I Should Really Know Myself Better

Why did this take me so long to finish?
Overanalyze? Me? Nah.

Tagged for Threes by Sunny and Serendipity

Three names I've gone by:
1. Babydu
2. Boss
3. Goober

Three screen names I've had:
1. Mequalssi
2. Um....
3. Er....

Three physical things I like about myself:
1. eyes
2. hair
3. feet

Three physical things I don't like about myself:
1. stomach
2. hips
3. nose

Three parts of my heritage:
1. English
2. Irish
3. Cherokee (teeny tiny bit)

Three things I am wearing right now:
1. Jammie Pants
2. Blue t-shirt
3. Glasses

Three favorite bands/musical artists:
1. Jimmy Buffett
2. Barenaked Ladies
3. George Strait

Three things I want in a relationship:
1. Humor
2. Companionship
3. Passion

Two truths and a lie:
1. I'm very competitive
2. I've been a summer camp counselor
3. I own a violin

Three physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to you:
1. Hands
2. Neck
3. Eyes

Three favorite hobbies:
1. Reading
2. Staying up late
3. Snuggling

Three things I want to do badly right now :
1. Eat a huge piece of cake
2. Take a walk on the beach
3. Stand naked in front of an air conditioner

Three things that scare me:
1. Fire
2. Wasps, bees, etc
3. Loss

Three of my everyday essentials:
1. Car
2. Computer
3. ATM card

Three Careers you have considered or are considering :
1. Writer
2. FBI Agent
3. Masseuse

Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. Key West
2. Ireland
3. Lake Louise in Canada

Three things you want to do before you die:
1. Get published
2. Buy my mom a house
3. Perform

Three ways I am stereotypically a boy:
1. Dirty Mind
2. Dirty Mouth
3. I play rough

Three ways I am stereotypically a girl:
1. I read romances.
2. I hate bugs, snakes, etc.
3. I giggle.

Three celeb crushes :
1. Arnold Vosloo
2. Ryan Stiles
3. Ed Robertson

Tagging: Laurie, kthrne and Kato
(Really I want to tag everyone on my favorites, but I'll stick to format.)

Then Again, Maybe I Won't

There is an article in People this week about the dangers of blogging. It focuses on losing your job due to inappropriate work-related content in your posts.

While I like Dooce, I'd rather not be Dooced, thank you.
Which is killing me.

I've got a job bursting with inappropriate content. People are funny, crazy, ludicrous specimens just begging to be made fun of.
That's right: I work with THE PUBLIC.
Shudder with me now.

What is someone who shudders at humanity doing in a position of public relations of any type, you might wonder? Well, I didn't always find my fellow man to be so damn annoying, but a few too many years of assisting them will curdle your insides. And that just isn't comfy, or particularly sweet smelling.

Daily I witness such blog-worthy behavior, I want to install webcams. Future Darwin Award winners abound. But as tempting as it is, I've used technorati. I've googled. I've seen pictures of my coworkers that haunt me in my sleep, and read journal entries I'm sure no employee of mine would be comfortable with. That kind of possible exposure is just not for me.

There will probably come a time when I just won't be able to stop myself, but for right now, the promise of a paycheck and all the necessities it ensures is enough for me to keep my mouth shut.

But man, if you had seen this woman today.....

Casual Friday Observation

Temptation comes in the form of options.

It is said you should not go to the grocery store on an empty stomach.
The real danger is coming home, filling your cupboards and, faced with so many options, trying a little of everything. Maybe home delivery isn't such a bad idea, help squash the impulse buying. That, or a personal chef with a lot of tupperware.

Also, variety packs are cellophane wrapped sin in a box.

May I Take Your Order?

"He calls it a drive thru."

"When he's stopping by after work?"

"Yeah."

"So, longer than a drive by, shorter than a park, it's a drive thru. How long does a drive thru last exactly?"

"Well, as long as you would expect, depending on how late it is and if we fall asleep."

"So a drive thru is a booty call."

"Exactly."

