Archive from February, 2012

Prizes for ME!!!!

So I had this spectacular blog in my head and then I drove all the way across town to Cathy’s house to upload it (because we don’t have internet yet) and now its like 10:45 and apparently my brian…..I’m not going to fix that typo……my BRAIN turns off at 10:30.

Anyway, thanks to another blogger, I have been passed the Leibster Award.  Its a bloggers award given from one blogger to another.  Brett the Blogger says Leibster is German for “Favorite” or “dearest”.  His blog is called the Transformed Non-Conformist and there are many things I really appreciate about his writing.  It is thoughtful.  Hilarious.  Interesting.  Consistent. And I can recommend his blog to my mother and not be afraid. Go read!My job now is to choose five blogs that I love to read and pass the award along.  The stipulation is that they have to have fewer 200 official followers. I’m fairly new at this and haven’t explored the blog world like I’d like to.  My “Google Reader” is full, but apparently I’ve fallen in with the mainstream and I like the same blogs that thousands of others do.  But still, I’ve had to whittle down my finalists.  And here they are.  Bloggers, I bestow upon you this prestigious award.  Please keep your acceptance speech under 34 seconds…..

First, is The Painted House.  This is one of the first blogs I ever glommed onto.  (…glom… it a word?).  Angela, the lady of the House, is an artist and a mother and a business woman and a vegan and a supermodel.  She is fun to read and fun to watch. Hmmmm. She might be over the follower limit but its not OBVIOUS so I’m going with it anyway.Next we have Clay Baboons.  I am so fascinated by other people’s creativity.  This blog is a perfect example of brilliant storytelling via CLAY and a CAMERA!  I! Love! It!This next blog I’ve just tapped into and I am so excited to keep reading and reading and reading! Random. Brilliant.  Fascinating! Please please go and see for yourself.  Fifteen Feet: The Level of Decompression. One of my favorite blog posts of all time in on this blog!Next is one of my good friends, Amanda. I met her over a decade ago in Chicago and she continues to be one of the greatest thinkers I know.  I would read just about anything she writes.  ANYTHING.  Right now she runs marathons.  And so she writes.  I really do want her to write MORE.With this last one I’m totally breaking the rules of the game. And I don’t care. I’m just going for it!  I read so many blogs that are so great, but hey, if I wouldn’t pass them along to my mother for suggested reading then I won’t put them here.  Because my mother reads this blog.  And I refuse to subject her to miscreants and their “warehouse language”.  But this award is for you.  You talented potty-mouthed bloggers.  You know who you are. (Don’t worry Mama, I don’t read the bad words.  I scream “BLEEP!” at the top of my lungs as I’m skimming over them.  So…I can’t read them after the kids go down.  Or when they’re awake.)We’re moved, by the way.  But no internet.  Stay tuned, though, for my first appearance on MTV Cribs.  I’ll be wearing my eminem face.Does MTV Cribs still exist?  Anyone?

I am Igor!

So I’ve never really been a spa kind of girl. No that I don’t long to go, its just that I don’t have the time. And apparently money doesn’t grow out of my ear.  (who knew??)  But we moved this weekend.  and that on top of my recent moodiness…….yikes.The Dark Knight took notice.I’ve never had a massage before, but when you see people on TV getting them, they look awesome. I was stoked.  I’m not really a spa girl.  I’ve only had a couple of manicures in my whole life.    But man I was so excited. I went in feeling like this….and I left feeling like this….Let me tell you why.  First of all, I was totally ready for the massage. I didn’t even care about the naked part.  Or putting my face in that soft thing that looks like a potty-training seat.But I quickly realized that I’m not a massage girl.I was like, “Ow dude! Quite pinching my muscles!”  It was basically torture.  I decided that if I could design my own spa treatment, I would want my back scratched for 30 minutes and then maybe somebody could spray me down with a warm hose and then pull on my earlobes.That was my absolute favorite part.  Who knew they did that during a massage?  But while she was working on my back, she decided it would be a perfect time to start hurling the insults.

“You no drink enough water!”

“You need take care of yourself!”

And the whammy?A HUMP?????  Man I hate that word. Its right up there with the word “engorged” on the list of words I hate.  Afterwards I looked in the mirror, horrified. I couldn’t see the hump, and she claimed she massaged it out for me. But how do you massage a hump out?  And why didn’t anyone tell the Hunchback? “Dude, I can totally massage that out for you.”


And then I went downstairs to have my haircut. The woman who cut it didn’t speak much English and so I was frightened when I tried to describe what I wanted as “Organic Punk”. 

And well, that was my spa day.  (ok, I really secretly loved it!  Except for the hump massage….)

Disheveled: The worst post EVER

Apparently, this is the way I procrastinate.  By PRETENDING to do a blog. Its not even a real one. Its a blah.

I’m feeling better today. Actually, that’s a total lie. I feel like dookie.  Hmmm, spell check refuses to acknowledge any form of the word dooky.  Dookey?  Duki?

Anyway, today is the day The Dark Knight commutes.  So its just me and the critters all day.  AAAAALLLLLL day.  And today I really needed to do things.  But we tried Chic Fil-a and Siegfried threw such a loud fit that the entire “restaurant” fell silent and stared.  “Hi y’all.  I’m not beating or kidnapping him. Merely depriving him of another hour in the play area from hell. Go back to your nuggets.”

We have two homes this week. The old one and the new one.  They are currently both trashed. And yet…..empty.Where do normal humans find the energy?  Is it because I’m so old?Boy and Siegfried were fighting over my phone right before they went to bed and somehow snapped a picture of me scolding. So this is what I look like when I’m saying, “Siegfried, give it back. Give! Give it back! Don’t touch the…I said give it back!”  I never realized I was a pointer.

Behold the disheveled woman.But it IS rare proof that I have hair.

And now the wildebeests are in bed and I’m chilling on the couch.And no, I do not own these jammies.

And no, the couch isn’t this clean.


Crazytown: Population – Me

I don’t have time for you, psycho blast of bizarre and unrelated emotion.  Please come back when we’re not in the middle of a move.  And when I don’t have work to do. And decisions to make.  And candy to purchase.

It hit me a few days ago. Same way it always does.  I get a couple of weird facial blemishes and I know I’m in for it.  Major crazytown.  It looks like this…..…and then 2.5 nano-seconds later, it looks like this…..But most of the time it looks like this…..Its a dash of depression mixed with a gallon of hormonal weirdness and a cup and a half of stress (mix until lumpy).  Tune in later this week for some real happytown action.


Feb 9, 2012 - Important Information    6 Comments

My Own Mr. Miyagi

Have you ever watched a movie like The Karate Kid and thought, Man, I wish I had a Mr. Miyagi.  Someone who would appear in your life when you’re lost. Or your spirit is crushed. Or you don’t know who you are or what your supposed to be.  Well…..Only she is a Mrs. Miyagi. And not Asian. And she isn’t a secret Karate genius (….I don’t think….).  She is Cathy Lyn.  I won’t go into the whole story because this is her birthday card, and at this point in her life, she remembers the whole story. When she’s old enough to forget it (which won’t be for DOZENS of years), THEN I’ll write it all out for her. And maybe do a jig to keep her entertained…..

The short version is that we’ve been together in the good….….and the bad……

…and all the years I’ve known her she has served so many people so faithfully.  But she has gone beyond with me.  Somehow, even though her wings are full of family and work and life, she has managed to sprout a little extra wing for me.

Thank you friend. I love you.

Happy birthday.