One is the Lonliest Number, But...

You Are the Investigator

5 You're independent - and a logical analytical thinker. You love learning and ideas... and know things no one else does. Bored by small talk, you refuse to participate in boring conversations. You are open minded. A visionary. You understand the world and may change it.

What number are you?

You're a Shining Star

You Are From the Sun

Of all your friends, you're the shining star. You're dramatic - loving attention and the spotlight. You're a totally entertainer and the life of the party. Watch out! The Sun can be stubborn, demanding, and flirty. Overall, you're a great leader and great friend. The very best!

What Planet Are You From?

Summary

I feel like I'm in school, writing about what I did over the holidays or whatever. I feel like I should have a Bic pen in hand, writing in a marble composition book. I always hated those books. You couldn't tear out the pages without one from the other side popping out. They need to perforate those pages already.

So what did I do over this Thanksgiving holiday? What didn't I do? Ok, ok. I'll tell you what I did. We had the get-together on Friday instead of Thursday. We figured it'd be easier. More time to get shit together, clean the house, cook, etc and everyone could come because all of their plans for Thanksgiving would be on, well, Thanksgiving.

We outsmarted ourselves. Again. Oh, everyone could come, alright. We had over 20 people in the house. Our small house. It was positively claustrophobic up in here. But I'm rushing ahead of myself...

Thursday: The day we'd clean, do some last minute shopping and bake and cook what we could ahead of time. Well, we got a bit lazy. We were watching a movie-- I forget what movie-- and everytime I'd suggest doing something, I was hushed. Then we went out on a search for a coffee urn. We suddenly really needed one. Couldn't find one. All stores closed at 5 P.M. I made my cake-thing, an apple pie, cranberry sauce, this beet dish my father and uncle love, and steamed some sweet potatoes for my mom. I also gave my cousin's wife a haircut. She got a seriously catastrophic haircut from some inept moron. It was bad. Really bad. I told her she'd need several more haircuts to get rid of that one. It was that bad.

Friday: The big day. Did a lot of running around like crazy, cleaning, cooking, etc. Didn't get all of the house cleaned. Barely got my makeup on before everyone came. I didn't even get to do my own hair, but I did my mom's color and gave her a cut. I didn't even get to sit to eat. And I barely got to eat. My family is like a pack of vultures circling a wounded animal. They went back for fourths and fifths, screw seconds. My aunt brought her turkey. I wish she wouldn't. She can't cook. We had to peel a layer of meat away so we could get to the meat that you could actually eat. This is the aunt that served us the beige Thanksgiving one year. Everything was in varying shades of beige and it all tasted beige. Even the peas and carrots. The poor brownies..

Saturday: Shopping again. We were going to hit the sales. Got the kids some sweaters. I got the cd and movie. Love! Got back late and very tired. Ate what little leftovers that were missed by the vultures.

Sunday: More cleaning and the boy needed a haircut. I actually went to bed early, I was that exhausted.

To think, I get to do this all again on New Year's Eve. Lucky me.

Unnngh!

I know I say this often, but I'm tired.

I'm still recovering from this holiday weekend.

Thank god the kids go back to school tomorrow. Maybe I'll get a nap or something.

Still busy...

Wee! Shopping. Boo! Broke. I bought tons of crap, including the new Harry Potter. Must watch. Also bought that Gwen Stefani cd. The limited edition one that comes with a cd case an' stuff. Very nifty. I always have to buy the limited edition cds.

Gotta go. Want to see the movie.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz...

So sleepy. Too much food. Party good. Talk tomorrow.

Maybe. Sales tomorrow. Must shop.

So tired.

Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving!

In honor of this most wonderous holiday, in which we celebrate how we conquered another people's land by slaughtering them and giving them disease with lots of turkey and stuffing, I will once again show my hand turkey.

Have a good one!

I Am an Angel!

See? Someone somewhere believes that I'm good and I've got proof!

I feel vindicated!

Busy Bee

It's been crazy this week and will only get crazier over the next few days. I have a ton of things to do before our Friday Thanksgiving event. There will be over 20 people in our house. What have I gotten myself into? Not only that, but I'm a hair stylist in demand for various family members. So between Thanksgiving preparattions-- you see why we decided on Friday instead?-- I'll be giving haircuts and applying color.

Here's to my sanity. Let's hope I can keep it!

The Dangerous World of Bikes

Fantastic essay written by Pamie.

The second accident reminds me of something that happened to my daughter. I went to pick her up from school one day and she had this awful scrape on her face, just under her left eye. I was horrified. What the hell happened to my precious child? The teacher timidly approached me and said, "This happened at recess. She came to me crying and when I asked what happened, she told me that she tripped on nothing and caught herself with her face." Unlike the normal parent, I cracked up.

That was my child. Unintentionally funny and terribly clumsy. But now with a scraped face. Luckily, the scab fell off and left no scarring behind. For weeks, I was given accusing looks-- as if I had taken a cheese grater or something to my child's face, the morons-- and she was given looks of pity, mixed with digust (the scrape was not pretty!).

