Pink Glove Dance for Breast Cancer Awareness

Okay I couldn't NOT post this once I saw it - a whole hospital community coming together to support breast cancer awareness. Oh sure, the dancing isn't professional like a flash-mob, but the enthusiasm is real and these people are having FUN! Fun - in a hospital. Where all too often the "classes" are separate (administration, doctors, nurses, lab, foodservice, housekeeping) and the politics and drama can run deep. Its inspiring to see all these people throwing off whatever hats they usually wear and just having a good time for a good cause. I hope you enjoy:

PINK GLOVE DANCE

Preschool Graduation

Well its official - my baby has graduated preschool. Put away your Kleenex, it's okay, really.

Funny thing is, I didn't know she was actually IN preschool.

Come to find out, she has been in preschool for exactly 2 weeks. She turned 5 over Memorial Day weekend, and moved from the "4-year-old class" to Pre-K, aka Preschool.

Two weeks!! And graduating already!! My Lulu, preschool prodigy. Takes after her mother, I'd say...!

It was all very cute, in an eyerolling kind of way. The kids had fun, sang us some songs, pictures were taken, there was cake and punch. Most of the parents stood around and chatted, probably about their little geniuses. I was amazed at how many people seemed to be thoroughly caught up in the whole affair.

We busted out as fast as possible. The fanfare was borderline nauseating.

We had just endured what JeepMan calls a "Hallmark Holiday." An occasion made up for the sole purpose of selling a product. Now don't take this literally... I am not saying that Preschool Graduation was created for the selling of merchandise, but to me it illustrates the penchant for today's society to, as a friend of mine bluntly puts it, "glorify mediocrity."

Some of you just gasped.

You think I am calling my daughter "mediocre." Well, I suppose I kind of am. Webster defines it as "Of moderate to low quality," with a synonym of "Ordinary." Now I'm not calling Lulu "low quality," but in the vast spectrum of humanity, I suppose she is pretty ordinary. I mean, the kid is FIVE. Of course she's special and precious to us, and those who love her. But do I expect others to see her that way?

You might say, "Of course!! Each child is precious and special and unique and wonderful!!" And I wouldn't argue with you. What you are likely implying, though, is that each child should be TREATED as special and unique and wonderful. And that's where I would have to politely disagree. I wouldn't presume for you to actively recognize and applaud my child's fabulousness with enthusiasm. The fact is, all children being unique, special, and precious... well doesn't that put them all on the same shelf?

See? In the words of one of my favorite Demotivators: "Always Remember That You Are Unique. Just Like Everyone Else."

Call me a kill-joy, party pooper, whatever... I just don't see the point of celebrating all these so-called "milestones." Its not for the kids. Lulu doesn't have any clue what just happened, she just knows we took her out for a Frosty afterward. And guess what? She and all her friends will be right back at school tomorrow like nothing ever happened. Its for the parents, and looking around the crowd at this gala event, there were two kinds: freakishly enraptured and checking their watches. Not much middle ground.

To me a milestone should represent a pivotal point in the life of the person experiencing it. Birth, death, yes. Marriage, sure.

Graduation... I suppose, but don't ask everyone and their friends' friends to celebrate with you. It makes people feel obligated and generally annoyed. Oh, they may come, but believe me, they are bored out of their minds.

Now I don't assume I speak for everyone, but I certainly speak for many and likely a majority when I say that your graduation, or your child's graduation, is really only monumental to you, your child, and perhaps grandparents or very close relatives. To anyone else, it's 2 or more hours of life that they will never recoup. And be it known that I speak of high school graduation, or possibly college.

Not Junior High. Or Primary School. Or Kindergarten.

Or Preschool. Seriously, people.

Top 3 Worst Christmas Gifts of All Time

Here we go!

3. The most God-awful sweater ever made. A gift from my Mother-In-Law the first year that JeepMan and I were dating. It defies explanation.

Suffice to say it was knitted in olives, pumpkins, browns, hot pinks, and yellows. Colors which, mostly, I would never wear individually, and which were heinous in concert. There were 4 panels woven into the front, each featuring a 3D texture...one of which had dangling balls, right over the boob.

You'll be glad to know I smiled and thanked her. In the car later, JeepMan asked me: "You aren't really going to WEAR that thing, are you?"

To this day I am unsure if she really thought I'd like it, or if it was re-gifted (she's since been caught red-handed doing just that), or if it was a not-so-subtle "you're not good enough for my only son, beeyatch!" kind of gift.

Oh well, I'm still here...take that!!

2. (Formerly #1) A six-pack of underwear from my Grandmother. I was about 13, at that age where everything embarassed me. And I opened these. In front of my entire extended family.

Oh, did I mention they were USED? Yeah. They had once been my mom's!!

My darling Grandma had saved them all these years because you could "hardly tell they'd been worn," and she thought I'd like to have them. God bless her; she lived through the Depression and she saves everything.

Again, I smiled and thanked her, then shoved them deep down into a bag. When we got in the car later, my mom told me gently, "When we get home, you can throw those things away. I can't believe she gave them to you!" I'd never been so relieved!

1. We have a new #1 this year, thanks to JeepMan's Uncle Mike. MIL's brother. He works sporadically, usually as a painter (of structures, not fine arts). He rarely has any money, what he makes he spends on cigarettes and beer. We never expect him to get us anything, and we've told him that before. Still, he insists. Usually I open his gift, smile, nod, and think, "well, it's the thought that counts."

This year was different. JeepMan opened our gift from Uncle Mike and what to our wondering eyes did appear? A gallon-sized ZipLoc bag full of coffee. In individual 4-cup packages. In an interesting coincidence, this summer Uncle Mike had painted the interior of a church and some dorms....places where one might find just such packages of coffee.

There had to be 25-30 packets stuffed into this plastic baggie. JeepMan and I just stared at it. Uncle Mike said, "You guys drink coffee, don't you?" We just nodded. And carefully laid the bag aside.

A gallon bag of stolen coffee. My new #1 worst Christmas present ever!!

"When even the thought doesn't count!!"

Anyone else want to share?

When I Grow Up, I Wanna Be Like This Guy

Last Friday night, I was on the last segment of my flight, due to arrive at 9pm. Like 90% of Friday night air travelers, I was exhausted and just wanted to keep to myself. Most of us have been out of town on business, and this time of year in the midwest brings a myriad of blights on the already mercurial air-travel experience. Delays, overweight and/or overbooked flights, and the dreaded flight cancellation all loom ominously larger in winter, especially for the well-seasoned traveller.

