head!
Needless to say, that's the day mom realized that shower curtains are not reliable forms of privacy. I'll brush my teeth in the kitchen from now on, if necessary.
I have two sisters - one who lives on the east coast with her two children & one who lives just a few hours from me with three children. All our names start with "M", so we'll call them M2 & M3 (I, of course, being M1). M3, currently a stay-at-home mom, calls me on a fairly regular basis, both to get her fill of adult conversation and to regale me with the latest antics of her children. That's where this story begins.
Hang on - I'm getting to the good part.
M3's oldest child, her only son, just turned 10 this week. Per M3, "Son#1" spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom yesterday (as pre-adolescent boys tend to do). After considerable time, he exits the bathroom excitedly to tell his parents (in his very high-pitched, up-speak voice that always cracks me up), "While I was in the bathroom? I found this hair on my testicle? And when I pulled on it? It was attached! So I cut it!"
As M3 mentally screamed, "NOOOOOOO!!!! He's only 10!!!", on the outside, she tries to play it down, by saying, "I'm sure it was just a hair from your head that fell into your lap, and . . . ", to which Son#1 said, "Oh, no, mom - it was ATTACHED! You wanna see where it was?"
And without waiting for an answer, Son#1 drops his pants, grabs & lifts his "package" (such as it is) and says, "See? It's red where I was pullin' on it!"
M3's husband, of course, got quite a kick out of all of this, telling Son#1, "Now son, you can't be showing your junk to your mom anymore. At least wait until it's COVERED with hair, then show it to her all at once." Yeah - she's lucky, alright.
Meanwhile, as M3 maintains her denial, Son#1 says, "Well, I can't wait to get hair under my arms! Frodo didn't get hair under HIS arms until he was 13! I bet I can do better than THAT!"
And they say kids don't have goals these days.
Brief history lesson: I am the oldest of four children. Well, technically, I'm the oldest of seven, if you count my dad's other three kids from his second marriage. But I digress. I have one child of my own, a 14 year old boy who is probably the best kind of 14 year old you can ask for - smart, funny, reads voraciously, enjoys being with his mom . . . all that stuff. He'll be 15 next month, which I can hardly believe - doesn't seem possible that he can already be 15 - one year away from driving a car - because I have not gotten any older. Amazing how that works. For the sake of maintaining his anonymity & innocence, we will call him . . . "Frodo" - because he loves Lord of the Rings.
"Frodo" has spent his formative years growing up out in the country, so there is a bit more innocence to his 14 years than you'll find in most boys his age. This includes not being shy about (or, rather, not thinking about) being undressed in front of mom. This didn't used to bother mom, having given birth to him & therefore having seen it all already - until that fateful day that he threw back the shower curtain unabashedly as I was there brushing my teeth - and I saw hair.
Yes - THAT hair.
Talk about a snapshot your brain doesn't want replaying in your head!
Needless to say, that's the day mom realized that shower curtains are not reliable forms of privacy. I'll brush my teeth in the kitchen from now on, if necessary.
I have two sisters - one who lives on the east coast with her two children & one who lives just a few hours from me with three children. All our names start with "M", so we'll call them M2 & M3 (I, of course, being M1). M3, currently a stay-at-home mom, calls me on a fairly regular basis, both to get her fill of adult conversation and to regale me with the latest antics of her children. That's where this story begins.
Hang on - I'm getting to the good part.
M3's oldest child, her only son, just turned 10 this week. Per M3, "Son#1" spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom yesterday (as pre-adolescent boys tend to do). After considerable time, he exits the bathroom excitedly to tell his parents (in his very high-pitched, up-speak voice that always cracks me up), "While I was in the bathroom? I found this hair on my testicle? And when I pulled on it? It was attached! So I cut it!"
As M3 mentally screamed, "NOOOOOOO!!!! He's only 10!!!", on the outside, she tries to play it down, by saying, "I'm sure it was just a hair from your head that fell into your lap, and . . . ", to which Son#1 said, "Oh, no, mom - it was ATTACHED! You wanna see where it was?"
And without waiting for an answer, Son#1 drops his pants, grabs & lifts his "package" (such as it is) and says, "See? It's red where I was pullin' on it!"
M3's husband, of course, got quite a kick out of all of this, telling Son#1, "Now son, you can't be showing your junk to your mom anymore. At least wait until it's COVERED with hair, then show it to her all at once." Yeah - she's lucky, alright.
Meanwhile, as M3 maintains her denial, Son#1 says, "Well, I can't wait to get hair under my arms! Frodo didn't get hair under HIS arms until he was 13! I bet I can do better than THAT!"
And they say kids don't have goals these days.
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