"So no need for the 'fries with that shake' joke then?"

"No."

"Or the one about a line of cars waiting?"

"No."

"That's him text messaging?"

"Yes."

"Didn't know you needed reservations for a drive-thru."

"Sometimes the window is closed."

"And those headsets might get in the way."

My Mom Says I'm a Catch

I've been receiving a significantly larger number of cell phone calls this month than usual. Anyone scrolling through my call log might mistaken me for someone with an active nightlife.
Or a drug dealer. Maybe a hooker.
Many are Restricted, several are long distance, yet surprisingly most are actually for me, as opposed to the calls I get at home.

To what do I owe this sudden increase in popularity? Is my name and number crudely scratched into a bathroom stall door somewhere? Did Costco betray my trust and sell my number to a third party after all? Are my other personalities playing phone tag?
Possibly, likely, and we'll never tell.

In a fit of job dissatisfaction, I posted my resume on Monster. And then promptly forgot about it. Apparently my craftily constructed, corporate-speak clogged entry has attracted the attention of varied employers. Soon I could be blogging about any one of these exciting new occupations:

Accidental Insurance Rep
Build-A-Bear Foundation Bear
Fabric and Rug Sales Consultant
Loss Prevention Auditor Trainee
Office Manager for Fish Market
Bank Reconciliation Clerk
Traveling Reset Merchandise Manager

The winner for most calls in a week? Home Depot. They really want me, and several different reps have rattled off a variety of jobs I would be ideally suited for:
Garden Department Manager! Door Installation! Paint Analysis!
Um.... I mentioned nothing about "This Old House" on my resume.

I may have to call the Fish Market one back; wouldn't you?

Rated M for Mature, Unlike Richard Roeper

Because if I tried to actually say something about this, I'd end up sputtering obscenities. Here's a few of the hundreds of links concerning Dove, Richard Roeper, and the difference between normal and chunky, model and real, acceptance and ignorance.

I always knew there was something off about him. No wonder Ebert looks like he's in pain when they're on set together.

So their slogan is clever "Firming the thighs of a size 2 supermodel is no challenge. Real Women have real bodies with real curves. And Dove wants to celebrate those curves." Yeah, they are still trying to sell a product that's basically saying "Eww. Use this stuff quick!" But it's a be-the-best-you-can-be approach, as opposed to use-this-and-look-like-Kate Moss.

It really is in the eye of the beholder (and yes, the advertising we are subjected to). Which is why Roeper is so not my type.

Time Stops For No Belle

As a child, time is pretty irrelevant:
It's either your birthday or it isn't.
It's either bedtime or it's not.
It's either bathtime or the end of the world, who can tell with all the screaming and crying?

As a teenager, you measure your life according to school time:
School starts in 2 weeks.
15 minutes until lunch.
Prom is less than a month away.

Once into adulthood, time is the enemy, and work it's weapon:
4 days to the big presentation.
11 months and 29 days till the next pay raise.
5 weeks before unemployment runs out.

And occasionally time is measured by Bridget Jones
(or, how much weight you can lose how fast):
2 months until the Conference
2 years until the Reunion
2 soon to Thirty (or Forty)

I suffer from Scarlett Syndrome.
It may be another day, but tomorrow catches up quickly.

I could start an exercise and healthy living blog. It would be very simple really. Set up a lovely template and watch it get dusty, with cobwebs in the corners. Or I could just fake it (ahem) and put up impressive stats and shots stolen from maxim.com.
Anybody know Photoshop?

Thankfully the stress of the teen years is over (but not forgotten) and bedtime is when I say it is. But those last three are creeping up a lot faster than I would like.
Where the hell did the month of July go?
Did it take a vacation and not get another month to cover for it?
Who approved this time off anyway?

Decorating Divination

When I look at my dining table with its black tablecloth, I secretly hope to see a crystal ball in the middle. I may not even wait till Halloween to indulge my Practical Magic tendencies.
(Book over movie, but really they are too different to compare and both enjoyable.)

