Ever get lost in someone’s details?

It starts with the way they look at you...

That half a smile on their face...

You get lost in the small things they do...

The way they touch you on your shoulders...just to let you know that they are there...

They way their calf muscles get more defined as they peddle a bike...

The way they get excited over the music they love & the fact that they want to share it with you...

The way you feel when you walk slightly ahead...& you know that they are watching you...

The way they have patience for your silliness...

They way you like to work together on anything...

You find yourself getting excited about the things that interest them...

The way they lean down & brush your hair with their lips...

The way they taste (all sweet & rugged) when you kiss them...

The way they kiss you urgently & softly...

Do you think it’s working out...Dick & I posting on alternate days?
Dick thought I was harsh in my comments to his post yesterday...
I don’t think I was...but if you’re going to call my gender (or me) crazy...
I’m going to let you know what I think about that...
& I know it was a joke (or was it?), Dick...sheesh.

Here is the post I would have written yesterday...if it had been my turn to post:

Ever have one of those days?

The kind of day where you answer the phone with a stern,
“yeah, what?!” People are slightly shocked...or put off by your new
attitude...but in the current mood you’re in...you don’t give a rat’s ass.

Ever have one of those days?

And she was drifting through the backyard
And she was taking off her dress
And she was moving very slowly
Rising up above the earth
Moving into the universe
Drifting this way and that
Not touching ground at all
Up above the yard...

Gotta love The Talking Heads...

Ever get a song stuck in your brain? Luckily for me...this time...it's a good one...
I don't even know why it was there, I hadn’t heard this song in a very long
time...but I love it. It played in my head as I rode the elevator to my
floor at work yesterday morning. It's a catchy tune, so I did a little hip
wiggling between floors. I smiled & waved at the secret cameras that
most office buildings probably have hidden all over the place.

...And she was looking at herself
And things were looking like a movie
She had a pleasant elevation
She's moving out in all directions...

That song was still floating around my mind...during a midmorning
production meeting. I didn’t hear what was going on in the meeting...
I heard...

...Joining the world of missing
persons...and she was...
Missing enough to feel alright...and she was...

It really wasn’t an unpleasant way to spend the day.

...She was glad about it... no doubt about it
She isn't sure where she's gone
No time to think about what to tell them
No time to think about what she's done
And she was...

My question to you today is...when you were a kid...
how did you first learn about the mechanics of sex?
What I mean by that is...how & when did you first find out that...
as my little sister used to say..."You can't have babies by kissing?!"

My answer is in yesterday's post.

I’ve never backed down from a blogger tagging challenge yet...so here’s another one...

I’ve been tagged by the loverly Leandra:

1. Total Number of Books I’ve Owned: I’m guessing...about 300...but the library keeps me busy when I’m not borrowing books from friends also.

2. Last Book I Bought: The Dreamer's Dictionary.

3. Last Book I Read: I’m currently reading Catcher in the Rye by Salinger. I started this book years ago... & never finished it...which isn’t like me at all. It seems like a mandatory read. I’m in love with the way he writes in a true voice of a teenage boy:

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal about them."

...How could you not love a book that starts this way?

4. 5 books that mean a lot to me:

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee- One of my all time favorites. The only time I think a movie may have come close to being better than the book...& that isn’t easy to do. I love the slow, kind of southern way this story is told through the eyes of eight year old Scout.

Mystic River by Dennis Lehane- I don’t know what it is about a story that starts at the end...then tells you how it all got to that point...that gets to me...but this one does. If you like character development & emotionally descriptive writing...this book is for you.

Summer Sisters by Judy Blume- I’ve loved her books since I started reading. I read her all throughout my childhood. I may have even learned the actual mechanics of how sex works from reading Forever (if you read this book as a kid...you’ll know what I mean). This book explores the ramifications of love & lust on two friends...& rings very true to me.

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein- A book from my childhood. I just treated myself to the hardcover edition. This book is silly words with silly line drawings. I’m in love with the lessons here. How could you not love a book with stories about dancing pants & hugs of war?!