All of these factors, coupled with the urgency to get home after a long week away make Friday nights in airports especially charged with negative energy.

As I was boarding my plane, I saw a mother hugging and kissing her son, who was wearing a letterman's jacket that said 09 on the sleeve. The fact that she was allowed to accompany him to the boarding gate (unheard of in post-9/11 times) coupled with the way she clung to him - a little too hard, a little too long- before wishing him luck and telling him everything would be ok, caught my attention. Immediately I marked him as having some kind of mental disorder.

Then I shot up a prayer to St. Christopher, Patron Saint of Travellers: Please, don't let him be sitting by me.

I am ashamed to admit that I do this frequently. I scope out the crowd at the boarding gate and wonder which one I will be sitting next to. Inevitibly I find a few I really hope I won't be sitting next to: the extremely obese guy in grungy sweatpants, the somewhat tipsy lady chatting incessantly to someone she obviously doesn't know, the woman holding her rosary and praying, who jumps every time an announcement comes over the intercom, the guy who speaks exceptionally limited English and is asking anyone he can make eye contact with about his ticket, bags, etc.

Then I feel like crap for being such a bitch.

I guess part of me feels that I've helped a heck of a lot of people in my lifetime, and is it too much to ask to be able to sit in my miniscule airplane seat and just read a book, without having to smell, touch, listen to, talk to, or otherwise be imposed upon by the person who just happened to be assigned to the seat next to me?

Yep, bitchy.

At any rate, I got on the plane and realized this kid was behind me and to my right, at a window seat (I always take an aisle seat). His nose was plastered to the window and he was watching all the ground activity with avid interest. I thanked St. Christopher for coming through for me, and settled in to my "luxurous" airline seat for the ride home. Then a middle-aged businessman took the seat next to the kid, and the kid pounced on him.

"Hi, I'm Greg! I've never been on a plane before! This is so cool! I'm really nervous though. What's your name?"

I groaned mentally, feeling very sorry for that guy. He responded politely but noncommitally, which an ordinary person would have interpreted as "Thanks for the offer, but I'd really prefer not to chat with you. No offense."

But Greg was far from an ordinary person. He related his whole travel story to this man, and because his voice carried quite well, soon much of the plane knew of this kid's situation. He was going to visit his uncle, his uncle had paid for the ticket. He had never flown, and was excited and scared. Where was the businessman from? Oh, yeah, that was close to where he was going. What was the weather like there? What did the businessman do? Wow! He flew in planes all the time? Wasn't he scared that he'd die in a plane crash? Had he ever had to go out an emergency exit?What's that sound? The cargo door shutting? Where's the cargo door? Where was the businessman from again? Oh, yeah, that was close to where he was going! ....Oh boy....they're closing the plane door.... We're going to be okay, right? Must be about time...!

As the plane pushed back from the gate, the kid's mood escalated. As the flight attendants gave their spiel about plane safety, emergy exit rows, water landings, etc, the kid was quiet. Then he said to the man, as quietly as he could, "Well, I don't feel like any of those things are going to happen on THIS flight, do you?" The man assured him that those things were rare, and that he had flown enough times that if anything did happen, he would help the kid out; he had heard those instructions hundreds of times. The kid breathed a sigh of relief, and said, "Well, I'm glad I'm sitting by YOU then! Thanks." Then he got real quiet for the taxi. I sincerely hoped the kid wasn't going to go off the deep end as we took off, or freak completely in flight. My years of nursing experience taught me to always be wary of the quiet ones.

As the plane took off, the kid's nose was once again plastered to the window. He couldn't contain his excitement, and nearly yelled, "WOAH!! THIS IS AMAZING!" Most of us hid our surreptitious smiles, and I was reminded for a moment of how it felt to take that first flight.

The kid was nervous, though, and anxiously questioned every sound, every bump, every speed change and bank of the plane. The man reassured him tirelessly, and very patiently. He told the kid many times, "Everything's fine. Really. It's all normal. You're going to be okay, OK?"

By the time we landed, the kid was elated. He'd finished his journey. It was the coolest thing he'd ever done. He couldn't wait to tell his uncle. The businessman "shared" in his enthusiasm, and congratulated him on being a great traveller. They parted ways with a, "Good luck," and a "Nice to have met you," and that was that.

I really really wanted to pat the businessman on the back and tell him how much I admired him for being so patient and supportive of that kid, and for bolstering his confidence and not squelching his enthusiasm. I didn't though, because I didn't want to embarass the kid. Or the man. He knew he had done well, and hearing it from me could have done more harm than good.

That kid had a 95% chance of sitting beside someone who would have tried his or her best to ignore him. Or pooh-pooh his anxiety. Or look with disdain on his enthusiasm. Or shut him out entirely. It could have ruined his whole experience. Yet this kid was lucky enough to sit next to a man who was able to look far enough beyond his own frustrations and exhaustion to see that this kid needed someone to lean on for the 45 minutes we would be in the air. And then he made the decision to give this kid what he needed, wholeheartedly, and with sincerity.

I'd like to think I would have done the same. But I honestly don't know if I could have on that particular Friday night flight.

Or if I could have, if I would have? And if I would have, would I have been able to do it with such goodwill and genuine concern?

I just don't know.

But witnessing this act has made me certain that I now have an example to live up to.

Bless you, patient and kind businessman, wherever you may be. You've made a positive difference in that kid's life, and in mine too.

It's Official...

(I'm a Nerd)

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Your result for The Nerd? Geek? or Dork? Test...

PURE NERD

57 % Nerd, 39% Geek, 30% Dork

"A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia.

A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one.

A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions.

You scored better than half in Nerd, earning you the title of: Pure Nerd.

The times, they are a-changing. It used to be that being exceptionally smart led to being unpopular, which would ultimately lead to picking up all of the traits and tendences associated with the "dork." No-longer! Being smart isn't as socially crippling as it once was, and even more so as you get older.

Eventually being a Pure Nerd will likely be replaced with the following label: Purely Successful.

Congratulations!"

All this time I've been living as a geek, when all along I was a nerd...

What are you?