Since then, my darling daughter, the apple of my eye, has fallen numerous times. Mostly for no reason whatsoever. She'll be standing one minute and on the floor the next-- sometimes all without having taken a step-- shouting to us all, "I'm ok! Just fell!"

"I'm ok! Just fell!" is like a mantra around my house. We're all rather clumsy people. I, myself, have a tendency to walk into walls, counters, coffee tables, and doors. I'm covered with bruises. When I was married, I was asked if my husband was abusive. I laughed and replied, "No but the kitchen counter and that door jam are!"

It's inherited. A family trait. On my mom's side we're all crazily clumsy and gracefully bumbling. You should see family reunions. We'll pull off one amazingly graceful move only to trip over the chair leg and slam into the wall corner. We don't even notice it when it happens anymore. I can't recall how I got my bruises. I had a particularly livid one on my leg recently. I noticed it when shaving and later pointed it out to my mom. Her reply? "Heh.. Must've run into something really hard.." Mine? "I guess... I wonder what?" And then we both shrug and show off other bruises to each other. They've become badges of honor, of a sort.

I won't even get into the scars...

Hee!

RetroCrush reviews a children's toy catalog.

My favorite?

Is your young child confused about their sexuality? Why not get them some stackable rainbow sculptures and let them figure it out for themselves (comes with complimentary bottle of mineral water).

I love the Heathers reference!

The Blue's Clues Obsession

My kids were once very obsessed, like most little kids, with Blue's Clues. Even now, though they would never admit it to their friends, they still sometimes watch it. Even if it isn't as good with Joe as it was with Steve. I saw Steve more than I saw most people. I knew I was watching too much Blue's Clues when I began crushing on the man. Yes, I know their names. What's your point?

Like any child obsessed with a show, they began to covet the toys bearing the show's name. And like any evil childless relative, or evil parent on a revenge kick, my uncle bought them this toy. Oh, yes, it's cute, certainly. It's educational, too. And wholesome. Yes, all that. But it's noisy. It's a cute, bloody noisy toy. But, luckily, my kids eventually got bored with it and it was thrown in the toy box, never to be played with again. Or so I thought..

My cat somehow found the toy. He's become obsessed with it. He whines and makes you play it for him. If you don't, he gets nasty and nips you until you do play it. So I'm held hostage by my cat, forced to play a noisy toy for his amusement.

Now I'm sure there's a god and he's got one sick sense of humor.

Conscience? Morals? HA!

I'm a bad mommy.

I showed my daughter the new Gwen Stefani video, What You Waiting For, purposely to get her hooked. Why? So I'd have an excuse to buy the cd. Because I really want that cd. Did I mention how much I love her for the Alice theme? I do. I really do. They should make more videos like Alice in Wonderland. All I had before this was Tom Petty's Don't Come Around Here No More. I still love that video. It inspired my room makeover when I was a teen.

While I'm still on the subject of videos... Another one of my favorite videos is Nine Inche Nails' The Perfect Drug video. There's much rocking of socks going on there. It reminds me very much of an Edward Gorey book. So much goodness.

I'm a bit too in love with children's books, I think.

Meow

You are a Siamese! You are fun-loving, playful,
energetic, talkative, and exotic. You are the
center of attention and you love every minute
of it.


What breed of cat are you?
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Grrr..

I had a good long post about the upcoming Thanksgiving festivities. No, it wasn't as boring as it sounds, but that doesn't matter since fucking Blogger ate the post. This has been happening too often and I'm getting seriously pissed off about it. I can't even save it as a draft, I keep getting these fucking errors and time-outs.

Fucking Blogger.

To breathe or not to breathe...

Is that even a question?

It started late last night. Woke me up from an already fitful sleep. My throat closing up, breath-- what little I could get-- wheezing in, panic rising. Even after all of these years, I still have that moment of panic. Is this my last breath? Can I even get my last breath? My hand, flinging out to my bedside table, feeling for my inhaler. The rest is automatic. Shaking the inhaler, exhaling (when I so desperately want to inhale), triggering off two shots, trying to slowly inhale them so I don't choke and wake everyone up. And I'm still shaken after my asthma attack, yes, even after all of these years. I lay back, trembling, clinging to my inhaler, trying to take slow, even breaths, and I know I won't sleep anymore. Not that night. I'm like a child still-- after all of these years-- waiting for the sunrise to wrap me up in its warmth, like a security blanket. Only when the sun is up do I feel safe enough to sleep.

It's been with me the whole day. The faint wheezing. My allergies are so awful, nothing is working. I should go to the doctor. I have no time to go to the doctor. The faint, niggling fear that I might just stop breathing.

I'm not afraid of death. I'm afraid of dying. The suffering. The realization that I am, indeed, dying.

When my asthma acts up like this, it feels like that. I'm dying.

I feel cheated. I work so hard at being healthy. I gave up smoking nearly 7 months ago, I eat lots of veggies, I cut way back on sugar and processed foods. I'm being a fucking saint here. And what do I get for it? The worst asthma attack I've had in years. Out-of-control allergies. The occasional nose bleed.