My fifth book would have to be a toss up between The Garden Design Book & the Georgia O’Keefe coffee table book I cherish. Both books are full of the most beautiful flowers & touching images. These are the books I’d want to save if my house was on fire.

Beware...a serious fucking post about beauty is about to hit you over the head...
if you chose to read on...& I don't blame you if you don't want to read it...
it's long & maybe not that interesting...I do not know what's gotten into me
...I've just been thinking about it a bit lately.
Why? I don't know... I truly believe beauty comes from within...as
I get to know & really connect with someone...they ALWAYS become beautiful
to me.

IF YOU CAN'T ENDURE READING THIS WHOLE DAMN
THING...JUST READ THE QUOTES AT THE END
(consider it a favor to me)...THEY SAY IT ALL ANYWAY...

Did you know that Dove is running a global ad promo called Campaign for Real Beauty? They claim to be making a worldwide effort "to show a new, wider definition of beauty".

They wanted the study to assess whether it was possible to think about
female beauty in ways that were more authentic, satisfying &
empowering:

"The overwhelming majority of women (despite the popularity of Extreme
Makeover) do not wish to expose themselves to the surgeon's scalpel.
But neither do they wish to be excluded because they fail to find their
beauty reflected in the images which bombard them, on average, in 2000
advertisements per week. What women in this study tell us is that a
sense of legitimacy & respect is wrapped up with beauty in today's world.
Whether this sentiment dismays or delights us, it poses a serious
challenge... for the idea of beauty to become truly democratic & inclusive,
then beauty itself must be revitalized to reflect women in their beauty
as they really are rather than as portrayed in the current fictions
that dominate our visual culture. With such fictions removed, the many
hours of anguish, spent in self criticism, or in the attempt to reshape
themselves so that they do in some ways resemble the ideal, have a
chance to be freed up & find expression in the many other desires &
ambitions that women hold. "

Yeah...whatever...they make some valid points here...but I believe they
will only stick with it...if it sells products...she said cynically...

"Beauty is how you feel inside & it reflects in your eyes. It is not
something physical."

~Sophia Loren

"But beauty itself is not given to us by anyone; it is a power we have
within us ... a radiance inside us."

~Marianne Williamson

When I was a freshman in college, I had a room mate who used to eat like a guy. What I mean by this is...she’d eat ALLOT...& when I say allot...I mean allot. She would sit down at a table in the cafeteria & get herself not one...but two trays of food. I was in awe. She was a normal size girl...even a bit on the thin side. My question was, where did she put it all? I was immediately jealous of her seemingly astounding metabolism.

What I didn’t know at first, was that she was bulimic. I lived with the girl & didn’t know that she was so sick. She’d eat double dinners, then we’d walk back to our dorm. She was the kind of person who could never seem to calm herself enough to actually sit still for any amount of time. Most nights after dinner, she would fidget for awhile, then announce that she was going for a run. I’d always ask her how she could run after eating anything at all, let alone the huge portions she’d just shoveling into her gullet. She never answered me...she would usually just laugh & go running down the hall on her way out the door.

Things went like this for a couple of weeks. By now it was early November & it was starting to get darker outside earlier in the evening. She was still running (not even jogging...running!) her ass off every night after dinner. I started to worry about her out there running in the near darkness...but she wouldn’t stop. One night I forced her to let me run with her (even though I just knew it was going to kill me...how can anyone run after eating a full meal?...all of that food bouncing around in your gut...ugh). I convinced one of the guys from the first floor to run with us for safety. She thought all of this was unnecessary & I could tell she was beginning to get annoyed.

Well, the three of us ran...or should I say...two of us jogged & she ran like there was something chasing her. She ran ahead & we couldn’t see her. When we caught up, she was off to the side throwing up. It didn’t surprise me...the girl had eaten enough to feed an army. What I didn’t know then, was that she’d stuck her finger down her throat to get rid of all that food.

Want to know the worst part of the whole story? First, I was envious of what I thought was an over active metabolism...but when I found out that wasn’t true...I was jealous of her ability to be able to make herself throw up.

Fucked up?...you bet it was...