Take The Nerd? Geek? or Dork? Test

Scraplets and Chunklets

My life has been very disjointed lately, and so this post shall be reflective of that state.

On the Blog front: I have to say this because it just makes me giggle over and over. I've installed the new Feedjit widget, which lets me know where my traffic comes from and how it gets here. I am surprised at some of the searches that lead people to my little thoughtful spot: "Vitamins for Fidgety Children," "Boobs Showing Scrubs;" etc.

But the one that almost made me spew hot coffee out of my nose was this one: "Brendan Fraser Nipples."

Holy Crap. That's awesome!

Now I see why Penelope uses "Rush Limbaugh" as her chumming material of choice. Put it out there, and the sharks will start to circle!

--------------------------------

On the Man front: I haven't mentioned JeepMan lately. Probably because he's being very, very good. In fact, this whole travel-work-thingy has brought us closer together. It's definitely deepened our appreciation for one another, and we cherish the time we have together even more. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder...or (pick a cliche).

I see him mellowing in his "old age," too (37!). Maybe it's because the kids are getting older, and more self-sufficient, and the gap in development has narrowed. He can really relate to them now, and that has chilled him out immeasurably. I really love listening to him talk to the kids, joke with them, play with them. He really is a great daddy, and I can see that very clearly now.

When they were infants? Well, I must admit that I sort of wondered what the heck I had gotten myself into, getting knocked up by THIS guy...!

He did something a few weeks ago that I keep meaning to post but keep forgetting. It's really not a huge thing on the surface, but for HIM? It's big. Huge.

My man, my no-nonsense, pragmatic, get-your-own-door, open-your-own-jar-you-weenie, MANLY-MAN...

(you may want to sit down. seriously.)

...gave up his office - his CORNER office with TWO windows and a DOOR (that closes and locks!)- the office that he earned after 8 years of service in his department- for a CUBE.

Why, you may ask? Is he NUTS? In point of fact: no, he actually isn't (at least not in this particular instance). So what drove him to this masochistic behavior?

Get out your Kleenex.

You're still sitting, right?

He gave his office up for a co-worker who just came back from maternity leave and is still breastfeeding. She has no where to pump except for the ladies' room, and he thinks that's not right. So he gave her his office for as long as she needs to pump.

I'm Verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves.....

After I wiped my watery eyes (which he rolled his own eyes at), I told him, "Now, you KNOW she could breastfeed for the next YEAR or more, right?" He said, oh-so-nonchalantly, "Yeah, well, it's no big deal. I don't mind a change of scenery for awhile."

WHAT A MAN!!!

And before you start getting all suspicious, his cube is NOT close to the hottest woman in the office, or any of the cute work-study students. SHEESH! Like I would'nt see that one from a mile away!!

Besides. I checked.

------------------------

And finally, on the Kid Front: Halloween is over, and here are some pics:

We love Halloween - What a blast!

Plato's been pretty quiet lately. He's learning about dinosaurs at school, and by osmosis, I'm always learning about dinosaurs that weren't even named when I was a kid. Like, Teratasaurus? I can't swear it wasn't around, but it wasn't one of the big dozen or anything!!

Lulu has been increasingly chatty. And she's a chatty kid anyway (maybe that's why Plato has been so quiet?). Now that the election is over, she's all excited that Barack Obama won. Which cracks me up! I'm sure it's just because it's fun to say his name.

The funniest thing is that she sees him EVERYwhere. Basically any young-ish, good-looking black man is Barack Obama to her. So far he has been spotted driving a school bus, putting gas in his car, walking his dog, pulling over a speeder, and shopping at Wal-Mart.

We were in the drive through at Burger King the other day, and the guy taking our money was a young black man. Then another young black man came to the window with our food. With both of them at the window, little miss Lulu observed (very loudly): "MOM!!!! DEY HAS TWO BARACK OBAMAS HERE!!!"

I just smiled at the guys. And hit the accelerator as the kids were wailing about ketchup. Ketchup? We have ketchup at home, dammit!

I later had a conversation with her about why she thought those boys were Obama. She said, "Because dey're BROWN BOYS, Mommy! Barack Obama is a brown boy, too!" I explained that just because people have the same skin color, that doesn't mean they're the same person.

Then used a very clever example about Daddy and Brendan Fraser having the same skin color, but obviously NOT being the same person!

Now when she picks up Plato's Nintendo DS and plays basketbal, she yells at the screen, "Shoot the ball, little brown boys!!" Once she caught me giggling and she said, indignantly: "WELL!!! I don't know dere NAMES!!!"

Well, at least she isn't yelling, "Shoot the ball, Barack Obamas!!"

That's all, Folks!

A Meme A-La-JaneyV

Here's the meme I owe JaneyV over at Whittering On. Janey just celebrated her Blogiversary by having a wisdom tooth extracted - not my idea of a great way to celebrate, but to each her own. So I raise a cuppa to Janey and here's my meme:

"Tagged Bloggers post answers to the questions on their blogs, changing questions as they wish:"

1. What do you do before bedtime? Well, I get up, brush my teeth, go to work...What? Oh, you mean RIGHT before bedtime!!! I usually read a book or play Bubble Breaker on my Treo. Something to quiet my ever-swirling brain.

2. What is your favorite sound? Silence. Is that a sound? Or is it the absence of sound? White Noise will do if silence is unavailable. I KNOW that's a sound. I am very sensitive to "ear pollution" and I like to hear myself think!!

3. What were your childhood fears? My childhood fears were pretty much my adult fears. Heights, death, small spaces, the enormity of space and time...Gee, wonder who Plato takes after? Poor kid!

4. What place have you visited that you can't forget and want to go back? Well. I have traveled extensively within the US, but not much outside it. I loved New Orleans, but fear it will never be the same since Katrina. Also loved Seattle and would love to spend more time there. My all-time favorite is St. Mary's glacier just outside of Denver, CO. What a spiritual and scenic place...

5. What has made you unhappy these days? Being away from home so much with my job. Love the job, hate the overnight travel.

6. What websites do you visit daily? My blog, the blogs that are updated from my sidebar, my email accounts, and my company's portal.

7. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is? Well, JaneyV and I have only "known" each other for a short time, but she is an Irish woman with a rapier wit and exceptional writing skills. I love her "Irish-isms" that flavor her writing like a sprinkling of gourmet salt flakes on a steaming ear of buttery sweet corn (that's a huge compliment, Janey, coming from a Midwesterner!). The Blogiverse is a better place with Janey in it!