Just my luck, eh?

Mwahahaha!

You are Jack the Ripper. Yours were some of the
most brutal murders recorded in history--yet
your case is still to this day unsolved. You
came from out of the fog, killed violently and
quickly and disappeared without a trace. Then
for no apparent reason, you satisfy your blood
lust with ever-increasing ferocity, culminating
in the near destruction of your final victim,
and then you vanish from the scene forever. The
perfect ingredients for the perennial thriller.
You are quite the mysteriously demented?


Which Imfamous criminal are you?
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Doin' time at the kids' table...

There are two kinds of people in this world: people who like sitting at the kids' table and people who want to sit at the grown-ups' table.

I'm a kids' table person. I love it there. I never wanted to leave it and, in most cases, don't. The grown-up table is so boring. You have to sit properly and eat nicely and behave... Where's the fun in that? Sure, you get alcohol, if they're serving, but you can grab a glass on your way to the other table. And I'm not much of a wine person anyway.

One year, my uncle and I fought over a seat at the kiddie table. We made one of the kids go sit at the grown-up table because neither of us would give in. The kid-- one of my many cousins-- was thrilled until about 20 minutes into the meal. But, by then, it was mostly over and she just had to suck it up. To this day, she sits at the kiddie table. She learned her lesson the hard way, no one wants to sit there. Not really. We make the kids go to the grown-up table.

Because we can.

I've still got it!

I'm all super-hyper, tired and bored at the same time. So I drew. This is a big deal for me. I haven't really drawn much in years. Actually, to be exact, since the kids were born. So that's more than 8 years. Not to brag, but I was a talented little arteest. I had wonderful potential. I'm kinda pissed that I let the drawing/painting/sculpting fall to the wayside. I've been wanting to get back into drawing, but I'm seriously lacking in inspiration. I'm no longer the tortured artist, you know. I'm, ahem, happy. There, I said it! I'm happy. Happiness does not good art make. But I did a little sketch tonight. Well, not a sketch. It's quite detailed. A drawing. But it only took about 20 minutes-- not bragging, I'm a fast draw (hee!)-- so I don't really think of it as a drawing. Anyway, enough drawing it out, here it is.

It's an eye. I know. I have this-- the only way I can describe it is to call it a thing.. I have a thing for eyes. Some might say obsession, some might say fetish. I draw eyes. I like eyes. I have nice eyes, too.

So there it is. My latest. And y'all-- all two of you since The Brit has vanished-- are the first to see. Enjoy!

Baby, Baby

I'm teething.

Yes, I know I'm 29, but I'm teething. My wisdom teeth have been slowly making their way to the surface since I was 12. Yes, I know that's 17 years of surfacing. Maybe my teeth are a bit slow. Like short bus slow. They hurt a bit, then go back down, then come back up a bit, then go back down and basically make me crankier than usual. Lately, the past few years-- maybe 5 or so-- they've actually popped out. The last one is trying to make its was out. It fucking hurts and I want to gnaw on things and cry and, well, generally act like my cousin's teething baby.

It hurts! My whole head feels all sensitive. Actually, everything feels vaguely raw and painful. But my head hurts more than, say, my arm. And my jaw hurts most. And did I mention that it hurts? Because it hurts!

I want my dentist!

Daddy Dearest

Some people make me sick. I don't even know what to add to that except this: I hope they never have children ever again. And I hope they suffer. I want someone to break their bones. I want their bones to heal crooked. I want their bones to be broken again. Ad infinitum. I want every waking moment to be filled with pain for them. How can someone abuse a defenseless baby? It physically sickens me.

Easy as ABC?

I saw an interesting meme that I thought I'd try out. You have to list your favorite bands from A to Z. I don't even know if it's possible, but here goes...

A. Azure Ray
B. The Breeders
C. Cursive
D. Death Cab for Cutie
E. Eels
F. Fugazi
G. Goldfrapp
H. Kristin Hersh
I. Iron and Wine
J. The Jesus and Mary Chain
K. The Kelley Deal 6000
L. LeTigre
M. Modest Mouse
N. Nirvana
O. Of Montreal
P. The Pixies
Q. Queens of the Stone Age
R. Rasputina
S. Sleater-Kinney
T. Throwing Muses
U. The Unicorns
V. Violent Femmes
W. Wilco
X. Xiu Xiu
Y. Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Z. The Zombies

God, that was hard. X and Z are difficult. And with some letters, I had too many bands that I wanted to put down. It's hard limiting myself to just one. My brain hurts.

Good Golly!

The caffeine certainly has kicked in, no? I'm rather prolific tonight.

Nothing more to add. Just thought it needed to be said.

You can go now.

Maybe... Maybe not...

I'm getting a wee bit cranky where my father is concerned. The man is driving us all completely batshit insane.

