Did You Get a Good Lawyer?

After the vagaries of last winter, spring arrived with a burst.

All of a sudden, cherry blossoms exploded.  

Literally one day they were not there and the next, BAM.

Lovely, everywhere you looked.

This year, it is different.  

Cherry blossom buds are creeping slowly open.  

Like they are tentative.  The skies clear intermittently, with storms on all fronts, everywhere you look.  I want to encourage them, tell them it is okay.

It is okay.  Nobody's going to Scotland.  Everyone still hates their job.  It is okay.

The cycle of hope has been extinguished.  There is nothing to shout about, anyhow.

Big fight with the cats today.  And even in this, I'm resigned.  They'll get it.

Everyone will just get over whatever it is they need to get over, anyhow.

Funny how the world works.

How the world plays.

I'm cleaning.  Reorganizing.  I am GAINING ACCEPTANCE with those things I cannot change.  And you know what?  That isn't much.  There isn't much I can't choose to change.  Myself.  My life.  What I want.

You can get to a point where you care too much.

Then you work yourself to death, exhausting all your possibilities, and STILL no one rewards you for it.  And then you decide one day, after bad things happen and rude things happen and inconsiderate things happen, and some unavoidable things happen, but you might still sit on your front porch one day and think, "I am the person that no one feels the need to say SORRY to."

And I'm out there, but what is the best way to say to someone,

"I'm the best goddamn thing that's ever walked in your door.  You've never met anyone quite like me before, and you aren't likely to again."

"You should absolutely hire me, because I can do all the things you need done, and then I'll do more.  And then I'll be charming, and I'll be fun, and I'll work harder than anyone you've ever met, and there won't be a single goddamn thing you throw to me that I can't catch."

How do you say that in a half hour interview?

And I write to Santa Fe, and I write to the Bay Area, and I write, write write so that someone picks up the phone and calls me.  And then that someone calls me in for an interview.  And then that someone looks past my natural dork and hires me. 

So.

Listing the house.

He says we're grounded now, but I've never been grounded.  

I don't even know what that means.

I'm always a half-second from flying away.  I'm always a hairsbreath from jumping from the earth just to taste all the potential that might be.

I'm in love and I'm secure and all these changes aren't bothering me.  

For the first time in a long time I am hungry again.  I am positively drunk with all the possibility and I only lie awake at night to make sure that I've effectively covered my back. 

For the first time in a long time, I'm growing up to my full height.  And the people that try to get me down are just noise.  They're all just noise, and none of them will be remembered past the time it takes me to say goodbye.

Quiet now, hush.  

I have things to do.

Medicated Cats

It turns out that the stray, who is the sickest cat I've ever met, does not have ASTHMA, which we thought this weekend.  And to which I am still incredulous, because for fuck's sake, what would she be allergic to? 

She has some sort of infection in her lungs, which requires antibiotics.  Okay.

She is also supposed to be getting prednisone 2x daily, which is a steroid I've taken a whole bunch of times because I have asthma.  

I speed all the way to the vet's office to get there by 6pm and pick up the antibiotic.  I beg the vet and he assures me it is a liquid.  

We now have 2 cats on Prozac (when we can forcibly get a pill down Lucy's throat, the raving bitch) and one cat on prednisone pills 2x daily + antibiotic fluid 2x daily.  Lovely.

I am on Weight Watchers and am not supposed to drink wine, and I quit smoking three weeks ago and the Pope is on a business trip.

So I buy some Pill Pockets to sneak the pills into chicken-flavored dough packets to get these goddamn cats their medicine so that everyone can live happily ever after.

The stray, who we've spent so much money on that I will just call her the DAUGHTER, the Cleo, the wallet drain that is really pretty cute, walks out of her room and whuffs at me, squeakily.  It is darling and my heart melts.   

So, of course, I stuff a pill pocket with the steroid pill and set it in front of her.  She sniffs at it and looks up at squeaks at me.  I nudge her, like, go on, I spent $10 on these things, just to fool you, EAT it!  :)  Big Grin, Happy Mom, Everything's OK, just eat the little chicken thing.  HMMMMM?

She won't eat it, but is real cute about that.

No wine, no cigarettes, money leaking out of my wallet and I just drove like crazy to make it to the goddamn vet's office to get you this crap because you have ASTHMA or something and you are a CAT.  SO EAT IT.

YOU HAVE TO.

YOUUUUUUUUU HAAAAAAAAAVE TOOOOOOOOOOO!  I scream and stomp around the kitchen, which causes all three cats to run under the bed for the next hour and a half, and forces me to open a bottle of wine.

I am at my wit's end.  At this point I want to lock them all out of the house and call the coyotes.

Boing Boing

Last week, at Weight Watchers, I looked down the row of seats I was in.

Three pairs of black clogs, in a row.

Welcome to Seattle, folks. 

Caution

*Supposed to be posting daily for the month of March.  Whoops.

*Supposed to be on Weight Watchers, but fucked off all this weekend.  Dammit.

*Should be passed out right now, what with the bottle of wine I just drank.

*I broke something just now.  It felt good.  

That fucking thing was asking to be broken.

I should have broken it MONTHS ago.

I am unhappy.

I lie in bed and think, where did my life go?  

Why am I so stuck and so poised on the edge of unhappiness all the time?

How did I get so stuck?

What I want to do is QUIT.

I want to SELL.

I want safeguard my three dear kitties with someone who will love them.

I want to throw all my possessions into a large body of water, take a baseball bat to some, and then join the Peace Corps.  Or the circus.  Or something that matters more to me than this fucking empty rat-fucking-race of life.

Is there any way to get unstuck?  

Or do you find yourself in your thirties, do you just find yourself there and then, there is where you are?  

I hate this.

I'm going to bed.

I have to.  

I must remember that I need to get up in the morning, to go to that place I hate and do that job I despise, for people I no longer respect.  

I'm Bringing Sexy Back

This was before I joined Weight Watchers (last Tuesday) and quit smoking (also last Tuesday).  A full week on both.  And boy, am I grumpy!

And when I use a cute little term like "grumpy," rest assured that what I really mean is that I could deforest Alaska with my mood.

I should have posted this picture months ago, so I could see the low I had fallen to. When you pass out reading "King Leopold's Ghost" after eating 1/2 a box of Mike & Ike's, it is time for an intervention.