8. What is your favorite item of clothing? My Spanx, of course!

9. What is your dream for the future? For the near future, it would be to find a living situation that allows me to do the job I love, and be home every night with the family I love. Ah, Bliss! For the long term, I want to enjoy raising my kids, see them leave the nest and live happy, productive lives. Grandbabies would be nice. I want to live to a ripe old age with my mind intact, preferably with my body intact too. I want to die peacefully in my sleep, and to have my survivors talk about what a rich life I led. Guess that's about it. Everything else is frosting!!

So that's me. Boring and ordinary, but now you have a deeper insight into my ordinary-ness!!

Who to tag? Well, how about Monnik, Debbielou, and SUV Mama? Totally optional, and if you've done it already, just let me know!!

The Pony Eater (My 100th Post!)

Wow. 100 posts. Crazy goodness!

Put on your hard hats, post ideas are falling from the sky today.

First, a confession. I had a major blonde moment today. I was trying to get cash from an ATM at one of my hospitals. The machine looked ancient. I put my card in, entered my PIN, and then couldn't get the thing to give me any money. I couldn't select the options: there were options in green, red, and black, with buttons on the keypad in corresponding colors. I tried pushing every button, then pulled my card out and tried again. Same deal.

I did this 5 times, then tried a different card. Same thing. Disgusted, I headed off to my case with no cash (and no coffee, grrr...). I asked the folks in the lab if they've ever had troubles with the machine. No, no one else ever had that issue. I figured the damn thing was malfunctioning and someone would probably be fixing it.

6 hours later, I tried one more time before I left the hospital. Same thing. As I pulled out my card to leave, a light bulb went on. I swear, there had to be one above my head!!

I put my card back in, entered the PIN, and USED THE TOUCH SCREEN. Voila!! Money!! (giant forehead slap) Some days I'm just so blonde it hurts.

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There I was, commuting (hate it!), warily watching the bumper-riding teenage driver behind me as she held her phone in one hand and twirled her hair with her other. I had my escape route all planned out like a good driver. I pulled up to a stoplight, braced for the impact, and when it didn't come I turned my attention to the car in front of me.

Crud. Why did I do that? I now have one of those brain-eating questions that Lewis Black talks about. The one you will NEVER learn the answer to:

"...when from behind me, a woman of 25 uttered the dumbest thing I'd ever heard in my life ... She said, 'If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.'

I'll repeat that.

I'll repeat that because that's the kind of sentence that when you hear it, your brain comes to a screeching halt. And the left hand side of the brain looks at the right hand side and goes, 'It's dark in here. And we may die.'

She said, 'If it weren't for my horse...' as in, giddy up, giddy up, let's go -

'I wouldn't have spent that year in college...' a degree-granting institution.

Don't! Don't think about that sentence for more than three minutes, or blood'll shoot out your nose. The American medical profession doesn't know why we get an aneurysm. It's when a blood vessel bursts in our head for no apparent reason.

There's a reason.

You're at the mall one day, and somebody over there says the dumbest thing you've ever heard and it goes in your ear. So you turn around to see if your friends heard it, 'cause if your friends heard it, and you can talk about what the jackass said, then it'll be gone. But your friends are over here, pretending they're gonna buy a cellular phone, and they're not gonna buy a cellular phone, because they don't even understand how the rate structure works.

So you turn back, to find the person who said it, because if you can ask 'em a question like, 'WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU TALKIN' ABOUT?!' ...then it'll go away. But they're gone.

And now those words are in your head. And those words don't go away.

'Cause the way I see it, 7% of our brains functions all the time, because 99% of everything that happens is the same old stuff. We get it. All right. Move on. Get it. Right.

But every so often, somethin' like that happens:

'If it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't have spent that year in college.'

So your brain goes, 'LET'S FIGURE IT OUT! Son of a Bitch! I wonder what that's about?!!'

I wonder, was she riding the horse to school? No, she wouldn't be riding the horse to school.

Maybe it was a polo pony? She had a Polo Pony Scholarship.

Maybe she sold the horse and that's how she...?

....She was betting on the horse!

WHAT THE F**K!!!!

And then you realize that anybody who went to college would never SAY anything that stupid in public...and as soon as you have that thought, your eyes close...

And the next morning they find you dead in your bathroom."

(The White Album, 2000)

Pardon Lewis' language, he claims that F**K is his "thinking word;" you know, instead of "like...uhm..." Much more colorful.

Anywho, back to my own personal brain-eating question. The license plate in front of me reads:

PONYETR

No, I did not type that incorrectly. That's what it read. Phonetically, that would be "poh-nee-eet-uhr"

I'll let that eat your brain for a moment.

U crazy yet?

Because I'm going freakin' NUTS.

So my brain is running wild. The car is a recent model Buick LeSabre - and the guy driving is about 75 years old (I can see his white combover through the rear windshield). He's turning into Wal-Mart. So what's with PONYETR? Is it his last name? Unlikely. Is it some kind of vulgarity? That's a long shot.

So does he, literally, eat ponies? Like horse meat? Doesn't seem likely that its something a person would feel the need to advertise on a license plate.

Gathering speed, my mind downshifts and hits the accelerator. Now it's spewing other license plates that follow this theme (for my non-US readers: the standard US license plate is 7 letters and/or numbers):

Jeffrey Dahmer's plate: MANEATR (would also work for Hall & Oates)

Drunken Sot: BEEFETR (or a rampant carnivore)

Lord Voldemort: DETHETR

Dementor: MINDETR

Hunger Striker: NONEATR

Vegan: VEGEATR

Insert your favorite food here: PIG- COW- CHIK- FISH- ETR

Deity on earth: SUNEATR, MOONETR, STARETR,

Vampire: BLUDETR

Anorexic: UNDRETR

Demon: SOULETR

Foot Fanatic: ODORETR

Obese Driver: UBERETR

Always Wrong: CROWETR

STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!!!!! GAAAAAHHH!!!

I finally got the brakes applied and my brain skidded to a screeching halt. I had to find something that I could accept as reasonable so I could sweep this issue under my mental rug and move on.

So here it is: my backstory to the shiny black LeSabre with grandpa behind the wheel and the license plate proclaiming: PONYETR.