Because I Am EASILY Entertained

(Ooh! I learned a new skill! Links now open in new windows!)

As I sat here, twiddling my thumbs, staring at the blinking cursor, I realized a post was just not going to happen tonight. After half an hour of aborted blogging attempts, I started clicking through my favorites, and found an amusing series of time wasters on shesawriters blog. I know, I'm hopeless, I love these things tho.

For the writers:
What's Your Writing Style?
What Kind of Novel Should I Write?
What Type of Killer Are You (or your villain)?
What Type of Blogger Are You?

For the hell of it:
Which Horrible Affliction Are You?
What Movie Quote Is For You?
World's Shortest Personality Test
Kissing Purity Test
Who Were You In a Past Life?

Ok, I'll stop now.
Don't forget to indulge us with the amazing revelations and self discoveries you uncover!

Casual Friday Observations

While sitting in a restaurant the other night, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation going on at the table next to us. Although I'm not sure a sales pitch really counts as conversation.

Some guys, no matter what they are talking about, just sound like door-to-door salesmen. It's as if they are trying to convince their companions that whatever they are talking about is true and just.

"Yes! The sky is blue!"
"No, Verizon is definitely the better cell phone company!"
"Of course you should come home and have sex with me! Doesn't my upbeat attitude and somewhat slimy brand of flirtation make you want to? 15 minute free trial period, act now!"

Er, it's the thought that counts?

Last Night's Plan:
Come home from work, change clothes, then go out to eat. After a stern talk with self, order a salad and a tall glass of water. Come home and go for a walk while laundry is in the washer.

What Actually Happened:
Apparently willpower sneaks out in sweat, because after lingering too long in the oven that is my home I completely forgot my mental pep-talk. We had pizza. And Coke. Then stopped off for cakey goodness, which resulted in a "hey, that looks good too!" free-for-all.
You can guess which window the notion of walking and laundry flew out of.

I made up for it tonight. ((crossing fingers behind back))
Well.... I did the laundry and the walking, but there's no need to talk about dinner is there? I didn't think so.

Uh.... is that a compliment?

And I quote:

"You radiate so damn much heat, you should rent yourself out to the Eskimos."

Insert Nelly Lyrics Here

I have never wanted to be in a Sierra Mist commercial more than I do at this moment. And it's not just for the carbonation, although yum. It is just that freaking hot right now.

Don't-even-think-about-cooking-dinner kind of hot, where you keep all the lights off, get as naked as present company allows and limit movement unless you're sticking your head in the freezer. Good thing you can't see me as I type this, or else I'd have to make this a pay blog and you'd have to be 18 to continue.

I'm from the East Coast, where rentals come with refrigerators and air conditioners. What California has against creature comforts I don't know. Even health nuts need to keep their soy milk cold. And I'm sorry, but if you live 10 miles from the beach, you should no longer call your apartment complex Ocean Breeze Suites, because that is false advertising. Give me a damn wall unit, anything!

I know, it could be worse, I could live here or here or here. But if they pay this much rent I bet they have air conditioning.

Let Us Discuss! (sort of)

If I were granted 3 wishes at this moment, I'm ashamed to say one of them would undoubtedly be about the final installment of Harry Potter. I wouldn't go all Annie Wilkes on Rowling or anything, but a FedEx package from the future would be nice.

It wasn't my favorite (that would be book #3 - I know, I know, there's obviously something wrong with me). I enjoyed the first two chapters, even if they seemed a little out of place. And I didn't mind the info dump. I LIVE for backstory, when done well, and at least she had an interesting way of doing it. And one of the big things revealed I guessed early, and then there were some surprises, which is always good. The introduction of some romantic elements - long overdue, but I'm hopeless about that kind of thing. There is so much to speculate about, but not everyone is finished reading, and I'd hate to spoil something on here.

Because it had been over two years since I read Book 5, I found the SparkNotes online. Sure, I felt a little silly, but it can't hurt to have a refresher. There is also a guffaw-worthy recap/parody sort of thing about Prisoner of Azkaban, the movie.