No, I think what did it for me, finally, was waking up and feeling like I'd inhaled knives overnight, and then getting winded just looking at the skin between my chin and where air should be.

In other news, we're probably going to list our house for sale soon.

In hopeful news, we'll pull some equity out because we got a steal, and since we bought so safely and STILL have enough money to eat out every night (see lack of graceful neck..above) we are going to throw some more of our money into a home where perhaps our next door neighbor doesn't blast an oldies rock station every weekend day, all day long.

In fact, as a tangent, I believe he recorded 10 solid hours of the radio one day and plays that constantly instead.  I could practically TELL you that Paint It Black is going to come right after Tom Sawyer.  Bet me if you think I'll be wrong.

It doesn't matter that we can't hear ourselves think in our tiny and spider-infested house, no, the music has to be loud enough for him to hear over his riding mower.  Yes, he plays music loud enough so he can hear it over the sound of a lawnmower.  And it has been two years without an assault from me, so generally, I think I've mellowed.  

But perhaps that would be okay, if not for the family that moved in during the nights last week and proceeded to throw two parties on both days of the weekend, where 8 cars came screaming down our lane and they burned meat for several hours straight, having conveniently placed their hibachi so that great plumes of charred meat smoke billowed past the back windows of our house.  

Cross your fingers and wish us luck.

Movie Star

I was once in a movie.
College Film.

I came across the link today, idly Googling everyone I've ever met, including myself.

Go HERE to see it. Download it, it may take a bit. It is a trailer for the film.

I make myself cringe.

And We're Off!

Going to California this weekend, to see our families.

Couldn't be better timing.

Nieces

Mothers

Fathers

GRANDMOTHERS!

Oh, the joy.

I had an appointment with a placement service this morning.

They said I'm overqualified for their standard level placements.

The guy said, and I QUOTE "You are going to be snapped up very quickly in the open market."

That felt nice.

Loved One

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you:  CLP

(unless she asks me to remove this picture)

And trust me, she is not the attendant in a ladies bathroom, as much as the tux and row of sinks may mislead you:

I post this to show you one of the people on my personal top 5 most beautiful people list.

Stuck Pig

I'm not as much now, but was spiraling.

Making myself indispensable now so that I really screw 'em when I go.

You will miss me when I'm gone.

Perma-smile.

My face aches.  My heart leaps and screams, several times a day.

Lunges against the bars of its cage, yelling and spitting.

You will miss me when I'm gone.

Or you won't, and you know what?  Fuck you.

There are millions of people that would miss me when I'm gone.

There are at least five.

So now, not spiraling, but still.  Exhausted.

Look at job postings and know I could do it, but do I want to?

I was never meant to be in business.  

I am arrogant.   Saw stupid people above me, doing things I could do.

So I did them.  So I stood in front of those who needed and said, you need ME.  

I can do this.

But what I always wanted to do was be whacked out, writing.

Writing from the very lining of my soul, writing when my mind left me and all I had was talent that came from nowhere and shocked me, words that thrilled me and a narrative voice that satisfied the very wild and dangerous soul of me.

I did all this, almost as if on a dare.

Never wanted to.  Never set out to. 

Just had the ability and so flexed it.  

So here I am, crossroads between should and want.

I want to choose a life that rewards me.  One that nourishes my soul and my fiercely competitive nature.  But means something in this world of financial statements and profit margins, things which I've never cared much about.  Take your FFO and ssssssmoke it.

It is about the purpose.

It used to be about the art.

I was a wondering, docile baby.

I was an awkward, curious kid.

I was a voracious reader, quiet, lost in my books, never spoke, never had friends.

I was an angry, stifled teenager.

I was a wild and recklessly daring young adult.  

I wanted.  I wanted.

I frightened people with it.   

I have been an intensely irritable adult.  

I missed something.

I listened when I should have ignored, I followed when I should have struck out alone.

If there is ever a time to make amends, this is it.

I finally listened to my heart and married the embodiment of my desires.

Now I have a man who lives like I've always wanted to, and yet I try to mold us both into a perception of what SHOULD BE.  Where we should be, what we should have.

I repeat to myself:  Choose life, take a chance, do it do it do it do it.

I drive to and from the thing I detest and I think:  Choose life, decide to be happy.  

Someone doesn't yield and I honk briefly, then forget about it.  

Stop being afraid.  Walk away from the money that comes with being unhappy and choose your own life.  

Do it.

Do it do it do it do it do it.

Waiting Game

I'm not a good chess player.

I don't strategize.

I've never been good at thinking ahead, making plans and setting players into precise locations, to be available for the next worst thing.

What I do well is react.

I am a strong personality, I land on my feet, usually.

If for some reason my landing is unsteady, I am quick study and very very soon acclimate to new climates and experiences.

Despite what many of you may think, either from my posts or from knowing me personally, I can withstand a lot.  I may seem overly testy, but I can bide time and make the best of matters with the best of them.

Better than the rest, actually.  My last eight years have proved that without a shadow of a doubt.

But now, it is time to leave.

And I'm terrified, and I'm discouraged, and I'm down.

And yet, I'm hopeful, confident, assertive and fairly pissed.

This last one struck down to the very iron of my being.

And to withstand and submit now would be impossible.

Full disclosure, I promise.  Soon.   I made a vow not to write about work, and I'll honor that, unless in the most oblique terms possible.

But hear ye this.  I'm done. 

I've flexed all I am capable of flexing.  I've had all I can stands.

I can't stands no more.

I am not your fall guy.  I will never be your fall guy again.

Salome's Mix

A few of you have asked for the names of the artists and songs on my mix tape. I purposefully didn't include these, so that you would be forced to listen to all of the songs, without prejudice.

So here they are, in order, but first!
A couple of shout-outs:

Julie! I hope you are recovering from your car accident and come back to us. Maybe Mars is in Venus? Or stuck dead-on into my heart, because the world is throwing curve balls at the moment. Get well soon.

Alex and Carlo - big congrats on the wedding date: 8808. Verra Nice.