So this old guy saved all his money when he was a young man to buy a muscle car, say a Dodge Charger. He used to drag race the thing, and his biggest competition was a guy driving a Ford Mustang. As a cocky gesture, he went out and got himself a license plate that read PONYETR, and he's never been able to let it go since it makes him feel young.

Either that, or that was his nickname in WWII.

Any thoughts on this one?

White Noise

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

ABCs of Me, a meme

Saw this on Tiffany's blog, and decided it sounded fun!!

A:Accent: I'm from the Midwest, where absence of accent is well-documented. Rumor has it that news anchors and the like are heavily recruited from this area for just that reason.
B:Breakfast or no Breakfast: I could skip it everyday. I'm not hungry when I wake up. I usually make myself eat something just because I know I will get busy later and I hate to be starving by lunchtime.
C:Chore I hate: Cleaning the floors. JeepMan does all the vacuuming, God love him. But I get the kitchen/bathroom floors. Around the toilet is the worst. Two males in the house, need I say more?
D:Dog or Cat: Don't have either, but someday, a DOG.
E:Essential Electronics: My laptop and my Treo. Can't do my job without it. And I'm addicted to Bubble Breaker - how lame is that?
F:Favorite Perfume: Pink Sugar by Aquolina for everyday, Donna Karan Gold for special occasions. On him? Tuscany por Homme
G:Gold or Silver: Gold shows off my skin tone best, but I like silver too.
H:Handbag I carry most often: Whatever I found that season at Kohl's. I only buy one per season, then use it up and get rid of it. Not a purse person.
I:Insomnia: Used to get it worse than now. I think I'm just perpetually exhausted now!
J:Job Title: "Professional Education Specialist"
K:Kids: Two: Lulu, 4 and Plato, 7. Gifts from heaven.
L:Living Arrangement: Home with the kiddos and hubby!
M:Most admirable trait: I'm a good listener.
N:Naughtiest childhood behavior: Picking on my sister.
O:Overnight Hospital Stays: Yes. Several. Quite the experience for a nurse!
P:Phobias: Heights - more specifically, falling.
Q:Quote: "'Some stories', she'd say, 'the more you tell them, the faster you use them up. Those kind, the drama burns off, and every version, they sound more silly and flat. The other kind of story, it uses you up. The more you tell it, the stronger it gets. Those kind of stories only remind you how stupid you were. Are. Will always be.'" Chuck Palahniuk, Haunted
R:Reason to smile: Don't have a reason NOT to smile. I live a blessed life.
S:Siblings: One little sister (2 years younger) who I am fortunate to get to call my best friend. She's an amazing woman.
T:Time I wake up: Different every day; when I'm not working I like to sleep till about 9am.
U:Unusual Talent or skill: I'm pathetically usual and non-talented.
V:Vegetable I refuse to eat: Raw or undercooked onion. It's a texture thing.
W:Worst Habit: Picking my fingernails, especially in social situations. I think it's genetic - my mom and sister do it too.
X:X-rays: I work around them every day. I've had a few taken of me on purpose too.
Y:Yummy Stuff: Crab legs, chocolate, sushi, cookies, pecan pie...where do I stop? I LOVE food.
Z:Zoo animal I like the most: Sea lions, I could watch them swim around all day.

Fun Quiz

Here's a fun one - I love english and grammar, and detest improper usage, at least for myself. It's part of my compulsiveness. Here's a great test; it covers many of the usual grammatical foibles:

Your result for The Commonly Confused Words Test...

English Genius

You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly! Way to go!

Take The Commonly Confused Words Test at HelloQuizzy

Enjoy, and let me know how you do!!

The Cop-Out Post

Since I haven't posted lately, and can't make my brain think anything creative OR coherent right now...and since I'm feeling guilty about it, I've decided to post someone else's funny tonight. I don't know who authored this (I got it in an email), and can't give due credit, but it IS creative and funny, and will have to do for now:

DISCOVERY OF THE HEAVIEST ELEMENT

Research has led to the discovery of the heaviest element yet known to science. The new element, Governmentium (Gv), has one neutron, 25 assistant neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons, and 198 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.

These 312 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton-like particles called peons.

Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert; however, it can be detected, because it impedes every action with which it comes into contact. A minute amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction that would normally take less than a second to take from four days to four years to complete. Governmentium has a normal half-life of 2-6 years; it does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and deputy neutrons exchange places. In fact, Governmentium's mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause more morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes.

This characteristic of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as "critical morass."

When catalyzed with money, Governmentium becomes Administratium, an element that radiates just as much energy as Governmentium since it has half as many peons but twice as many morons.

Thank you, thank you. More later. Next week I might be home for 3 whole weekdays! Yay!

On a vaguely related note, I am thrilled to hear of Penelope's latest idea: What The Crap Wednesdays. Now there's something I can run with! I'll be sure to announce when she has it up and running!

Under-Britches (A TMI Story)

Home for a 3 day weekend; ahhh, bliss. Lots of hubby-time, and lots of kid-time.

It's funny, when I'm home for a few days the kids stick to me like hot bubblegum to the bottom of a shoe...except, unlike bubblegum on my shoe, I kind of like clingy kids.

They follow me everywhere. I dare not turn around abruptly for fear of clothes-lining one of them or body-checking them into a corner or doorknob!

One place I do miss my alone-ness is in the bathroom. We've never been even remotely modest at our home, which may freak some of you out, but that's just us. Bathroom doors are seldom, if ever, closed. I think nothing of a kid in my face telling me about her school-day while I'm trying to (insert bowel-movement euphemism here), then suddenly grabbing her own nose, screwing up her face, and breathing a nasally "Phew, Mommy, turn on the fan!"

This immodesty doesn't just apply to bathroom duties. We change clothes in front of each other and the kids, too. We don't have shame about our bodies, and we don't want our kids to have it either. My kids have seen just about every part of me, and they're comfortable with that. Consequently they have few qualms about where they put their hands. We respect each others' "privates," (Lulu calls them 'part-ments'), but "privates" is a pretty exclusive term in our house; essentially confined to what's squarely between our legs.