I can't explain it, but Snape is hot, as is Lucius, and I wouldn't mind a crack at Sirius (not Gary Oldman, but the character). Apparently I have a thing for fictional assholes and escaped convicts. It's my fantasy world, I can invite whomever I want for a visit.

Quick Erase

On my whiteboard, conveniently hung less than a foot away from my chair, are numerous messages. Some are snippets of dialogue, others plot possibilities or ideas for blog posts; the one thing they all have in common is their cryptic nature. I've been trying to figure out what "CID for DofaD" means for over a month now.

More than one guest to my kitchen/dining room/office has searched for meaning behind my scribbles. Those searches are very short. A whiteboard, even one without any discernible blank space, is an open invitation. Come, write on me! Comment! Draw! Sign your name like I'm a cast or yearbook!

A few of these notes have overstayed their welcome and I need to rent their space out to newer, fresher ideas. So I thought I'd dump them on here, disguised as a post!


The smileys from AIM should be banned. Surely you agree! Actually my mother would be very sad; she likes the blue ones best. I'm reverting to acronyms here soon tho.

Condensation is sexy. Come on, I'm not the only one who thinks that! It's been used to illustrate or accentuate situations in many a tension-filled scene. Next time you're around a sweating, dripping bottle of beer, just let your imagination wander.

While reading, my mind uses images from the past to fill in the visuals. I start with a basic template. For example: If a scene takes place in a restaurant, I do a quick flip through my mental jpg rolodex and up pops my local IHOP. Why? I don't know. I think it's just the layout is plain and therefore easy to remodel. Then, as more details come in, the seating changes, the wallpaper peels away, and the patrons rearrange themselves to fit the story.


I should probably go to bed now, but I still have 200 pages of HP6 to finish. I can do it! I wanted to savor the experience, but my need to know is just too strong. Plus, I had a pleasant surprise this afternoon when I realized I had the next two days off in a row! Considering the weekend, that's probably a blessing. I kept one foot in the world of Cranky and the other firmly planted in Punchy the past two days. I would feel sorry for my staff, if they didn't drive me crazy.

Because Being Salary Sucks (as usual)

1st pat on the back:
Only ONE Coke today.

2nd pat on the back:
I had simple, time saving idea at work, and boss agreed that I was, indeed, a goddess.

And um, yeah, that's all I've got time for tonight because I have to get up for work at 4:30 in the morning, after working until 11:00 tonight. Oh yeah boy, I'm gonna be a cranky one tomorrow. You can hold me accountable for my actions, just don't expect me to care.

Hoochification Nation

Whoo hoo!
I just saw an episode of Extreme Makeover. It's been months!

I like to watch that kind of show occasionally as a reminder.
I do NOT want plastic surgery.

There are numerous things I dislike about my looks, and I'm sure the doctors on that show could find plenty of places to nip and tuck, but I just can't imagine going under the knife for anything non-necessary. Vanity surgery does not appeal to me. Major medical issues and deformities and such, absolutely, but if you aren't scaring small children, you probably don't need it.

Too often the patient looks plastic, sometimes even Joan Rivers-esque. When they do it right however, it is tempting. The better version of yourself, the one that gets phone numbers, has sexy encounters, and improved self-esteem. But still.... I don't think so.

Have you seen what the doctors do during liposuction? It's like they're sawing a body in half! I'd be afraid they'd have to tag team me, or else the one doctor might sue for carpal tunnel.

Of course, 10 or 20 years from now when they can pump up my boobs and evaporate the fat from my thighs without needles or knives or anesthesia, I'll probably reconsider.

Might be fun to be a MILF after all.

There is nothing 2:00 am snack-worthy in my kitchen. Damn.

I have no idea why I stayed at work so late tonight. I look at the clock and it's 10:00. Look again and it's 1:00. Huh? I was not even aware of the passing of time. Happens sometimes while driving, complete autopilot, suddenly I've just gone 5 miles while blinking.
Very unnerving.