Jonathon! Congrats on your new family, I'm delighted for you both, and for me as well, because your personal blog posts are even more rich and entertaining.
Here are the song titles:

1. Clumsy - Fergie
2. Umbrella - Rihanna
3. Crazy - Gnarls Barkley
4. Over and Over - Hot Chip
5. The Con - Tegan & Sara
6. Polythene Pam - The Beatles
7. Stronger than Me - Amy Winehouse
8. This is Everything - Tegan & Sara
9. Fidelity - Regina Spektor
10. Where Does the Good Go - Tegan & Sara
11. Myriad Harbour - The New Pornographers
12. Notice - Gomez
13. Between Love & Hate - The Strokes
14. Back to Black - Amy Winehouse
15. Dark Come Soon - Tegan and Sara
16. A Rush of Blood to the Head - Coldplay
17. Falling Slowly - Glen Hansard
18. Think Too Much(B) - Paul Simon
19. 9 Crimes - Damien Rice
20. Breathe Me - Sia

I'm back!

Hello, I'm back.

Did you miss me?

I went to Scotland for a week, and some of it was lovely, while most of it was awful.

No fault of the gorgeous Scottish countryside and folk, though.  

No, it was my folk that made it miserable.

I cried a bit, on the plane home, after lowering my defenses with many, too many glasses of wine.

Why did I cry?

Because that is the last time I'll see Scotland for a long time, unless I travel there myself.

More later, and full disclosure of what is going on will come in probably a few months.

Warning: The Water is Filthy with Tangents

As you can probably tell by my most recent posts, I am in need of some serenity.
Serenity isn't something that comes naturally to me, unless I am here, like this, right now, writing everything down, but couching it, making it some type of story. Quantifying it, wrestling it to the ground, attributing it to something else, writing a letter to someone that bothered me, or generally, to someTHING that has annoyed me.

Or touched me, moved me, but those are rarer.

I have always been an angry person. Several therapists have tried to determine from whence this rage comes, all have failed. I have failed, myself, to articulate it to anyone.

I don't know where it comes from. I know I place high expectations on myself, I place them on others, I am an impossible friend, I am a frighteningly intense wife.

I am only being the person I know how to be.
But there are things that I do not say, there are things that get overshadowed by the aggression, that get flattened in the hurricane-force winds of my purpose and drive.

And I'm forgetting how to feel them and it is scaring me to death.

....and, truth be told, making me pretty angry.

Breaking the Waves

No sleep last night, and that's a first for me.
Typically I toss and turn until about an hour before my alarm goes off, and then I fall into a dead slumber, where hordes of (herds of?) elephants can come thundering over me and I won't wake up. Not at all, until I've overslept far too late to pass it off as traffic, a bridge or needing gas.

There are some times you wake up so late that you have to go into work and say, OHMIGOD I just totally overslept! I guess I didn't set my alarm (lie)! or my personal favorite, My husband must have hit my alarm by mistake (TOTAL lie). But I can do exasperated and comically frazzled like a pro, and I typically leave 'em laughing when I'm through.

So, hey, I'm exhausted. I'm exhausted and I just got done working a 9 hour day.
By the time I was done, I was so focused on what I was doing that I was practically drooling.

But I had a couple of cool, brain-wiggy thoughts today and I'm going to share them.

1. When it is really cold outside, really really cold, you can tell, just by looking out the window. That blows me away. Like the whole world and everything in it just hunches in on itself, to withstand.

2. I think a pair of crows on my street are dating. They were just strolling down the street, screeching amicably to each other. It was cute for a second and then I remembered that the crow is like the pigeon's drug-addict thug older brother. And so I honked at them.

And now a couple of letters gathered from over the weekend.

Dear Lady Who Freaked Out on Saturday When I Parked Too Close To Her Car,

Let's establish a few things. ONE: I am not the lady you EVER want to piss off, by being a snivelly and coddling little puss about her Audi. Listen bitch, if I had wanted or tried to hit your car, you'd be driving a Matchbox right now. I have that kind of anger. As it was, you picked a really shitty time to confront me. I've got rage upon rage boiling here, and nowhere to unleash it. I'm hurt, and I'm pissed, and I feel used and hosed and like no one has any idea what I've gone through so that EVERYTHING is perfect for them. And I mean the world, and I mean my cats and I mean my hair and I mean EVERY GODDAMN THING IN MY LIFE IS ASKING TOO MUCH RIGHT NOW AND I JUST NEED A FUCKING HUG OR A THANK YOU OR SOME GODDAMN THING. So when you moaned about your car and berated me for getting too close, when you knelt down and caressed and nearly cried over your untarnished grille, I snapped.
I shouted you up the street, I screamed at you to STOP FREAKING OUT, all the time losing my shit in a manner I am pretty sure you are unaccustomed to.

Which leads me to TWO: I didn't hit your car. I parked too close (an inch between) and moved it out of courtesy. I can't even look at this in retrospect and calm down about it, I am THAT grateful for the outlet to scream and strain my elbow flipping you off and making threatening motions like I was going to run after you and kick your ass. Don't take it personally, you just had the wrong lady, on the wrong day of the wrong year of the wrong life.

My inevitable bail fund can be found at: Shedeservedit.com,
Salome

Dear Tiny-Sized Ladies Who REPEATEDLY put your hot little numbers in my XXL racks,

I swear to god, the next time I see one of you do this I'm going to grab the slinky little size 4 number and beat you to death with it on on the escalator landing of Macy's downtown. Or I might run screaming all the way to Arby's and order one of everything they have.

Or just break down and cry,
Salome

Insomnia

I lie awake.
Doubling up on sleep-aids, I am impervious to their effects.

I like awake, thinking.
Fretting, worrying, remembering.

I need to sleep, I know.
I worry. I never get enough sleep during the week, because I lie awake, stressing about lying awake.

Aesthetically Pleasing

Greetings!

The First-Annual
CARCHARODONNA
All-Time Favorite and 2007 Greatest Hits Album

Has Arrived!

Email me at carcharodonna@mac.com to request a copy!
Include your mailing address
because
while not omnipotent, I am known to be testy.

Do Not Expect Fancy Packaging Or a Label
Because I Could Not Get the !@&$*&@! Thing To Work

One interesting thing I learned last Friday:
A twenty foot great white shark is typically EIGHT FEET WIDE and SIX FEET DEEP.