I came home last night to find that my sweet ballerina niece had sent
me a package. I occasionally send her a nothing in the mail...
because I know that 6 year olds loooove getting mail.
I'll send her a drawing or a card...anything...just to let her know
that she's wonderful & loved.

I opened my package & out fell a bunch of Hershey's chocolate hugs & kisses.
Is that ironic...or what?

Did that make me happy...or am I on a chocolate high?

It doesn't really matter...either way : )

So...yeah...after hearing my perfect niece cry to me about her fears of
being fat...I started thinking...(I'd be thought free otherwise).

Do you know any woman who does not have issues with her body & how
she views it? I can't think of anyone I know who's perfectly happy with
the way she looks. Are men this way too? I don't mean that women are
vain...but we tend to be slightly fucked up when it comes to seeing
ourselves & being happy with what we see.

Sure, I'd love to be taller, with
longer legs & a smaller butt...some of those things I can change
through determination & sweat...(ok, the only changeable thing I've listed
there is the butt thing...but you get the point).

I remember being in high school & weighing a whopping 100 pounds.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw a short, fat girl with an awesomely killer
personality (& bodacious taste in shoes)...really...that's what I saw.
I weigh more than that now...but never ask a woman her weight...really...
don't do it...you might get bitch-slapped if you do (you can't say you haven't been warned).

I feel better about my body now, even at a higher weight.
Do you get wiser as you get older...or do you just get more comfortable with yourself?

"Ballerinas can't be fat!"

My six year old niece said that to me with
such hurt & passion that my heart broke a little bit. I'd just asked
her to go get some ice cream with me as a treat. Where, you ask, would a
six year old child hear something like this? Turns out that her dance
teacher throws out gems like this all of the time. Did she have a clue?
Did she care about the harm she was causing in impressionable little
girls?

I honestly wanted to bitch slap the woman (what the hell does
this even mean?...I didn't know...so I looked it up...bitch-slap-
verb - To slap someone with an open hand in an attempt to put them
in their place...Yep, I was right...that's exactly what I wanted to do).

I really believe that...at the tender age of six...children are
still pretty damn near perfect. Why screw with perfection. At that age most
kids still think they can do anything...& they should think this way.
Why take that ability away from a child? Why make a child think that
they are fat?! What is the *&^$@*>)-ing point of that?

Do you lust after the gardener, fantasize about the fella next door or
are you just too busy with the kids?

A quiz for you.

I turned out to be Susan...out of all of them...I'm sort of the most like
her...so I'll agree...to a point...



Some people are nice deep down, but your niceness sits right on the
surface, apparent to all. You're down-to-earth and approachable, with a
thoughtful side that makes you the moral center of your own little
Wisteria Lane. Like Susan, you notice what's going on with the people around
you and are concerned about their well-being. That said, you're not
some doe-eyed pushover: you're savvy to people who aren't telling the
truth and you've got a scheme or two up your sleeve when you need to be
sneaky (do I have a secret evil plan?).

Probably your biggest fault is that you allow your insecurities to chip
away at your self worth. Everybody's had failed relationships, made bad
judgements and been locked out of their home completely naked (does
almost naked...count?). It's not how hard you fall that's
important; it's how you keep getting back up.

...I ask you...is this any lamer than actually naming Dick's weeeeenie??

I just got the sweetest e-mail from a former co worker. Joe G. is an older gentleman Dick & I used to work with. I’d call him that even if he wasn’t ‘older’...’cuz he’s just an old soul, do you know what I mean?

I used to talk his ear off & try to get him to open up to me. He was a challenge. He told me he liked to keep his personal life at home & not talk about it at work. Could I let him be? No...I just couldn’t. He wanted to open up to me, he just didn’t know it yet.

By the time I left that job for greener pastures, he bared his soul to me. He was addicted to talking to this chick everyday...ok, that’s what I’m telling myself...for all I know he could have made up stories about his life...just to get me to stop bothering him...but I doubt it...’cuz he didn’t seem like a bull shitter to me...but you just never know...now do you?