It must be the ipod. When you've got earphones on and no one to bother you, time flies when you're a one woman vaudeville act. I must give the security and maintenance people quite a show. If this were a musical (or an episode of Scrubs) we'd be twirling across the tile, reflections in the plate glass windows, or maybe a disco ball or some black lights would drop from the ceiling, nightclub style.

Perhaps my imagination is a little too active? Eh, always has been. I remember a kid in junior high accusing me of daydreaming too much. As if he was personally offended that Earth Science did not hold my attention, and that I chose to ignore the antics of my fellow classmates.

With the offerings on tv this late at night, a good imagination is in order. Although Secretary is on; edited for tv, but still excellent. The score is so deceptively gentle yet decidedly eerie, the performances almost entrancing. I really should own at least the soundtrack.
And watch more James Spader movies.

At Your Service

In my reading and book browsing I've noticed a trend.

There's a protagonist, unhappy with job and life, who has something BAD happen, resulting in a life-altering twist of fate. Usually it involves wrong-doing by a man and by The Man. She often finds herself unemployed, either of her own free will or fired. No longer attached or employed, our girl now has to fend for herself. Apparently by resorting to temporary jobs which she would have deemed herself above doing, just a few short months ago. Suddenly our main character is living a life she may not have always dreamed of, but one that's even better.

A small sampling of these lucky characters:
The lawyer who takes a break from work and accidentally becomes a dog walker/messenger.
The woman who leaves the world of publishing and begins dog walking. (Having keys to her wealthy clients homes, allowing her to snoop, is a fringe benefit.)
A corporate housewife, whose husband takes up with a trophy blonde, finds work in a bakery, becoming the bread artisan she's always wanted to be.
Another lawyer, this one wrongfully fired, takes on pet sitting to pay the bills from her previously platinum-card lifestyle while she tries to clear her name.
These two friends play a game of "what if" and switch lives for six months after they both suffer romantic troubles.

The one thing these characters have in common? A previously charmed life. I'm pretty sure my bank account would not allow me the privilege of trying out one of these "menial" jobs for a short time. Maybe I'm just too practical. I couldn't help daydreaming a little at work today about giving 2 weeks notice and trying on some different shoes for a while, the kind that go for walks in the park. I could bake bread. I could watch pets and pick up dry cleaning, and any other freelance opportunity out there.

Is there a need for a personal book shopper I wonder?
That job is so mine.

Agatha Christie and the Desk Chair Murders

Here's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The tools are mine, so yes, my fingerprints were on them. I was attempting (slowly, but surely) to assemble the deskchair in question. STANLEY is an ex-boyfriend; that's a tattoo on my palm. A strange and painful place for one yes, but I was young, and in love, and it seemed like a good idea at 2:00 am in Tijuana.

STANLEY (all caps, just like on his birth certificate) came sniffing around last night. Said he just wanted to talk. One thing leads to another; he starts making fun of my chair building inabilities. I got a little angry, and yes, I did throw the various parts, but it was not pre-meditated! A crime of passion is what this is! And the chair isn't even broken, in fact, I'm sure it could easily be put together.
Just maybe not by me.

And they let me out on bail based on that story, can you believe it?

Spotchlander - dress all in black and we shall rendezvous at 21:00 hours. Bring gloves. I'll hold the flashlight and stay out of your way. We'll either clear my name, or take Kato's suggestion and create a work of modern office art, splitting the money.

If something should happen however - Sunny, perhaps when you come to visit, you would be so kind as to bake a cake for me? You know, one with a file inside? Or maybe Paulius could rig me up some sort of Ikea lock-picking wonder? Better yet, how about a lawyer?

Out On Bail

I'm allowed one post until I can prove my innocence.

Somehow I must convince them that the screwdriver was not in my hands, nor the wheel and the arm, all of which were found across the room, presumably thrown in a fit of rage.

If I can return to the scene of the crime, and complete my mission, with all parts assembled properly and in working order, maybe then I can put this all behind me.

Don't get me wrong, I mean, I'm good with my hands and all...