We are a very physically close family, too. Cuddle time is whenever we can. Plato, now seven, unbashedly crawls into my lap and snuggles right in whenever the mood strikes him. I rarely restrict cuddling. I mean, how long are they going to want to do that? I'm taking and giving whatever I can while they're still receptive! As we cuddle, I gently tickle their skin, rub their backs and their feet, stroke their hair, inhale their scent, and kiss their foreheads. They like to reciprocate, offering me kisses and hugs, and tickling and stroking my torso. They especially love my breasts. Sorry if you think that's weird, too. Really, when you think honestly about it, why wouldn't they? A mother's bosom is a soft, comforting place to rest your head; a primitive tie to your first days on this earth and blissful pure love. Heck, there have been times in my adulthood where I think it would be perfectly lovely just to rest my head against my own mother's bosom while she strokes my hair back from my forehead.

But I digress. The point is, my kids like to rest their heads on my chest, and in doing so, occasionally absentmindedly run their hands over my bosom. It reminds me of the gesture of an infant, when breastfeeding. It doesn't bother me, especially if it is truly an absentminded gesture. I do sometimes become uncomfortable with it, mostly if they are fixating on it or trying to push my buttons (no pun intended *snerk*). I'll eventually have to draw the line; "OK, those are Mommy's boobs. Everybody off!! Mommy needs some personal space!"

So this afternoon, Plato and Lulu were following me around. I had gotten undressed from my work clothes and was getting ready to change into something more comfortable. I got down to my bra and underwear, and as I often do, just flopped facedown on the bed for a minute to relax. Of course the monkeys took that as their cue to climb all over me and smother me with kisses and hugs. Sweet, right? Well, Lulu was doing the huggy/kissy thing, but I realized that Plato was rubbing my butt! I was wearing a shiny satin, ...ah, 'control garment,' and he appeared to be enjoying the way it felt, smooth over the vast expanse of my squishy gluteii maximii. I looked back over my shoulder and said, "Hey! Plato! Um, what are you DOING?"

He looked up at me and said, "Mom, are these slaps?"

"What? Slaps?"

He did a thorough mental word-search, absently rubbing his hand in circles on my butt cheek. "I mean Smacks... Are they Smacks?"

Slaps. Smacks... Ahhh, (light bulb!) I get it. "No honey, they're called 'Spanx.' And you can stop rubbing my butt now."

He grinned his little two-front-teeth-missing mischevious smile and told me, "I LIKE Spanx. They feel slippery."

Well, as long as he doesn't want to wear them himself, I guess it's all good for now.
















Why, oh why, do they have skinny bitches model this stuff? You and I both know
they don't wear 'em!!

Hey! The Wal-Mart generic rip-off product could be called:

Skanx

Where Were You When....?

I watched the movie "World Trade Center" today. I remember when the movie came out, I couldn't watch it because it seemed to be "too soon," and I wsan't sure I could handle the intensity.

Well, the intensity was still there, but the edge was off enough for me to get something out of the movie. It was sad of course, yet the movie strove to focus on the positive aspects resulting from the tragic situation. I am glad I watched the movie, all in all.

It got me thinking. 9/11 was one of the defining events of my lifetime. I remember down to tiny details that September morning. Plato had just turned 6 weeks old. He was colicky and slept very little. I was incredibly sleep deprived, and had sent JeepMan off to work that morning planning to try to squeeze in a little more sleep before Plato started screaming. As usual, it wasn't to be, and I got up, changed his diaper, got him a bottle, and sat down in the recliner just before 9 am to feed him. I turned on the television and started flipping channels. It wasn't long before I came across a news channel with that eternal image: Tower 1, rising up against the clear blue sky, black smoke billowing from the upper floors and the occasional lick of orange flame appearing momentarily. I squinted my bleary eyes as my brain tried to process what I was seeing. I flipped to another news station, then another, and another, unable to process what I was seeing. Soon I watched the second plane hit Tower 2, and at that point the phone rang: JeepMan asking if I was up and if I could believe what was happening. Reality struck at that moment: I couldn't deny what was going on if another living person was sharing my bafflement.

I picked up Plato, cuddled him close, and paced the floor. Soon thePentagon was hit, then Tower 2 collapsed, then the plane crashed in Pennsylvania, then Tower 1. I couldn't stand it anymore. I turned the television off and danced around the living room holding Plato tight and singing him songs from the "O Brother Where Art Thou?" soundtrack: "I'll Fly Away," "You Are My Sunshine," "Didn't Leave Nobody But The Baby," "Down To The River To Pray," "Keep On The Sunny Side," "Angel Band," "I Am Weary (Let Me Rest);" for months I listened to these songs over and over again. I still listen to them frequently; sounds from another era, heart-wrenching, bittersweet, optimistic, and spiritual...they can still remind me that despite great tragedy, we move on.

Remembering 9/11 sparked other memories:

The Challenger crash: I watched it in 6th grade, and despite the tragedy, I don't recall being terribly moved. A combination of my youth and the fact that I was watching TV, I suppose. The enormity of it didn't hit me until I started hearing the backstories of the astronauts.

OJ Simpson - the Chase: Out on a date with Hubby at a seedy little bar. Buzzing nicely, wondering what the heck all the cops were doing chasing down a white Bronco that was only going about 20 mph.

OJ Simpson - the Verdict: This was a scary one. I was doing a psych nursing rotation for school. My assigned ward was the schizophrenia ward and they were doing medical trials which involved taking patients off their meds for weeks (med-washing), then getting brain scans and re-working their medication regimen. So I was sitting in the commons of a locked psych wards with about 15 non-medicated schizophrenic patients when I heard those dreaded words, "Not Guilty."

Princess Diana's death: working nights at my first ICU job. Not a very busy night, and we took turns checking the patients while the rest of the staff sat in an empty patient room watching the scene unfold.

There are probably other defining moments, but these are the ones that come to mind.

Do you remember where you were?

(pssst...if you're trying to calculate my age, I'll make it easy for you: I'm 35)

Welcome Back, Mr. Fraser

I saw Journey to the Center of the Earth last weekend.

The movie was what I expected....




...y'all KNOW I didn't go for the story, right?

Mr. Cutiepants Brendan Fraser starred, playing his usual hunky/quirky role. That was all I really went to see. JeepMan was quite content with watching his lovely costar, Anita Briem.

After the show his only complaint was his usual: "It would have been better if I'd gotten to see her nipples. How can she have a white T-shirt on and be all wet and I don't get to see any nipples?" I kept my sentiments to myself....

I got to see nipples.

Brendan Fraser's nipples.