That is a monstrous thing of beauty.

Postscript

Second Notice:

Dear Pet Products Store Catered to Soft Hearts Like Me,

You have not replied to my recent letter.

I find this troubling on many levels, not the least of which is that I have bought so many useless things from you and your horrid, spawning retail chains that I probably financed the new store in Frozen'roid, North Dakota.  

I am compelled to send you another urgent missive.  I am quite upset and find you guilty as about to be charged.

When you charge $42** for the pheromone things YOU NEED TO PUT A DIRECTIONAL ON THEM SO THAT I DON'T PLUG THEM IN UPSIDE DOWN AND THEN ALLOW THE OIL TO DRIP THROUGH THE APPARENTLY GOLD-FUCKING PLATED INNARDS AND CAUSE THE HOUSE TO SMELL LIKE BURNING PLASTIC WHICH MAKES ME REMOVE THEM SO THAT THEY DON'T SET THE HOUSE ON FIRE WHEN I'M AT WORK AND BURN MY PSYCHOTIC CATS TO DEATH.

Which doesn't sound all that bad, come to think of it.

It was expensive and they are ruined and it is all because I'm an idiot and wasn't thinking and to be honest with you, THAT NEEDS TO BE SOMEONE ELSE'S FAULT this time.

Kindly respond and tell me who I can scream at,

Salome

**EACH!! 

Deliberately Cryptic, in Other Words FLY

;) CLP is the only one who that title may resonate with.

CLP, you called me! I did not answer because

WELCOME TO
SALOME'S RUINED WEEKEND
OF EMOTIONAL TORMENT.

I can't talk about it.

My time, she is a-biding.

Sometimes when the worst thing happens

the world just opens up

like the throat of an opera singer

then the hope pours out

So here's to hope

and here's to the fat lady

sharpening her teeth.

Correspondence File: 1/11/08

Dear Coat Manufacturers (Everywhere):

For the love of Pete, will you please make coats with well-sewn buttons? I mean, honestly.
Listen, I know you can't possibly imagine how many times a person can get out of their car and actually HOOK the button on the inside of the driver's door, nor could you anticipate when someone (such as myself) might buy a coat that just(barely)fits and wear the goddamn thing anyway, because you feel funky and cool in it, even though the simple act of taking a sip of coffee some morning might snap the back buttoned thing off in its tracks, but fergodsake, I am a repellent to buttons over here, and if the 2 year old in your sweatshop can't sew a button tightly you should imprison her whole family.

Because I never remember where I put them for safekeeping,
Salome

p.s. When I die, I will be remembered as the lady that had "many random buttons in schizophrenic proliferation among personal belongings." And it will be all your fault. Please call Larry King and explain my life.

Dear Unfathomable Multi-Locale Breakout,

We've already been through this. Listen, sebum glands. I've had it. If you freak the fuck out three days before an important meeting ONE MORE TIME.....I'm going to plunge my face into a bath of pure glycol. I KNOW it is an important meeting. I was up until 3am last night, wasn't I? I'm well aware of the general all-purpose FREAKOUT going on in my brain. I would expect YOU of all body processes to give me some support. You must be friends with the Sudden-Unexplained-Alarming-Bloat. I hope you're proud of yourself. Big Important Meeting meets Fat Teenager with Lack of Sleep Twitch. Nice.

Alarmingly Using The CAPS LOCK,
Salome

Dear Pet Products Store Catered to Soft Hearts Like Me,

Do you really have to be so expensive? Listen, I'm not so infatuated that I don't know that all the products I buy are because I think a domesticated animal is a human family member. But listen, they are, she is, and I CARE. If they need me, I AM HERE. Even though I have the most pampered and coddled cats since Egypt, I still look for ways to liquidate my savings. But $42 EACH for the pheromone thing that MIGHT make Lucy stop stalking everything in the house and Leo stop peeing on my dirty laundry? That is outrageous. The new brush I bought because their old brush is, well, old? Highway Robbery. $10 a month per cat for the Prozac that will allow these freakazoids to just FUCKING CHILL FOR A MOMENT WITH ALL THE DRAMA, COULD WE PLEASE? Unbelievable. You are sucking me dry.

When I Die, I Want to Come Back As My Cat,
Salome

Dear Finny,

My dear. My darling boy. You are still gone. I know you're not coming back. And I can just about type this without breaking open like the fury and pain of the sea when it hits the shore with intent to kill and spatters into mist. Just about. I am profound with the lack of you. I was at Petco tonight, honey. At the place where the cats who need homes are, my heart raced and my spirits soared, if only just to find you. If only just to see you now, seven long and heartbreaking months, and scoop you up and say FINALLY. Finally, honey you're home, and everything that happened we will laugh about, at night when you and I curl up in bed and we are mom and boy. Today I gave your favorite toy to the stray that my heart wouldn't let me hold out on. She liked it, but not like you did. She won't bring me the felt lightning bolt with the bell I painstakingly sewed on it, drop it in my lap to say, "Here. Throw this, I feel like playing. I feel like chasing this and bringing it back to you so you can throw it again and then we'll be having fun together." I cried about you on New Year's Eve. I had cold medicine and then tequila and then champagne and all of a sudden I was all red-face and snot, crying to Lakshmi about you. You are just a cat, I know, but I am just a human, and you brought my life so much light. When you left, or died, or were taken, joy just stopped for me. I am trying to coax it back, but this house is filthy with memories of you. I can't go in the garden, it breaks my heart. I can't stop stopping in my tracks when something reminds me of you, and it is like you just went missing. I can't let you go, little man, my heart won't let me.

Be Safe and Please Don't Ever Forget That I Love You, That I Always Did and Always Will,
Mom

Cacaphony

While getting older isn't the worst thing that has ever happened to a person, I quite like the tiny wrinkles around my eyes when I smile, I am increasingly annoyed at my stomach's decision to form a second set of cleavage just under my boobs.

I am devastated at my body's inability to recover from drinking three or four too many. What used to take hours to get over now takes days. Days that I remember the next time. Who ever thought I'd be wary or cautious?

What is cool, at the moment, are the cracks that my body is doing. I'm sure they're a harbinger of some serious arthritis medication in my future, but for now I'll revel in them.