Apparently, computer chairs should not be used as amusement park rides. There really should be a warning label about that. If a chair tilts and rocks, swivels and rolls, really, what choice do I have but to zip around the linoleum? Perhaps the real problem lies in the fact that two grown adults should probably refrain from tilting and rolling, even if they manage to fit into the chair.

Bought a new computer chair last night, not the same style, but after repeatedly wiggling around in a variety of models at OfficeMax, I thought the new style was worth a try.

Now I have to put it together.

If this is the last post you see on this site, farewell my friends. I've been arrested for furniture homicide.

Occupational Hazard

This topic has come up before. Anyone who has ever lived with me or had the (mis)fortune to go to a bookstore with me can attest to my love of books. Let me justify the used bookstore.

I've worked with books all my life. My budget includes a large percentage set aside for the purchase of books. I have an entire room of books, aka my apartment. Every flat surface is covered with them, and it is possible my nightstand is made of books, but I'm afraid to move anything to find out.

There are some authors I love so much I own each title in paperback, hardcover and audio. (but I'm trying to cut back, cause damn) I read and reread frequently, give books as gifts, make recommendations. I feel guilty when I buy a book used, like I am shorting the author, yet it is also a great way to try someone new.

Books have always been my window to the world. Authors are lucky in that through their characters they can explore so much; places, professions, emotions, opportunities. Books stay with me long after I read them and pass them on.

There are people who cannot afford to buy all their books new, so sure, they can go to the library. Paperbacks are not as readily available at the library however, and some authors are only available in paperback format. Some voracious readers get their fix at the used bookstore like it's Readers Anonymous. We admit we have a problem, we have a place we can meet, and yet not go into debt in order to support our habit.

I've been known to leave books behind on buses, planes, in hospitals and hotel rooms even. Maybe I'll introduce someone to a new author, or help them pass the time when they need to be distracted. And the library often benefits from donations of used books, either for their Friends of the Library sale tables or to actually incorporate into the collection.

Puppies, however, are not for trading! Like wives and husbands, you do not turn them in for another model. I'm not into sharing my pets, but books are different. Although, since I can't have a pet, I wouldn't be opposed to a puppy rental service. Like at the park, maybe?

This won't be a recurring theme, promise.

Grocery shopping isn't much fun when you buy actual food, and not junk. My cart was sadly empty without any Coke or cookies or chocolate or chips or bagels or.....

::whimper::

A productive day, with a little tidying up and bill paying. Sorted out the trunk of my car which was full of books for the used bookstore, so I spent an hour at one today, and will go to the second store tomorrow. You'd think I'd be sick of bookstores, all things considered.

I was pleased with the selection at this store. Normally I go for the fluff, but I got some fortified fluff today.

A Year By The Sea by Joan Anderson
How To Be Good by Nick Hornby (thanks Laurie!)
Illumination Night and Drowning Season, both by Alice Hoffman
Flirting With Pete by Barbara Delinksy
(I couldn't resist - it had a story within a story, and I'm a sucker for that kind of thing. I read Sandra Brown's Envy for just that reason. Lost manuscripts, family secrets, hot gardeners. Even if it sucks, I'm only out $4 in store credit.)

I've been reading through my usual round of blogs, and feel a little guilty for not commenting, but if this post is any indication, probably best that I don't! Is that like marking territory Sunny, commenting? Hmm.... cluttering up your comments fields is probably better than peeing on all you guys.

Uh, right?

Like Clockwork

Debbie at the Message Center. I've told her not to call me any more. I told her I was done talking to her. No matter how many times I hang up on her, she calls back. Debbie at the Message Center is not getting the message.

Maybe something isn't quite right with Debbie? Or am I really just that great to talk to? Is my voice that mesmerizing? Is it the way I say hello? Perhaps she thinks she's reached a 1-900 line by mistake. Flattering, but enough is enough and today I decided to talk to her supervisor. I waited on the line as she requested, listening to a series of beeps, holding, holding, holding and then.... she hung up on me! She had no intention of getting a representative did she? That bitch.