First off, let me state that we always have Thanksgiving at our house. We invite a ton of relatives (we're talking about 15-20 something people, here) and my mom and I cook up a feast. All is good, all is happy. Why always us? We're the only ones in the family that can cook really, really well. I'm the one who makes sure that the turkey isn't dry-- something that no one else in this family is capable of, it would seem. That alone is worth the visit, I guess. And I'm the dessert queen. I don't make diet food. But I digress...

Every year we do Thanksgiving. It's just expected. It's how it's done. Then, this year, while my mom and I are discussing holiday preparations-- readying the battle stations and so forth-- my father grumps "We're not doing Thanksgiving." We ask why and get no definitive answer. Just a lot of wishy-washy babble that doesn't satisfy me. My mom clams up and gives me The Look when I argue (which is what I usually do. I'm the arguer/cage rattler/what have you.) and I grudgingly shut up.

Ok, that's not true. I never shut up. I know I should, but I can't help it. I did a lot of grumbling, glaring, pouting, etc. I made it clear that I would get my turkey, one way or another, dammit! I wanted my Thanksgiving dinner, family or no, and I was going to have it!! War had been declared. My mashed potatoes were at stake here, people! I had to fight! Then my mom got all clever/sneaky. She suggested to me that we have a family dinner on Friday and serve turkey and all of the usual Thanksgiving fare. Oh, yes, I love my mom's briliant, devious mind. I bow to the master!

Then, today, my father brings up Thanksgiving. My mom and I blink at him with complete "What the fuck..?" expressions on our faces. He tries to act all innocent, but I push (as usual) and he grumps "We're having Thanksgiving..and that's it!"

I give up.

Mania!

Armani Mania, that is. I got that lovely gift set today. It smells deliciously wonderful and I plan on using it often. Bedtime? Spritz! Opening a can of SpaghettiOs? Spritz! Everything is an event now.

Usually, I'm a Poison girl. People who hate the perfume love it on me. I love it. I want the whole line of Poison perfumes (Hypnotic, Tendre, and Pure). And I will eventually get them. But I wanted to try something new and that started with a new fragrance. First, I got various body sprays from Bath and Body Works-- which I love, but aren't as satisfying as a signature frangrance. I love signature fragrances-- hence, the Poison all throughout highschool and college.

Yes, in highschool. I was started early on designer fragrances, as mentioned in a previous post, with a Dior fragrance I can't place (and now I can't find the post! Meh!). So I was really into Poison for a long time. People knew it was me, they associated the fragrance with me, etc. Then, for a long time, I didn't wear perfumes. I just didn't have time for it being a new mom and all. When I moved back home, I got back into the perfume.

As I said, I did the body sprays for a while, but then I needed something more substantial. I got Estee Lauder's Beyond Paradise (love). I loved it so much that I got the big bottle. It's very nice and light and orchid-y. But It's more of a spring/summer fragrance. I needed something warmer. I'm happy to say that this new perfume fits that bill.

Now for my Poison collection... Oh, yes, I will have it!

By request...

I give you my interpretation of the very strange character thought up by a very strange friend...

Sam the Eyes

Now you owe us the backstory, J.

Why's everybody always pickin' on me?

Everybody says to me, YOU'RE A GOOD MAN, CHARLIE
BROWN!!! Baseball Games, Glee Club Rehersals,
and Beethoven Day dominates life. It's great
being a kid and not understanding adults.
You're dog loves you, and food of course, but
still you. And your friends, although they may
be harsh, still think very highly of you. Stay
being that good man you are, savor your
Happiness and write that Book Report on Peter
Rabbit...And that's my New Philosophy.


In Which New MUSICAL do You Belong? (13 Outcomes & Pictures!)
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Which David Lynch movie am I?

you are: eraserhead


Which David Lynch movie are you?
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Just call me Betty Crocker...

I'm so very tired. I spent the entire afternoon baking cookies. That in itself isn't tiring. But if you consider the fact that the oven is downstairs and the kitchen is on the main level? It's exhausting.

Ok, why is the oven downstairs? Because the oven up here is floofy. The broiler works, but nothing else does. To replace the coil, or whatever it is that needs to be replaced, would cost more than the oven is worth, so the 'rents got a new oven and put it down stairs. So if I want to bake, I'm running up and down constantly. Well, every ten minutes or so.

I started baking at noon and finished at 5:30. We've got so many cookies that it's sickening. I made chocolate pudding cookies with swirled chips, vanilla pudding cookies with semi-sweet chips, and these almond cookies with a chocolate ganache topping.

Why all of the cookies? Well, my family's muslim and their holiday is coming up. I thought I'd be nice and bake cookies for the family. I'm sorta without religion. Yes, I know, I'm going to hell. Whatever. I'll bring freshly baked cookies with me.

Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, and I'm From..

You Are From Mercury

You are talkative, clever, and knowledgeable - and it shows. You probably never leave home without your cell phone! You're witty, expressive, and aware of everything going on around you. You love learning, playing, and taking in all of what life has to offer. Be careful not to talk your friends' ears off, and temper your need to know everything.

What Planet Are You From?