He was good-hearted & listened to my tales of whoa too. How did I repay his kindness? I’d drive him insane every time we got a package. I’d pop every last bubble in the bubblewrap from the package. I’m not kidding when I say it used to drive him nuts...but did I stop?...no.

On my last day there, he gave me a present & a very nice card. In it it said something about how he didn’t open up to many people & that he was going to miss our chats. At that point, I kinda KNEW that he hadn’t been a bull shitter after all...he was really one of those guys that make you cry by being sweet to you...when you least expected it...damn him.

He sent me a link to this in that sweet e-mail I just told you about...I guess he misses the psychopathic chick who used to pop bubbles like a madwoman & drive him bonkers.

He either misses me...or...do you think he’s saying...”I’m glad you’re gone because if I had to sit through one more manic bubble popping session...I’d have had to have killed you”.

...it easily could have gone either way...

OK, I just played the song, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" one thousand & forty two times...in a row...if that song can't get you out of a funk...what the hell can?

By Bruce Springsteen
((un)plugged)

Well brunettes are fine man
And blondes are fun
But when it comes to getting the dirty job done

I'll take a red headed woman
A red headed woman
It takes a read headed woman
To get a dirty job done

Well listen up stud
Your life's been wasted
Til you've got down on your knees and tasted

A red headed woman
A red headed woman
It takes a read headed woman
To get a dirty job done

Tight skirt, strawberry hair
Tell me what you've got baby, waiting under there
Big green eyes that look like, son
They can see every cheap thing that you ever done

Well I don't care how many girls you've dated, man
But you ain't lived till you've had your tires rotated

By a red headed woman
A red headed woman
It takes a read headed woman
To get a dirty job done

...what else is there to say?

1. Communication is essential to happiness.

2. Kissing a boo-boo can make it all better.

3. Always say, “thank you” & mean it.

4. You can tell a lot about a person by the shoes that they wear.

5. Give blood if you are able.

6. Never pick out busy wallpaper, you’ll hate it in a few years.

7. How to wrap a pretty present.

8. If I’m feeling ill, get up & take a shower, I’ll feel better.

9. To love theater.

10. Class.

11. To never, never let your ass touch the seat in a public bathroom.

12. Marry a man who loves your cooking.

13. To make apple pie, spaghetti sauce, stuffed artichokes, meatballs...The list is too long, thanks for my love of cooking, Mom...this is the one (maybe the only) truly Italian part of me.

14. To love 60’s music.

15. To pluck the bottoms of my eyebrows, never the top.

16. You can never have too many black suits.

17. That my annoying little brother would grow up into someone I love.

18. To love words.

19. When someone falls down, laugh (‘cuz few things are funnier)...then ask if they’re ok.

20. To love holidays (all of them).

21. That shopping is a sport.

22. That wearing your communion dress while skateboarding down the big hill by our house was NOT a very good idea.

23.The power of sarcasm.

24. The art of being subtle.

25. That there are kind people out there who care about your happiness more than they care about their own.

Happy belated Mother's Day...to all you Mothers...out there...

As I neared home last night on my way home from work, something flew in front of my windshield in a flash. I can only guess that it was a huge Canadian goose flying across the road to get to the park by my house. When I slammed on my breaks, I effectively avoided hitting the bird & successfully slammed my forehead into the steering wheel. The Chinese food I’d just picked up splattered out of the bag on my passenger seat & slimed itself on to the floor mat.

My head was still aching when I pulled the car into my garage moments later. I turned off the ignition & sat there thinking, how am I ever going to get the ghastly smell of Chinese food out of my car? I knew I’d do a bang-up job cleaning up the lo mein from my floor...but that kind of smell lingers.

I sat in silence...in the car...in the garage for awhile more. When I finally looked down, I saw the chocolate stain I’d gotten on my top while celebrating an art director’s 30th birthday about an hour before driving home. Apparently, it was too much for me to hold a plate of cake while standing, chatting & jamming forkfuls of fucking cake into my mouth & NOT get cake stains on my middle. How super cool I must have looked walking around work in a white top accented by brown stains.