I had plans Debbie, plans to sleep in after working a 17 hour work day. (Well, 13 if you take into account the 4 hour dinner break.)

Fine then. I have a list of things to do with my free time this weekend. There's the lazy column and the productive column. Not sure where this post fits in however.

What is that, 72 hours?

One more day. I know I can handle it. Just one more day, and then, a 3-day weekend.

I paid my dues, worked over the holiday, and starting Friday morning I get my turn. I may have no major plans, but that's ok. Maybe I'll take a drive! Read a book! Go to the beach!

I won't think about the power outage, the down server, the bitchy IT girl, the nice IT guy, the employee who swears she told me she wouldn't be in at all next week, the pull list only 1/3 done, the co-worker who got another job, the other co-worker who might, the forgotten lunch on the kitchen counter, the missing ATM card, the 45 minutes it took to go one mile when leaving work, or the guilt over the large Coke and chocolate chip cookie.

Nope, I will go to bed, get 5 hours of sleep and start an hourly countdown in the morning. Well, I would start an hourly countdown, if I knew when I'd be leaving. Being in charge just got another tally mark in the Cons column.

3 days may not be much, but I'll take it.

Just me, the Italian guy, and some hot sheets

I didn't write a post last night! I'm strangely proud of myself for blogging every day, so I felt guilty this morning when I realized I missed a night.

Was there a good reason? ((suggestive eyebrow wiggle here))

Oh absolutely.

I fell asleep.
We're talking a 12-hour nap my friends, and it felt good.

Completely unintentional, I stretched out with a magazine and 30 seconds later I was out. Woke up around midnight, closed the house down, and went back to sleep until late this morning.

As with any good stretch of sleep, there were dreams. There are two kinds of dreaming people: those that dream and feel the need to tell everyone, and those that dream, keep it to themselves and wish others would do the same.

I tend to be the former. It's a bad habit. If the dreams are a jumbled mess to me, they must be nothing short of chaotic background noise to those not in them. Still, I have a tendency to say "Hey! I had this dream last night, it was so weird, we were in a store, but it wasn't like the store we usually go to, instead they had chairs and sold only plaid fabric. And there were goldfish everywhere! And I wanted a parrot so we..."

Yeah.

So I'll keep to myself the dream about the Hawaiian-theme wedding my already married sister had. I will secretly laugh over the one about a tour through an old bordello with my co-workers and some football players. And the one with the all-night laundry-mat and drug store where I helped a hot Italian guy fold his sheets?
No one needs to know about that.

BBQ! Fireworks! Urination!

It must be the 4th of July!

Less than a block from the apartment building is a large park, with baseball diamonds, tennis courts, cute ducks in a pond. Every 4th of July this park is THE PLACE for celebration.

We need only step 10 feet outside the front door in order to enjoy the festivities. Assuming we were able to get to our front door. The surrounding streets are littered with lawn chairs and coolers and children at play many hours before the fireworks start. Parking spots are at a premium, and I've considered investing in orange cones and making a little money. It's either faux valet parking, or the peddling of ear plugs. The reverberations of the fireworks is window-shattering and car alarms add their own sountrack to the spectacle. I worry about those ducks in the park.

Since we didn't stake out a spot on the landing early enough, all the good views were taken by the Shirtless Hick, See-through Boxer Shorts Man and other assorted characters. Instead we went into one of the bedrooms and craned our necks to watch from the window. The champagne colored ones are the prettiest.

This set of windows happens to face the back of a little hotel (the construction of which may result in a series of posts all its own). As we debated the quality of the view from the hotel parking lot, a man came running across.

Hmm.... a little intrigue.

Perhaps he agreed with us and wanted a better view of the sky? Wait, wait.... he just hopped on the ledge by the flower bed. He keeps looking behind him. Is he watching the fireworks? Ok, now he's scurrying over to the next wall. Maybe he's a burglar! He's going to break into that house! Oh.... no, he stopped. He's watching the show. Now he's looking around. Now he's.... unzipping his pants? He's unzipping his pants! Oh my god, he's going to pee, right next to my building, right on the little azalea bushes. Can't he see us up here? Should we rap on the window, get his attention?