Scaredy Cat

So my cat ran away last night. Yes, Monsieur Buttons took off. We usually let him sit in this little enclosed porche area we have because he likes to watch outside. He's very much a housecat. Anytime he's been outside, he's been freaked out. So considering his fear of the great outdoors and the lack of opposable thumbs-- which I like to taunt him about-- we figured he was safe out there. Not so..

He actually managed to slide open the sliding doors. Well, one of the sliding doors. We went out there to check up on him-- we leave the heavy door to the house slightly ajar so he can nose his way back in when he's bored out there-- and we found the door open just wide enough for him to squeeze through. My mom and I did what any mother would do, we tried to bring him back with promises of treats. He loves his snacks. (He's getting a bit fat, I need to back off of them. My cousin thought he was pregnant.) So the entire neighborhood heard this last night: "Booboo! Booboo wants his nummies? Nummies, Booboo! Booboo wants nummies?" Yes, we're grown, intelligent, functioning women and we were screaming out innanities like that. It's embarrassing. But I wanted my kitty, dammit! I was nearly in tears. No sign of the Boo. The kids would have a shit fit the next morning, there'd be no way I'd get them to school, they'd cause a mini-riot and would be sent home...

Then the little brat came scampering up onto our deck. He was all fluffed out, playing one of his aggressive "I am man, hear me roar" games, bouncing back and forth like a prize boxer. I offer him a snack, he zips off. The little shit. I'm mad now. It's fucking cold outside and he's pulling this shit. My father comes home. He runs around outside looking for the cat. Can't find him either. We decide to leave the door open a bit, freezing our asses off, to see if he'll come back.

He does. Less than ten minutes later. And not for the snacks. He needed the potty. Only my cat doesn't seem to realize that the great outdoors is one big litterbox. The dork. I'm happy he's home.

Me meme me!

What happens when you have nothing to talk about? Ok, there's always something to talk about, but do I want to talk about it here? Not necessarily. So when I run out of ideas, I randomly flip through blogs and such looking for interesting topics, etc. Found a meme over here that I thought was cute/funny and decided to do it.

1. What is a rhetorical answer? Give examples.
Ok, some rhetorical questions that might be heard coming from my mouth: "What is wrong with you?", "No, really, what is wrong with you?", "Was that really necessary?", "Do I look like I'm stupid?", and "Am I talking to myself again?" are probably the most common.

2. Why do people say it's bad to kick someone when they're down? What is so darn great about kicking people when they are up anyway? Is it ok to kick them, if they're down, but you think that they fell down on purpose and are just faking it?
I'm all for kicking them when they're down. It's much easier with them being closer to the feet and you can get in some good shots. Unless they're really just too pathetic to kick.. Well, I'll still kick them, but it won't be as fun.

3. Why do people usually wear their rings on their ring fingers?
I used to be really into rings. Then I wasn't. Divorce an' all. Now I'm slowly getting back into rings, but I don't have many and buying them is a hassle because why spend money on that when I can get a really cool cd? But rings are all about "Hey, look at my hands! See how pretty! I can gesture like a Barker's Beauty on The Price is Right." It's also why some women grow claws and add jewels to them.

4. Who is the coolest comic book character that you think you can beat up?
Well, crap. This isn't an easy one, is it? It's not Death, I can say that much. Death would kick my ass. She's cute and perky, but she can really smackdown. Maybe Dream? He's all mopey and emo but when he needs to, he can kick some ass. He's good at vengence. Hell, probably Destiny. Though he'd know I was coming and would very likely kick my butt, too. All of the characters I like could seriously put the hurt on me.

5. Will you walk into my parlour?
Said the spider to the fly.. Good poem.

Well, that was fun! And I'm still puzzling over the comic book question like the good little geek that I am.

*~Twilight Zone Music~*

Some weird coincidences lately. Was talking to J, he brings up this chick I got him to crush on, neither of us could remember her name. Some Bollywood actress. I do a little googling and find her. The lovely Aishwarya Rai. Beautiful, isn't she?

Fast forward to today. I'm flipping through the channels, flip to the tv guide channel, see that The Ring is on. I'd been wanting to see that for ages now. Yes, I'm way behind on my movie watching. Shut up. It's pretty good. I still don't get Naomi Watts' appeal, but sometimes she's pretty. That picture is particularly flattering, don't you think? I see that the guy who plays Noah is very nummy. I look him up on imdb after the movie. And, hey, he's a Libra, too! That excites me for some unexplained reason. I look at the movies he's been in. Oh, Bride and Prejudice! I want to see that! And guess who else is in it?

Uh huh.. Cue the Twilight Zone music.

A Liquid Thanksgiving

Everywhere I look today, I find articles about Jones Holiday Soda. I saw it here, here, and here-- where there is a link to here. At the last link, they actually tasted and reviewed the sodas. The idea of Turkey and Gravy soda makes me want to hurl, but they seem to be a good diet option for those who like that sort of thing. They are zero calorie, vegan and kosher. Mm mm good!

***

Also at PCJM, this cute and funny link. Keep clicking the images.

P.S. I'll find my frog.

Spice up your life!