Elbow crack - so satisfying when I do the sweeping circular arm-movement to elicit them.
Ankle cracks - loud pops that feel so good.
Knee cracks, or wait, kind of more like grinding, which is really not an appealing sound.

Neck cracks that sound like they MEAN something.

I'm going to take this old thing one day at a time. And right now I'm just going to shut up and listen to the symphony.

oooh, a music Meme!

Thanks to Jonathan:

Rules...
1. Put your iTunes on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer
3. You must write down that song name no matter what

Results...

Q. What would best describe your personality?
A. ONE - U2
Wow. A favorite. A favored, favored, heart favorite. I have always been enthralled with the vulnerability, self-doubt and strength in this song. At least that's what I've always heard in it.

Q. If someone says it's okay you say:
A. Come Away With Me - Norah Jones
Hmm. There's a bunch of songs on here from these DVDs a friends was passing around full of pirated music. This isn't a song I put on my iTunes because I loved it. But I do like Norah Jones. I would say that this could be relevant because if someone tells me it's okay and it clearly isn't....I would help them anyway I could. I can't stand to see someone hurt or hurting. I have to try and help.

Q. What do you like in a (girl) GUY? (I had to change gender to be relevant to me)
A. Rewind - Paolo Nutini
Something that sparks me. I like the flames, I like the flood, I like the passion. He sings, why can't we just rewind, why can't we just rewind, why can't we just rewind? And I know what he means. I always want it to be like it first was....I always want the fire. I like a guy that keeps that alive for me. Thank you, Pope. You're the only one that ever has.

Q. How do you feel today?
A. I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself - White Stripes
HOW PERFECT IS THAT? Rock on. I have an achy sinus thing going on, but a lot to do and that frenetic energy that comes when you are at the last countdown of a deadline. I'll be working all weekend, and I'm prepared for it. I expect some greatness. Unless I develop a full blown cold, which is seeming ever more likely. I'm doped to the gills on cold medicine, though.

Q. What is your life's purpose? (Dude. This is pretty heavy stuff for my music collection.)
A. I Know I Know I Know - Tegan & Sara
To write like these women, sisters from Canada. I'm floored, I'm flattened into the cracks of the earth when I hear them. I want to write things that resonate instantly with people, like their words do to me.

Q. What is your motto?
A. King of Pain - The Police
Woah. It is my destiny to be the King of Pain. So interesting. I saw The Police in concert in Seattle from box seats (in one of the luckiest episodes of my young life). I was breathlessly waiting for this song, which is my favorite, has been since I was a little kid. When I was a teenager I would make up words to this melody and make my cousins laugh. I would definitely say I carry a lot of pain, and choose to inflict it upon myself if my well runs dry. I'm more comfortable in a realm of hurt than of health. Makes no sense, and I should probably go to therapy, but there you have it.
-What am I saying, Probably go to Therapy? You all read my blog, you KNOW I need therapy.
(p.s. I have been to anger management and it was totally bullshit.)

Q. What do your friends think of you?
A. Coconut Skins - Damien Rice
Boy I have no idea on this one. I love Damien Rice, but this album (9) has not caught me. This is probably only the 2nd time I've heard this song.

Q. What do you think of your friends?
A. In Da Club - 50 Cent
Erm, yeah. I guess, you know, you guys can find me in the club. Judging from this, I am an arrogant sonofabitch with an EXQUISITE hook. I can't help but feel like a badass when I sing this song alone in my affluent white woman car. I also love to dance to it, completely without rhythm, in da club, when I'm hammered.

Q. What do you think of your parents?
A. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - Elton John
I can't even begin to describe the complex emotions that thinking about this question and then hearing this song come on has evoked. You can't put me in your penthouse, my future lies beyond the yellow brick road....I feel like I've accomplished a lot, and mostly to show them that I could. I'm not as happy with all of these things as I thought I would be. I was happier doing a lot of writing, wearing thrift clothes and LIVING more.

Q. What do your parents think of you?
A. Screenwriters Blues - Soul Coughing
Whatever they think of me it has never sounded like this.
This song points out the soulless nature of Los Angeles, and I guess maybe that fits. They never held much esteem for the things I wanted to do with my life. They still don't, but tolerate me talking about it now, because I did everything they wanted me to. First.

Q. What do you think about very often?
A. Doin' Time - Sublime
Hahaha. This is a fun meme. Sublime makes me happy, makes me move and makes me think. Right now I think about work very often. Does not relate to this song. I think about Finny a lot. Thinking about the Pope happens everytime a synapse fires. I think about everything all the time. Which is why I can't sleep, smoke, drink too much (though not at the moment) and generally explains almost everything that you read here.

Q. What do you think of your best friends?
A. Freakshow - Ani DiFranco
Don't be offended. Listen: "Life in the circus ain't easy. But the folks on the outside don't know. The tent goes up and the tent comes down and all that they see is the show --Life under the big top is about freedom, is about faking, there's an art to the laughter there's a SCIENCE. And there's a lot of love and compliance -- we can make something bigger than any one of us alone." Perfect song.

Q. What do you think of the person you love?
A. Hype - Tegan & Sara
This song at once encapsulates knowledge, guts, power, faith, sensitivity and strength.
Excellent way to describe what I think the Pope is capable of.

Q. What is your life story?
A. Common People - Pulp
Okay, forget the lyrics on this one. Listen to the music. Go along with it, be drawn by it and when the music swells to the crescendo, go there too. Be at the zenith of how that makes you feel, do everything you can do to feel that way - to think like this, to live a life that rises up and swells like a soundtrack, like an ocean around you. THAT is my life story.

Q. What do you want to be when you grow up?
A. What Goes Around.... - Justin Timberlake
Hmmm. So I want to be a cheater, or the talented recipient of same? Not applicable.
So I'll just tell you. I want to be a working actor or a writer. Or I want to own a pub. I want to water my many plants, laugh with my many children and have wrinkles from smiling. I want to be free and I want to be happy and I want to be at peace. (and I'd like to be thin with naturally curly hair and big boobs, while I'm at it.)

Q. What do you think when you see the person you love?
A. Lola - The Kinks
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. The pope is undeniably a real man, over 6' tall and handsome. But the sight of him makes me weak in the knees and has since the first time I met him.