Hold on, why am I still looking? Look at the pretty sky, all lit up and sparkly. Ack! I can see him from the corner of my eye. He's still trying to watch the show! He's practically done a 180. Dude, you must be dribbling on your shoe. Ok, finish closing your fly before you run back to your tailgate party. That just isn't sexy, running back through the parking lot with your belt and God knows what else flapping.

::sigh::
Despite our best attempts to avoid neighbor flesh, we were still accosted, and within our own home. Free speech, yes. Free willy, apparently.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

Ah, the grocery store. Temptation around every corner, another annoying human in every aisle. I have no one to blame but myself. Who's the goober who went to the store the night before a National Grilling Holiday? Yeah.

After unloading my bounty onto the kitchen counter, it became clear a mischievous 7 year old had followed me around the store, tossing pre-packaged, fanny-expanding goodies into my cart when I wasn't looking.

Also clear was the apparent affect the Food Network is having on me. I want to be a cooking chick too! Fresh boneless top loin chops, non-frozen broccoli and a variety of marinades and things which to zest. I'd invite you guys to dinner, but I don't even own an apron. Yet.

We'll call this a Casual Observation:
There weren't a lot of obvious Happy Birthday America signs around the store. Hot dogs on sale and 12-packs stacked fort-like into the aisles. The only red, white and blue displays in the entire place - in the Wine and Spirits corner.
Nothing says Independence like a bottle of Jack!

The best part? The carefully constructed tiers of alcohol, trimmed in ribbon and American flags and party favors, were made of Finlandia, Bombay, Absolut, Beck's and Jose Cuervo.

Celebrate your country with foreign booze!

Mmm Baby Yeah, Percolate For Me

So, uh, yeah.... what are you guys blogging about tonight?

I've cut in half my caffeine and sugar intake, and while my skin has a healthy Noxema commercial glow, my creativity has left me for more wired pastures. All the reserves have been used this week; there's a mere trickle of the good stuff left in my bloodstream.

So this is how it's gonna be huh? Healthy and sleepy, drooling on the keyboard waiting for my muse to come back from some Coke-soaked fantasy land?

There is a 24-hour Starbucks about 2 miles south, and it does have a drive-thru, so I wouldn't necessarily have to change out of my pjs. But there is the fact that, gasp! I don't like coffee. I'm not worldly enough to get hooked on the real stuff.

However, I do indeed love, and I mean LOVE, the smell of coffee. I will take several unnecessary trips down the coffee aisle at the grocery store, and will linger, nostrils flared, if there is one of those "bag your own" machines. Walking into a Starbucks is near orgasm-inducing. Oh yes, I'm that easy. I wonder if I could stir the creative juices with a walk-by sniff tomorrow morning?

Tonight, however, I will content myself with my all natural, no preservatives, no sodium, no caffeine Hansen's Cherry Vanilla Creme and call it a night.

All Roads Lead Home

The Drifters may have gone up on the roof, The Beach Boys in their room, but I prefer the secret solitude of my car.

When it's late and quiet, and the air is cool, there is freedom in a night drive. Opportunity and promise dotted along the open road, and the responsibilities of the day flying past at 40 miles an hour.
Invisible and soundproof, a place to hide and observe, the best moment of the day is finally, finally sitting down in the driver's seat.

Sometimes I don't want to turn into the driveway.
Sometimes I want to keep heading east.

And yet I know, sometimes, the better moment is sitting in the passenger seat and closing my eyes.

~~~

This is a beautiful song, no matter who sings it.

Make You Feel My Love
Bob Dylan

When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong

I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawling down the avenue
There's nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love

The storms are raging on the rollin' sea
And on the highway of regret
The winds of change are blowing wild and free
You ain't seen nothing like me yet

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the earth for you
To make you feel my love