I bought Pepsi's new limited edition Holiday Spice cola this weekend. Normally, I'm a Coke girl-- the drink, not the drug-- but I couldn't resist "spicing up my holidays" and I'm a limited edition anything whore so I bought a case. I know, I should've just bought a bottle, but I was on a high from my earlier shopping spree and couldn't think clearly yet. There the case sat; forlorn, lonely, waiting for me to drink. I tripped over it a few times, but quickly forgot about it. Then, today, I remembered and decided to try. First thing I notice: it's red. Well, not red, red-ish. And it tastes like Coke but maybe sweeter. Very sweet. I'm not tasting a whole lot of spices here. I was expecting a chai latte cola, I guess. And there's a faint, strange, plastic-y aftertaste.

Don't get me wrong, it's not bad. It's just not...unique. It tastes like soda. And I guess it's quite like the holidays: a whole lot of build-up for the inevitable letdown. But at least there's not a drunken uncle Bob hitting on uncle Joe's new trophy wife and the drunken brawl that will result in the red wine stain that you'll never get out of the carpet. And no mushy, over-cooked peas to eat!

Here's to the holidays!

Random Thought

If you were a chocolate, what kind would you be? Would you have a creamy, nougat-y center? Filled with nuts? Would you be the practical and affordable Russell Stover? Or the decadent Godiva?

I would totally be this.

I mean, what's not to love? Artsy chocolate! Extravagant, beautiful, and you know it's gonna taste good. But could you eat it? It's so pretty!

I want chocolate now.

Troublemaker? Me?

Troublemaker Emily


Which Emily Strange are you?
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Coffee, Tea, Me?

Cor blimey, I taste like Tea. I am a subtle flavour, quiet and polite, gentle, almost ambient. My presence in crowds will often go unnoticed. Best not to spill me on your clothes though, I can leave a nasty stain. What Flavour Are You?

If I were not Tea, I would be Coffee.

Buzz buzz, I am Coffee flavoured. I am popular in the workplace, even though I am often bitter. I am energetic to the point of being frenetic; buzz buzz, out of my way. I tend to overwork myself and need periods of recovery time. What Flavour Are You?

1975

In 1975 (the year you were born)

Gerald Ford is president of the US Evacuation of US civilians from Saigon as Communist forces complete takeover of South Vietnam FBI agents capture Patty Hearst, who is indicted and convicted of bank robbery Teamster Jimmy Hoffa disappears without a trace Marines rescue the crew of the American ship the Mayaguez near Vietnam First Lady Betty Ford says in an interview that she thinks her children have tried marijuana Natalie Imbruglia, Drew Barrymore, David Beckham, Enrique Iglesias, Angelina Jolie, and Tiger Woods are born Cincinnati Reds win the World Series Pittsburgh Steelers win Superbowl IX Philadelphia Flyers win the Stanley Cup Production begins on Star Wars Jaws and The Rocky Horror Picture Show are the top grossing films Soul Train premieres on television in the United States "The Way We Were" (performed by Barbara Streisand) wins the Grammy for best song Saturday Night Live and Wheel of Fortune premiere

What Happened the Year You Were Born?

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Book Quiz

You're Ulysses!

by James Joyce

Most people are convinced that you don't make any sense, but compared
to what else you could say, what you're saying now makes tons of sense. What people do
understand about you is your vulgarity, which has convinced people that you are at once
brilliant and repugnant. Meanwhile you are content to wander around aimlessly, taking in
the sights and sounds of the city. What you see is vast, almost limitless, and brings you
additional fame. When no one is looking, you dream of being a Greek folk hero.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Viva La Shopping!

Didn't do anything of interest today. I stupidly wore my cute boots with the heels on my marathon shopping expedition. I was hobbling home at the end of the day. I found the best lipgloss ever! And it's cheap! It's Sally Hansen's 18 Hour Lip Treatment. So nice! Makes your lips look natural, but prettier. Way prettier. I also bought a crapload of eye pencils because I'm a makeup addict. Hey, at least I'm honest about it. I got some headphones, too, because my father stole mine and I needs the headphones, man. I also see that I got a wee bit ripped-off at the store-- they were charging $25 for 'em. Luckily, I had a coupon and got them for about the same price. Yay, coupons! The sound's decent, the cord is sturdy and long...it'll do. I also had to buy some Burt's Bees Hand Salve because I'm addicted to it. And I see that I got a deal on that at the beauty supply I bought it from-- they only charge around $5 for it. I love Burt's Bees stuff. I also adore their cuticle creme and their lip balm. But the capper today-- one could say the piece de resistance-- was our buying of the Shrek 2 dvd. Ahhh.. Such wonderfulness. I lurve Shrek! I adore Puss In Boots! I love saying Antonio Banderas! Really, it's a fun name to say. I find any excuse to say it. I also like saying "pamplemousse". It's French for grapefruit. It's just a fun word to say. I can't believe that I remember that word from French I in highschool.

I need sleep.