Oh, they were covered with a wet t-shirt, but I ain't complaining.

And it only gets better. Next month, The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor.

Yeah, that's right. Come to Mama, Brendan...

Cringeworthy

There are a lot of things that make me cringe.

My 7-year old one-arming a half-full pot of coffee 'cause Dad talked him into getting him a refill (SOO not gonna happen again; I've BEEN in burn units...).

Singing the words to Nickelback's "Animals." Out loud. Even without the kids in the car!

Listening to my kids sing all the words to "Rock Star." (mom of the year, I tell ya!)

Stepping on the bathroom scale.

Being buzzed by one of our local nasty big-ass-wasps, the Cicada Killer:

**shiver** I know they're "docile," but still...

Anyway, in my frequent travels of late, I have encountered two separate cringeworthy moments that that are similar enough to be addressed in one category: the morbidly obese person trying to squeeze into a small seat.

Truthfully, I don't know what makes me cringe more, thinking about what must be going through the mind of the person trying to squeeze in, or trying to imagine what it must be like to have to tell this person to give it up.

I was on a flight recently where the woman who checked in at the ticket counter before me had requested an exit-row seat. I know her motivation: exit row seats often have more legroom. Unfortunately, they do not have anymore width. In a perfect world, the ticketing agent would have kindly had the woman review the specs of exit-row seat responsibilities, which specifically include that the exit-row passenger must not present an obstacle to the accessibility of the exit. This woman, at around 5'4" and 375#, clearly presented an obstacle. Yet I am sure that she was just thinking of her own comfort when requesting this seat assignment.

We boarded the flight, and the woman tried heroically to wedge herself into the seat AND fasten her seatbelt. The flight attendant came along and gave the customary "do you accept the responsibilities of the exit row assignment and are you willing to help others in case of emergency?" All replied in the affirmative.

Here, I am compelled to digress. Briefly. I sit in exit rows frequently. I answer "yes" to the above questions. I lie. If there is a need to actually use the exit rows, I will be plowing over everyone I can to save my own ass. 'Cause I don't like flying. And I especially don't like flying under dubious or dangerous conditions. Use of the emergency exit assumes that dubious or dangerous conditions have occurred or are imminent. 'Nuff said.

So anyhow, I overheard the flight attendants having a whisper-argument. The one who lost (presumably) approached the woman and tried to discreetly explain to her that she was, in fact, and obstacle, and would have to be reseated. The woman pried herself out of her seat and switched places with a thin passenger, and kept her dignity as best she could. Inside, I was cringing for her. And the flight attendant.

Similarly, I was recently at the local amusement park and watched a woman of comparable dimensions (as above) try to ride a rollercoaster with her daughter of about 8. Rollercoaster rides are simply not for large people, unless they are the type where you sit on a bicycle-type seat and are held in by an over-the-shoulder harness. Our local amusement park is not that fancy. We have traditional trains-on-tracks coasters, which require the riders to fit into seats that are made for non-childbearing hips. Men, kids, and skinny bitches.

Did I say that?

The point is, my hips squeeze uncomfortably into most of these rides. I am not fat. Maybe a little fluffy, and I have had two children, but seriously. These rides make me feel sort of like a foot in a shoe that could stand to be about half a size bigger. This poor woman was more comparable to a pair of DD's trying to fit into one of those cute C-cup bras.

Ya. So not gonna happen. I speak from firsthand experience.

Gotta give it to her, she was persistent. She was able to somehow feign that she had managed to maneuver more than one buttock into the space provided, but seatbelts and lap-bars don't lie. Or forgive. The ride attendant had to inform her that not only could she not ride, but that her child was too short to ride without an adult. The poor kid was taken out of the seat and placed in a car with a single adult rider (read: stranger). If it had been me as a kid, I would have freaked. This child looked irritated, yet strangely nonplussed. I suppose it wasn't the first time. Which is cringeworthy in and of itself.

At any rate, this is not an opinion piece. Please don't be offended. I see both sides, which is really why I cringe in the first place.

Happy Harry's and a Meme

Okay, first the meme. This is an easy one, and a copout 'cause I don't really have a lot of inspiration right now. The assignment is to show everyone your workspace, i.e. where you blog. Here's mine:

You'll notice the empty cereal bowl and the extra-comfy chocolate leather chair. And my "pile system" of organization.

To the left of this organized mess is JeepMan's desk. Here's a pic of it:

Much cleaner than mine, but the chair's not as comfy. Frequently I find he has annexed my chair and I have to reclaim it.

What's that you say? There's a monkey in that chair? Sleeping?

Why, my word! The chair must be comfy after all. I'll have to tell JeepMan that. Lulu likes to get up after she goes to bed and come snuggle me. Usually I'm in my bed, but this night I was up late working. She didn't even ask to get up in my lap, just crawled into JM's chair and fell asleep. What a darn cutie.

So on to the first part of my title.

I'm having problems with my phone. I keep getting voicemails, and the freakin' thing never rings. Not good since it's my business phone and it's sort of important to be available to my accounts. I'll be having a chat with Verizon soon to see if we can work something out.

In the meantime I'm on voicemail patrol. Today I got a weird one. It was an automated message, and as is often the case, only the tail-end gets recorded. This one was a robot woman saying, "....and as always, we thank you for choosing Happy Harry's for all your pharmacy needs."

Uhm. Meh? What the heck was that? My first thought was, "ok, who's stolen my credit card number and buying male enhancement pills?" So I quickly checked my credit card websites, and no pharmaceutical purchases. Then I got to thinking, what kind of voicemail spam is this? I tentatively googled "Happy Harry's" on my (work) computer, dreading the onslaught of questionable sites that were sure to pop up (ha!). To my surprise, the first page of hits were an actual pharmacy in Delaware (the ph# matched and everything), which has been absorbed by the giant Walgreen's. Check it out: Happy Harry's.

New Avatar

So many of y'all do it, so here goes. I'm ditching my avatar for a real, recent pic of me because: a) I'm not working as a nurse anymore (though I do still wear scrubs...whew! I wouldn't want to have to change the name of my blog too!), and b) I think it's nice to have a visual of others on the internet.