I opened the car door & got out. My plan was to tackle the cake stains, change into sweats, then it would be on to the lovely chore of lo mein removal.

I went straight to the laundry room, stripped off my top & attacked it with a stain stick...I was beginning to feel a little bit better, at least I was making progress, the ache in my head lessened as the cake stain faded away.

I headed upstairs to change. I almost jumped out of my skin when I found Michael, the contractor, in my bedroom putting the finishing touches on the expert spackle job that I obviously thought he’d be done with at this time of night.

If he was embarrassed (& he should have been...FOR ME) he didn’t show it. I stumbled & stuttered & grabbed a sweatshirt & ran out of the room.

I’m just glad that no creatures were harmed in the telling of this story.

I spend a killer day shopping the outlets earlier in the week,
with my bitchy younger sis...who...BTW...has some of the best
taste in clothes going...too bad her taste in men runs towards
the metrosexual annoying type...her hubby gets hit on by gay
men in the subway ALL THE TIME...we laugh HARD about
that...because he's got a little bit of that endearing
homophobia thang going on (as sooo very many men do).

We tried on clothes & were brutally honest
with each other. She tried on a pair of white capri pants that made her
ass look as wide as the state of Montana...so I told her the truth.
I tried on a loverly pair of lined Ann Taylor pants with a wide leg & a
cuff of the bottom...she said they made me look like the pants were in
the process of swallowing me...feet first. Since those were not the looks
that either one of us were going for...we both swore to all that is good
& holy in life NEVER to buy white pants...because...unless you are a
six foot tall, leggy, Amazonian chick whose feelings will not be hurt if
someone tells them that they look dumpy & squat...you won't like what
people are thinking when you walk by.

I seriously hope that I am not the only one out there that
adores this TV show. Come on...tell me that you love it too & I'll give
you some candy...(Maybe I actually will if you give me your home
address...so I can send it to you...& then you'll be opening yourself up to
being viciously stalked by the likes of me...but I dig risk takers...so
the choice is yours).

The first thing that made me fall in lust with
this show:...there is NO laugh track! Tah Dah...& there IS a god up in
heaven who's been listening to me & occasionally sees fit to answer my
prayers. I hate being told that I'm supposed to think something's
funny...insert laugh...HERE...laugh NOW, bitch...I SAID...LAUGH!
I do not appreciate being spoken to in that way, do you?

The Office is played out in "mockumentary" format & depicts the regional
offices of Dunder Mifflin, a failing paper company in Scranton
(so NOT a funny place), PA. It's a remake of a popular British show & it keeps the dry, deadpan humor of the original. Holy crap, I could be a TV reviewer if that last line is any indicator of my true talent when it comes to things like
this...that really sounded smoltzy enough to be published in The TV
Guide...now, didn't it?

I love the rudely idiotic boss who says simply stupid
things like, "As Abe Lincoln once said: If you are a racist we will
attack you from the north" & "This is Pam . . . If you think she's cute
now, you should have seen her a couple of years ago."

Pam is by far my favorite character. My friend gave me the ultimate compliment when he said the way she is...reminded him of me. She looks you in the eye & only laughs at things that amuse her...even if she's laughing at what she's just said. Her humor is so subtle...that you'd miss it...if you
weren't looking for it...& no one is looking for it.

This show drew me in during the first episode when Dwight went into his desk drawer, reached for his stapler & found it set in yellow jello (he doesn't like jell-o because the way it moves frightens him). When the pansy ass told his
boss...boss man said..."You have to EAT it out"...Oddly, I still am
amused by this.

Cate tagged me - Thanks girlie...’cuz I had nothing today...so here you go:

If I could be a musician...I’d be Gwen Stefani...she’s a musician right? Or would you call her something else? I’d stop covering songs from Fiddler on the Roof & dressing as a pirate...I’d quit trying to design the ugliest clothes in the universe & totally put all my energy into Gavin, my hunky British husband.

If I could be a psychologist I’d be a couples counselor & provide a neutral supportive environment which allows couples the space to tackle the issues in patterns of relating in their relationship with each other & as individuals that prove too difficult to deal with without assistance...but I’d only tackle these issues with ultra hot patients.