Q. What is your hobby/interest?
A. By Your Side - Sade
Well.....maybe not so much.

Q. What will they play at your funeral?
A. Puttin' on the Ritz - Taco
FANTASTIC! I'll make a note to have everyone wear white gloves.

Q. What is your biggest secret?
A. Proud Mary - Ike and Tina Turner
Hmmm. Which part, though? Cleaning the plates or popping the tang?
On a cross-country drive, alone, with broken A/C in mid-summer, I BECAME Tina Turner, singing this song at the top of my lungs, over and over, through Nebraska going 90mph. That was fucking awesome.

And we're done.

A Photo Montage of Joy

My niece Lolobird.

My mother-in-law. She's as awesome as she looks.

Lolobird and Littlebird. Nieces.

Happy New Year!

Well, in grand Salome fashion, I rang in the new year with good friends, good food and a really awesome firework, all of which I viewed through a blur, as I quickly got way too drunk to be understood, and finished the night crying to Lakshmi about Finny.

I miss Finny, still.  You can read about him here, here and here.

(Many thanks to Lakshmi, who sat up and patiently listened to my incoherent weeping.)

We woke up at 1:30pm, with burgeoning colds and ravishing hangovers.

I am up off the couch, where I've been laying prone for many hours, watching a marathon of the Intervention TV show I'm so fond of.

I got up for one very important reason:  to post hello and go to bed.

Happy New Year Everyone!

Especially ALEX!

Congrats and my sincerest wishes for happiness.

(and the obligatory, "It's about time!!")

No posting until the New Year

I've had an incredible holiday season, which I'll write about.

I've found a bit of peace just recently and I think this is something that will stick.

I will come back in the New Year with pictures and the like, but just now I am reveling in the gifts, both material and spiritual.  

And I want some time and space to reflect on them.

Love you guys, check back in a few days.

Happy New Year!

Happy Holidays!

We leave at the crack of dawn for Sacramento and my in-laws for the holidays.
BUT WAIT!

Before you gasp with mock horror at my plight - I LOVE my in-laws.
I'm looking forward to the trip!

And with that cheery news, I leave you the disgruntled residents of our house, who will hold the fort down and shed all over everything these next few days:


And, turn your head, because I'm tired and can't figure out how to straighten it:

A Hundred Different Ways to Say Cold

So, Arctic.

This is what I do. I feel something. Something I can't bitch about, effectively anyway, something I can't ask for help with, something that I'm struggling with.

So I attribute it to something I CAN describe. And then I write it down.

So typically this would be a poem. And it might yet be.
This is me, trying to figure it out. If I can quantify it, I can deal with it.
If I can wrestle it to the ground and name it, then I can overcome it.

I feel like I'm in a snow wasteland.

I'm bundled in snow clothes. I'm slowed down, I move stiffly, and with none of the grace of myself. Everything hurts. The sun on the white expanse burns my eyes. They sting and tear, anyway, because everything is frigid.

A movement is clumsy and doesn't go the way I thought when I moved.
Remember when you were out in the snow, all bundled up, and you were running after someone else, and they moved faster and you just slogged behind?

And you were breathless with the exertion, all muscles screaming and yet chilled, stinging with the exposure?

Trying to catch up.
Everything I say sounds ridiculous. I'm several yards behind and I can't remember where my home is. I can't see my home anymore. I don't know if I'll ever find it again.

There are a hundred ways to say Help. There are a thousand to say I'm sorry.

I can't find the words, I don't know who to say it to and I can't catch up.
Everyone is so far away that I'm not even on the horizon.

And I know this, but the faster I move the more I stand still.
Like when you were a kid, the sledding down the snowy hill was exhilarating, but getting back up was agony, and you wondered why you were outside at all?

And I'm freezing, here.
I don't know what to do.

For the first time in a long time, I don't know what to do.

I am no ski bunny.
I'm a lumbering, growling Yeti and I just want my warm hole with no one around to remind me that I'm a figment of their imagination.

Hey, I'm Fashionable!

I have a tendency to get sucked into really awful reality TV.
One of my current guilts is this absolutely inane show called The Real Housewives of Orange County. This is a reality show that follows very wealthy vapid women in the day to day of their exorbitant lives.

They are Botoxed, Breast-Augmented and tucked into horrifying Barbie dolls.
Frightening, because no matter the expense, you can't rewind time.

So they are falling plastic faces, and huge boobs in tight shirts that look lewd and incongruous. And they are stupidest women! Not sure that they're actually very stupid, but everything that is important to them is so trivial!

There was a whole episode on whether one of them should get false eyelashes. Like eyelash extensions. Unbelievable.

Anyway, they are showing promos for a new horrifying reality show, which is called Millionaire Match-Up or some such crap. There is a very earnest, very wealthy (with requisite botox and silicone) trying to match up horrifyingly stupid rich men with equally atrocious fake and stupid women.

The whole thing, the whole post, is to say that in one scene the matchmaker is wearing a shirt that I have. Unquestionably it is the same shirt.

And that pleases me somewhat. That I have the same shirt as a millionaire matchmaker in Los Angeles.

But what pleases me even more is that I bought the shirt at Nordstrom Rack for $16.00 a year ago.

:)

I'm working on a post, I've been having some hard times for the last few months, and I'm trying to work the whole thing into an image, because that is how I quantify and articulate something is really bothering me.

I can't put this on a boat (as I usually do) I can't put this onto a guy (which is another favorite).

This time it is arctic.

I'll write more later.

Alive Alive O

Yes, dear readers, I survived the plague that befell me.
It took a couple days, and on the first day my cold was a niggling, "uh oh," when I woke up that morning to a noseful of yellow snot.

On the second day of head cold my virus gave to me, deep throaty chest pains, and a noseful of yelll llo snot!

Just kidding. I'll get serious here.

The second day of my cold I parked myself on the couch and watched everything that the TV had to offer. Wasn't much, but thank God for DVRs.

The third day I rushed into work and completed something that needed completing, and then came home and promptly passed out clothed on the couch, under a warm blanket and two very warm cats, sleeping on my back (hated position) with my mouth open.

Which meant that every few hours I'd wake up and clack my desert mouth shut.
A mouth without saliva is no fun at all. Similar to a town without pity. Oh, what that can doooooo. Sorry, can't stay on track, because I'm ALL BETTER NOW and that feels just SUPER!