I have to give Travis some props over at his blog with his latest post about what I can only describe as book "trailers," video clips manufactured to get your attention and hopefully boost sales of books. My comment on this idea was as follows:

As a reader, not an author, this idea appeals to me NOT ONE IOTA. I don't want some video clip to taint the story I am about to read. I don't want to be stuck with someone else's images of the characters, settings, voices, etc. It's the same reason I rarely ever see a movie based on a book without reading the book first. Then, and only then, I am free to be entertained and amused at how someone else's version of what I read was SO different than what I came up with myself.I want to approach a new read as a clean slate, a newborn babe, not with any preconceived notions. That, my friend, takes all the fun out of it for me.

His post got me thinking, what do people think I look like? My faithful readers must have some preconceived notion of what I look like.

So tell me, how do I match up to your mental images?

Extra Credit

I'm doing a Meme that I wasn't tagged for.

What's that, you say? Why? Well, because it seemed like easy and fun material, and I have blogger's-block right now. Here are the rules:

1. The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player then tags 5-6 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read the player’s blog.
4. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve posted your answer.

A Meme about Various Things

What were you doing ten years ago?
Working nights at a small hospital in the ICCU (Intensive and Coronary Care Unit), enjoying the ups and downs of newlyweddedness (it'll be 12 years this summer!), living across the street from my lovely sister, eating without guilt, drinking without remorse, just being 25 - ah, those were awesome times, man...

What are five things on your to-do list for today (not in any particular order):
-Get my butt out of bed (a seriously monumental task - I LOVE sleeping)
-Take the family to an amusement park and hope it isn't too crowded this early in the season.
-Stuff the kids with expensive, greasy, sugary amusement park food.
-Pray they don't throw up.
-Ride the crazy rides with Plato until he's so exhausted he can hardly walk...aww, who am I kidding? I'll poop out before he does!

What are some snacks you enjoy?
I'm not a big snacker. Maybe I should be. We don't keep much snack-y food in the house. If my house were a grocery store, I would have to go with almonds, cheese, and/or chocolate (good quality DARK).

What would you do if you were a billionaire?
Probably drop dead on the spot.
If not, and after my stint in the ICU for heart arrythmia, amnesia, and delusions of grandeur...well, I'd quit my job, buy several "Vacation" homes in various appealing places (Colorado, Montana, Georgia, California, Florida and Washington), upgrade my home here in CollegeVille, hire the best two nannies I could find (one for each kid), a fleet of housekeepers, a personal chef and a personal ass-kicker trainer, and a chauffeur. I'd build a ginormous, self-contained outbuilding and fill it a variety of offroad toys for JeepMan, along with lessons for him from an offroad pro. I'd become a master gardener and sommelier, get back in touch with my artistic/creative roots and probably find some time to actually attempt to write a book. I would also find myself an apprenticeship with a cake decorating guru and in my spare time pursue a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.
Finally, I would put as much money as I could spare into passing legislation against Big Oil and Big Drug Companies.
Uh,Dude? I think I'm gonna need another billion...

What are three of your bad habits?
Only Three? Mmmkay:
1. I frequently start tasks and forget to finish them. Seriously. Like I'm folding clothes in the bedroom, go to put the towels away, see that one of the kids left a fork in the bathroom (ponder fleetingly why there might be a fork in the bathroom), walk into the kitchen, open the pantry by involuntary habit, spy my Guittard Dark Chocolate Chips, decide some chocolate-chip cookies sound yummy.......... and hours later when it's time to go to bed realize that a half-folded pile of laundry is still in the middle of the bed. ADD or early Alzheimer's? Who knows, but it drives JeepMan crazy.
2. I talk with my hands. A lot. While driving. Or eating. It has led to many a spilled item in a restaurant, and many a JeepMan admonishment: "Will you keep at least one hand on the wheel for God's sake? Sheesh!"
3. I pick my nails. Finger- and Toe-. Uck, I know. Hey, at least I don't chew them.

What are five places where you have lived?
I have lived in 3 cities in one state. Do the dorms count?

What are five jobs you have had?
-Professional Education Specialist for 3D intracardiac navigational system and related products.
-RN, Electrophyisiology Lab, Cardiac Cath Lab, Cardiovascular Intensive Care Unit, Intensive and Coronary Care Unit (in order of recent to past)
-Waitress, local pub and pizza joint (if it had benefits, I'd still be there...)
-Grocery Store Cashier
-Detasseling Crew Leader (as in corn, y'all)

What were the last five books you read?
Right Now: Absolute Fear by Lisa Jackson - my first read by her (I'm still, meh)
The Ruins by Scott Smith (v. good)
A Simple Plan by Scott Smith (v. v. good)
Bite by Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, Angela Knight, Vickie Taylor (anthology) (good)
More Twisted by Jeffrey Deaver (short stories) (good)
...up next is Danse Macabre by Laurell K. Hamilton; hopefully her Anita Blake series is on the upswing - that's the rumor, anyhow.

For grins, and because I'm feeling wild n' crazy, I'll add another question:

What's your favorite guilty-secret junk food?
It's a toss-up for me: between Totino's Pizza Rolls (supreme), Ichiban Ramen Noodles (Miso), and Lipton Noodles and Sauce (stroganoff). I know, I'm weird. I'm a total closet carb-salt-fat junkie!!

Not gonna tag anyone....if anyone wants to do it, I'll link you here - just let me know!

Third Place!!

I'm so excited...I got Third Place over at OxyJen's blog for her "Happy 100" writing contest.

I'm thrilled for the recognition, and that I was able to meet the challenge. The challenge was to make up a story using exactly 100 words. It's tougher than you might think! 100 words isn't a lot to tell an actual story. Here is my entry:

----------------
Frank never thought he'd see the day.

Here he was, face-to-face with his childhood nemesis. The bully who'd extorted his lunch money, planted stink-bombs in his locker, and fabricated rumors about Frank's sexuality that plagued his high school years.

Frank slid into the seat opposite the man, setting down his sharkskin briefcase, loosening his Armani tie.

He cleared his throat. "Don't I know you?"

A blank stare. The briefest flicker of horrified recognition, squelched instantly into contrived dispassion. "...I don't think so."

It was all Frank needed. He settled back, snapped open the Wall Street Journal.

"Black polish. Make 'em shine."

-------------

Inspired, as my faithful followers have already surmised, by my frequent Airport excursions of late.

I've added a few to my blogroll from OxyJen's site, check 'em out if you have the time. I picked the ones that are my personal kind of blogs.