If I could be an athlete I’d be Anna Kournikova...because she’s a beautiful tennis player who parades around in teeny bikinis on exotic beaches & goes to great parties & seldom even feels the need to pick up a racket.

If I could be a famous blogger I’d be Zach Braff...because he’s silly & funny & is honestly in awe of the fact that people actually read him.

If I could be married to any current famous political figure I’d be a puppet master & be responsible for all the thoughts in his empty, stupid head.

So here's how it goes... I get to tag 3 people, then they have to Pick 5 items from the following list, and complete the sentence with whatever fabulous things you can think of that you would do if you could be one of these things. No fair picking things you already are, either. Then you’re supposed to tag 3 other people to continue the excitement of the meme-ing.

If I could be a scientist…
If I could be a farmer…
If I could be a musician…
If I could be a doctor…
If I could be a painter…
If I could be a gardener…
If I could be a missionary…
If I could be a chef…
If I could be an architect…
If I could be a linguist…
If I could be a psychologist…
If I could be a librarian…
If I could be an athlete…
If I could be a lawyer…
If I could be an inn-keeper…
If I could be a professor…
If I could be a writer…
If I could be a llama-rider…
If I could be a bonnie pirate…
If I could be an astronaut…
If I could be a world famous blogger…
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world…
If I could be married to any current famous political figure…

The 3 people I’m tagging are 3 bloggers who are kinda new to me:

The Man in the Middle- who I know a couple of things about.

Stacie- who I understand a couple of things about.

&81 Vaginas- who I know next to nothing about.

Do you want to know what happens when you get together for Sunday brunch with friends you haven’t seen since Christmas time?

First, you dress up & listen to boat loads of complaining from your husband...due to the fact that you’ve asked him to please put on a shirt without wrinkles or holes in inappropriate places. He does it...with a minimum of eye rolling & soft swearing under his breath.

You drive to the restaurant with the gas meter in the car almost on E because you’re running late & don’t want to stop at a gas station & risk adding to your lateness.

You get to the restaurant 10 minutes late & your friends are already there waiting for you. You get stuck with the crappy chair that must have one leg slightly shorter than the rest...because every time you breathe...the chair wobbles & makes you feel incredibly annoyed or a bit nauseous...or both. Add to this, the fact that you are seated facing the window & can not see a thing if you choose to look straight ahead...because that would mean forcing your eyeballs to look dead on into the sun.

You get over these small inconveniences, after all...being late has it’s price (what’s the saying? The early bird gets the good fucking seat?).

You order breakfast complete with a round of mimosas for your table. One mimosa leads to another...till you lose track of how many you’ve had (if you asked my husband how many I’ve had, he could tell you...he seems to think that it’s part of his job description, as my husband, to keep track of such things).

You have a wonderful time eating great food & chatting with your friends. When you finally look at your watch, you realize that you’ve been having brunch for 2 1/2 hours (& that’s a long time to brunch) but it’s the kind of restaurant where the prices reflect the fact that they would never chase you out.

So you sit in your tilty chair & the sun moves far enough up in the sky so that you can now look in front of you & no longer see yellow spots. Now you see your husband giving you the “time to go” look that he’s probably been giving you for the last hour...but you either couldn’t see it through all of the sunspots on your pupils...or were ignoring it like you’ve been known to do approximately 92.3% of the time.

You hug & kiss your friends goodbye & promise to get together sooner than last time. You walk with hubby to your gas guzzling, uneconomical SUV & drive off with little to no gas in the tank.

You can’t get far running on empty for long & we didn’t. We both cursed the mimosa gods for making us forget to fill ‘r up. We end up walking 10 miles (OK...it was more like 1/2 a mile...but in the shoes I was wearing...it felt like 10) to the nearest gas station. We get a ride back to our car & fill up the gas tank.

We end our weekend comfortably back home...but I know hubby is secretly plotting ways to get out of meeting our other friends (for brunch) next weekend...I know because I've heard him quietly cursing under his breath about it...already.