Dark Days

I've been looking for things to keep my spirits up. I've slipped into a bit of a depression. I can't believe Dubya's back in office...for another four years. I voted my little-- ok, not so little-- ass off and feel let down. I was talking to a family member and he said that his best friend has sunk into a serious funk because of the whole thing and my mom goes "You know how those artists are, right?" while eyeing me. Yes, yes. I'm an artist with a typical artistic temperment. Yes, I'm depressed because the American public cannot be trusted to vote properly. But it's made me more mad than sad. I'm just looking for a way to constructively channel my anger. In your face, Psych 101! Who says that self-therapy doesn't work?

So looking to cheer up and all that. Been doodling and being all artsy-fartsy. Also been shopping. Well, window shopping. By window, I mean computer. Coveting. Yes, I'm a sinful girl. I'm getting back into pretty high heel shoes. That's how I stumbled upon my recent link, Manolo's Shoe Blog. The Erratic Prophet loves the fabulous shoes, the Erratic Prophet she says. The girl loves the fabulous shoes, too. She got a pair of clunky Mary Janes with some heel and she wears them constantly. Even with her pajamas. While she's sick. We can't pass a display of shoes without ooohing and ahhhing. It's a disease. But I know where we inherited this disease from. My father, of all people.

Oh, I know, you thought I was going to say my mom. No, my mom hates shopping. I only just dragged her wardrobe into this decade, with her kicking and screaming, just recently (after many years of trying, mind you). She finally wears wonderfully flat front pants that don't taper at the ankle! I got her into pointy shoes! I know, it's like I'm a messiah or something turning water into wine. She even wears these things willingly-- dare I say it?-- even eagerly.

But, no, the shopping and the shoe disease came from my father. I believe, at one point, I recall him coming home with a different pair of shoes each day in one week. Expensive shoes. Ugly shoes, but expensive. He does not know the fantastic shoes like the Manolo, no. He's semi-stuck in the '70s. I've given up on him. But he can shop with the best of them. That is something I can respect. So, really, you can't blame us. It's in our genes.

When the going gets tough, we rack up the bills! Macys, here I come.

I, Feminist

I’d like to state something right off: I am a feminist. No, I do not hate men. Quite the contrary, in fact. I adore men. I have even loved a few. Most of my friends are men. Actually, it’s been that way all of my life. I find it easier to get along with men than women, but that’s a different story.

Doesn’t sound like your typical feminist?

What I’d like to know is this: Since when did feminist become such a dirty word? When did it come to hate? A feeling of superiority? The right to belittle another sex? It never did for me. Why are feminists associated with bra-burning, man-bashers? I’m sorry, but I like my push-up too much to burn it. And whereas I, like anyone else, likes a good joke; I am an equal opportunity basher. I’m not very PC.

I also like pretty shoes. I’m anti-marriage, but that’s just me. I happen to think marriage is unnecessary. Doesn’t mean that I didn’t do it. I did. I also got divorced but that, too, is another story. I was a housewife. I had kids. I still have them– it’s not like I lost or misplaced them or anything. And, yes, I’m a feminist.

Still think you're not a feminist? Then I guess you think that women shouldn't have the right to vote, or own property, or even the right to say what happens to their own bodies. Because, to me, being a feminist is about choices. Having the power to choose. I can be a feminist and wear high heels. I can be a feminist and a CEO. I can be a feminist because I choose to be one. It’s about equal opportunity. It’s about fighting injustices, big or small. It’s about empowerment.

Too often, women are too busy being catty with one another. That’s been the main problem. It’s not about men keeping women down, we do a damn fine job of that on our own. We tear each other down and tear each other apart when, instead, we should be raising each other up. But, enough of the feel-good, sisterhood vibe. That’s another rant.

I hate falling into my ranting, preachy mode. It’s so not me. I’m all about doing what you want to do (as long as it doesn’t harm others– unless that’s what they want, but that’s a whole 'nother thing). But it pisses me off when I hear some woman, girl, female person state, with a distasteful sneer, “I’m not a feminist!” like it’s something to be ashamed of. Or to be told “You can’t be a feminist, you don’t / aren’t _____!” Fill in the blank with whatever you want, I think I’ve heard them all before. It turns me into rabid, shrieking woman and I don’t like her much. It also makes me sad that so many people think that being a feminist means being a bad person. I don’t want my daughter– a feminist in training– to learn that. I want her to be proud to be a woman. A strong, independent woman unafraid of making choices.

I want her to be a proud feminist, like me.

Crafty

The kids had no school today. They were driving me nuts. I sent them outside for a bit but, eventually, they had to come back in. That's when my brain short-circuited and I thought it would be fun to make some Thanksgiving decorations. I seem to develop some form of amnesia because I always think this will be a fun family project, but always winds up the same. Very bad.

It started out promising enough. We dumped a bunch of craft stuff on the kitchen table, grabbed pencils, construction paper and scissors and sat. We decided to make turkeys first. The girl decided to actually draw a turkey. Meanwhile, the boy and I slap our hands down and trace them. The girl looked over at us and whined "Hey! No fair!" and then erased her perfectly fine turkey and traced her hand. The results are as follows...