The fourth day I woke up and thought, "no way in hell."
I went back to bed and slept through the entire work day.

I'm better now, went to work this morning and by 3pm felt like myself, which was, bitchy, irritated and going 90 miles per second, even at rest.

Welcome back Salome, the world missed you. How it spun on its axis, we'll never know.

Sick

And, lo, the plague has struck.
After several months of dodging all sick bullets, I am felled by a powerful head cold.
I dropped something today and bent down to pick it up. In seconds, my head filled with such snot and pressure that I'm surprised it didn't pop.

I have what is the stadium wave equivalent of a headache, random and fleeting, and circling around my head. I no sooner blow my nose than my immune system replenishes it.

I just now spread lip balm all over my upper lip, which is raw and cracking, and for good measure, smeared a large quantity under and around my nostrils, which have been ravaged by Kleenex.

I am, in short, miserable.

Update on the Awesome Spontaneous, Exactly the Right Thing To Do Purchase

He's taking it back.
Our close friend owns a computer shop north of us and has promised to build the Pope a supercomputer for the same price.

We trust him implicitly, he has never steered us wrong, so we're taking the Pope's new machine with Vista back in favor of a custom-built PC with XP.

Anyone (and I mean Jonathon here) have any experience or advice about Vista?

I have to bake 90 cookies tonight.

I will need more wine.

Yes It Is

We were at Costco tonight, picking up a birthday cake, present, and the Pope wandered into the computer section.

The Pope is thrifty to the point of near-miserliness.
He has about 10 shirts, 6 pairs of pants, 3 jackets and 2 pairs of shoes.
He typically drives cars that I can run faster than, and much more quietly to boot.

He doesn't buy stuff.

He's had the same computer for the last five years, and ever since I've known him the thing has taken a week to open the Internet Browser, and 13 years to close a file.

It was, as they say, time.

He found one he loved, there was a $150 rebate on it, and after checking the bank balance, we had the money easily and both of us had just received additional large checks to deposit.

I said, "Buy it."
"Maybe," he said.
"Buy it!!" I insisted.

All of a sudden he turned 13 and his eyes lit up with glee.
He asked serious questions of the Costco employee, but the corners of his mouth kept tugging up in the telltale grin that marks an elated Pope.

He put it in the cart and as we walked to the cash register I said,
"This is why you work so hard at a job you hate. This is why EVERYONE works so hard at jobs they hate."

"No," he said, "I work hard like that for us."
"No," I said.

"You work that hard so that you can buy something you want, let alone legitimately need."

Call me crazy, but we live a comfortable life. We've got money for things we need, and mostly we have the money for anything we want. We're not extravagant, we don't have to have the newest, latest gadgets, and once in a while it is prudent, and sane, to buy the first thing you see because you just want to.

TAGGED

The Rules

Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself.
Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. I am addicted to sparkling water. I drink almost 2 liters of it daily.
2. I can't drive in snow. Or even ride in the car in snow. I freak out, frightened.
3. I sucked my thumb until I was 15.
4. My grandmother died in my arms when I was 24.
5. My dad told me once I have the highest IQ in our family.
6. I used to perform spoken word around Santa Cruz, CA and had a couple people record me.
7. I am allergic to dried apricots. They cause an asthma attack. But not fresh, canned or jellied apricots. Those are fine.

I'm tagging three blogs and then requesting that these people comment with their randoms:
CLP, SKROLL, LAKSHMI and JULIE.

Platypus King
Clan Buchanan
Xela

p.s. SEND ALL MEME TASKS MY WAY. I LOVE THEM.

When the World Is Wet It Smells Like Worms

Did you miss me?
So funny that the month of November tinked by like tiny grains of sand against glass, and then here I am three days into December like I blinked my left eye!

To Recap:

December 1.
The Pope is home from his business trip and Yay!
It snows in Seattle, lovely big flakes that charm and enchant us.
We go to breakfast, braving the snowy roads. We see many accidents but are safe, because the Pope is carefully and thoughtfully driving.

**Note. The reason I hate the Pope's driving is because he is careful and thoughtful. And that does not fit well with my driving skills, honed from my "Bat Out of Hell" manual.**

....aaaand SCENE!

Welcome to the end of NaBloPoMo.

I was driving home today, and was fixated on getting to Trader Joes and buying a eucalyptus wreath. I thought it would be a modern update to the season, and I love the way it smells.

I didn't end up buying it, because it was dried, like you'd find in a flower store, and the berries were glued on it, with sloppy glue-gun work and all.

There were regular wreaths there, too, but I despise regular wreaths.
And the reason is this:

My freshman year in college, I went home for the winter break (from California to Ohio). I was expected to get a winter job, and did. I worked at a wreath-making operation, I don't remember where. We stood outside in these huge plastic warehouse tents, and although it warmed up, it was never really warm. Ohio is bitterly cold in the winter. We could not wear gloves, because it impeded our dexterity. The base of the wreaths is a double layer of green wire, stretched into a circle. You take the evergreen branches, which were pre-cut, mostly, but still needed to be de-twigged into the proper "lie" on the metal frame. You would place an evergreen strand on the metal wire, and take thin green wire from these giant spools to secure it. You would do probably 30 times per wreath, and we made about 30 wreaths a day. It was agony. By the end of the day your hands were cracked, tacky with pine and bleeding. The smell of pine is very antiseptic after a while, and the whole thing is pretty miserable. I worked there for a week, and then quit in search of more comfortable pastures. One thing that was illuminating for me was that I actually worked with a girl that I had gone to junior high with. She'd married badly, right out of high school and they had a daughter. Every day her husband would shuffle up their cute kid and pick Angie up. What was illuminating to me was that I was home for about a month on my Christmas break, and this was Angie's life. Not making wreaths, of course, but small-time seasonal jobs to make ends meet. And this was a story for me, something to blog when it crossed my mind, 11 years later.