The boy with no patience:

The girl who must follow:

And mine:

I also made a pilgrim that bears a striking resemblance to Johnny Cash:

The girl made a glittery, Vegas-style pilgrim with flaming pink pipe cleaners for hair. I did mention that pilgrims weren't the glittery type, but I'm all for artistic license so I let it go. She then decided that the pilgrim wasn't good enough and threw a temper tantrum. During all of this, the boy wandered off somewhere. The Vegas pilgrim was crumpled up and thrown out, I found the boy child hiding in the basement, and I had a throbbing headache. We decided it would be best to just call it a day. That was enough family togetherness for a while, I think.

To prove that I'm really not a lame artist, I am putting up a drawing of mine. The pilgrim and turkey are an embarrassment to me. Putting them up was pretty much a dare from a very evil friend.

The proof:

Ahh.. I feel better now.

Don't the turkeys look kinda Partridge Family-ish?

It's the End of the World As We Know It

(And I'm Not Fine)

Stringing the cat along...

I'm an awful person. I love teasing my cat. He looks so cute/funny when he's irked. I can't help myself. One day, I'll wake up to find him hovering over me with a diabolical gleam in his eye, I just know it. That's why I keep my bedroom door shut. No opposable thumbs. I like to taunt him about that, too. See? I'm cruel.

One of my favorite things to do to annoy my cat is to sing to him. He hates it when anyone sings to him. He doesn't care about singing in general, just when it's done to him. He really hates it when you throw his name into the song. I've composed whole songs using just nonsensical words and his many nicknames. He'll look at me with that superior tilt to his head, flatten his ears, and march stiffly away. That's when I follow him. I'm like a demented band of minstrels in one person.

Another thing I like to do is taunt him with twine. I know, cats are supposed to love string. He does, too. But he hates himself for loving it. You can see it when you tease him. At first, he tries to ignore you, as if to say "I will not be dragged into your peurile games, human. My will is..." Swat! He looks confused when he finds himself batting at the string. He looks down at his betraying paw, gives me a dirty look for encouraging this behavior and...swat swat! There it goes again! Soon enough, he's whipped into a frenzy, batting and biting at the string with blissful abandon. In the end, there's the paw pointing. Oh, yes. Again with the superior glance, flattened ears and stiff march. I have succeeded once more in pissing him off.

God, how I love it!

Stress!

If I were a nail biter, my nails would be gone. I have my bags half-packed, ready to leave the country if Bush wins. I keep flipping to news stations and pages to keep track of the polls. My stomach's churning, I'm in a tizzy. J's worse than I am. Yes, you are! So shut up! You're all nauseated and fatalistic. I'm clinging to my tiny thread of optimism.

I so want Not Bush to win.

The Battle of the Bulge

Is it fall already? It went from warm and sunny to friggin cold so fast that I still haven't adjusted to it. I swear the leaves were mostly green last week. Now they're all red, orange and yellow and on the ground. I need to haul my chubby ass outside and rake up some leaves. I could use the exercise. This stubborn 10 lbs I gained during summer vacation refuses to budge this time. Usually, I'm ok until after the holidays, but this year I need to lose a few before if I even hope to fit into my clothes. It's sad, y'all. I had to suck in to button my pants. And then I had that lovely little pudge roll bulging over my waist band. So attractive! Check out my lumps! I'm one hot momma!

To battle this bulge, I've been-- sigh-- eating healthier. Notice I said healthier, not healthy. I can't do all healthy. I need some crap in my diet. But I've cut back on the crap. That means less sugar and fat. I've cut back to one soda a day. Except on the weekends. I figure that giving myself some leeway will help. And... Dear god, this is what I've come to? Discussing weight-loss strategies (or strategeries, for you republicans). Forgive me, I've been ill. All of this lack of sleep is killing off my brain cells and I've got very few to spare. And my voice is gone. I either squeak or get all burly-man husky. It's freaky. People have been taking advantage of my lack of vocality (is that even a word?) and it's so unfair. It's not like I can write them a strongly worded letter for teasing me. It doesn't have the same effect as le mot juste. I have to settle for flapping arms and growly noises or funny faces if the growly noises aren't working. That seems to amuse more than intimidate, though.

Not only have I had to deal with all that, but the kids are off from school the rest of the week. Teacher conferences or something. All I know is that I think I might go utterly and undeniably insane. Oh! A spark of genius! I will make them rake up the leaves! Yay, brain cells!

I should stop now since I'm doing nothing more than babbling. Right. So, be good and go out and vote. That is all.

Day of the Dead

First off, I need to say this: Happy Birthday, J! (It sucks when your friends are just a wee bit younger than you 'cause you can't knock their age on their birthday.)

To get into the spirit-- no pun intended-- of the holiday, I've found a few links...

The official Day of the Dead page. One day, I will go down to Mexico for this event.

Some info behind All Saints Day and how it was moved from May to November.

And Old Superstitions. I'm bookmarking this baby. I love reading up on this stuff.

Have a happy All Saints Dia de los Muertos!