I moved from the wreath place to Ken's Nursery & Crafts. (help me out here, CLP, am I right on the name?) It was still (of course) Christmas time, but this time I was sent to help the plant arrangement people. Now, in Ken's Flower Shop, there was a clear ranking of placement in the store. You had different departments. There was sales, and they had their manager, floral arranging, with their own, dominatrix bitch of a manager, and the plant section, the lowest on the totem pole. The manager of the plant section was a guy named Gary, who was in his early 50's and lived alone, except for his African Grey Parrot. He adored the parrot, and had suffered from colon cancer, and had had many surgeries. We connected instantly, oddly enough, this young girl in college with a pierced nose and Gary, who'd been at Ken's for 10 years. I had a blast in this department. We were a motley crew of losers, and we'd laugh and talk and turn out planter arrangements up a storm. The poinsettias came in and I was given the task of making poinsettia arrangements in the store. While I loved making the displays, and got creative and stacked and tiered and made glorious huge displays, I began to despise poinsettias. They are fragile, fragile plants, and a careless twitch of your hand can decimate an entire stalk. They also need to be watered - nearly daily. They were a complete pain in my ass, which is probably why the new girl got out of the work area and into the shop.

To this day I think of Gary when I see a poinsettia. We wrote letters for almost a year after I went back to school. He was my friend. He was a good guy and I think we both brought some warmth and cheer that season, to each other.

But I still hate poinsettias. I would never have them in any house of mine.
(plus they are poisonous to cats!)

Why Not?

Tell Us About Yourself

Name: [redacted for secrecy] Call me Salome.
Birthday: 8/23/74
How old do you act: Not sure, I feel like I'm 25 and I feel like I'm a hundred.
Zodiac Sign: Leo/Virgo cusp
Current location: Seattle, WA
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color and Length: God who knows anymore. Fading red w/blonde streaks and a good inch of gray at the roots.
Height: 5' 8.5"
Your Heritage: Irish/German/English/American
What’s Your Middle Name: Marie [not redacted for secrecy, that's the real one]
Shoes You Wore Today: Black Suede Boots. I almost always wear boots.
Your Weakness: Pride, Impatience, Insecurity about my intelligence
Your Fear: Spiders
Have You Ever Ridden A Mechanical Bull: No
Do You Want To: TOTALLY!
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year: Find some peace.
First Thought When You Wake Up: WHAT? You'vegottabekiddingme!
Best Physical Feature: Eyes
Best Character Feature: I Care.
Who Is Your Bestest Friend: You know who you are. (all of you)
When Is Your Bedtime: around midnight
Your Most Cherished Memory: Finny.
Pepsi or Coke: Neither: Sparkling Water is the only carbonated drink I will consume.
McDonalds or Burger King: Burger King - McDonalds with those damn tiny onions!
Single or Group Dates: Married, so go ask someone else.
What Is The Last Song You Sang: [redacted because it will be a secret song on my Salome2007Xmas CD]
Does Playing A Guitar Make A Girl/Guy More Attractive: TOTALLY
What Is Your Biggest Pet Peeves: Stupid people, cracking gum, whistling, or anyone not respecting my right to silence.
Do You Drink: See Heritage, above. What do you think?
Ever Been Drunk: ohmygod. (wipes tears of laughter from her eyes) That would be a big yes.
Do You Smoke: Yes. But I'm trying to quit.
Do You “Smoke”: Ha Ha. Used to, but it was a long time ago and I've not ever been crazy about it.
Do You Sing: I do, but it is not something most people would be able to listen to without bleeding.
What Color Underwear Do You Have On: Black
Do You Want To Go To College: I have a BA in Modern Lit, with Honors. I desperately want an MFA in Creative Writing or Theatre. Someday, when I've made enough money, I will go back, and get it just for me. Just for me.
Have You Ever Been In Love: Yes.
Do You Want To Get Married: I am married for the second time and think this is the last one for me.
Do You Believe In Yourself: Yes. In some ways so strongly. No. In other ways that I wish I could.
Do You Believe In Others: Yes, mostly. I have a few, close dear friends that I believe in. I believe in my family, too.
Do You Like Thunderstorms: Love them.
Do You Play an Instrument: I can tinker with Piano, but only snippets of the most basic learner songs.
What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up: I want to be at peace with myself.
What Country Would You Like To Visit: Africa
How Many CD’s Do you Own: Tons. But I'm all over iTunes now.
How Many DvD’s Do You Own: I think about 3.
How Many Tattoo’s Do You Have: None.
How Many Piercings Do You Have: 5 active. Total previous piercings are: 9 on various areas.
How Many Things In You Past Do You Regret: Too many to even begin to think of.

Favorite Shoes: Boots. Not any that I have now, but I have had some in the past that I loved. 20-eye docs, those brown ones from Value City that I wore until they fell off of me. I do really like the leopard print heels that I wore to my wedding.
Favorite Radio Station: NPR
Favorite Drink: For which occasion? Sparkling water for majority. Alcohol for other majority. Coffee every day. Lattes.
Favorite Car: Honda CRV (so far, I've not had many cars)
Favorite Place: Too vague. I love my parent's house. Sitting there with them, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.
Favorite Song: Unchained Melody - The Righteous Brothers. I saw them once, in Vegas. They were incredible.
Favorite Movie: Memento, Godfather I and II.
Favorite Moment: Taking a bow onstage for Laundry and Bourbon, when they were cheering and screaming my name.
Favorite Color: Purple
Favorite Meal: Chicken DoPiaza (can't spell it, and haven't been able to get it anywhere except England)

In a Guy/Girl or Man/Woman I Like
Favorite Eye Color: Brown
Favorite Hair Color: Black
Short Hair or Long Hair: Medium to Long
Height: Very tall, taller than me.
Body Type: Lean-ish, muscular, but not hardbody. I'm not precious about body fat. (Glass house and all). I'd like to see muscles, but I'm content with some belly.
Does Ethnicity Matter: No.
Piercings: Sure.
Tattoos: Sure.

“Bed Side Manner”
Do You Think You Are Attractive: Sometimes. But not physically. More mentally.
Are You Attracted To Someone Who Does Not Know It: No. My husband is well aware that I find him very attractive.
Would You Like To Be Someone’s Fantasy: Not really, I'm not available for fantasies, so that is more cruel than exciting.
Hunter or Hunted: Both, either, the hunt is what is exciting!
Do You Kiss With Your Eyes Open or Closed: Closed, mostly.
Ever Kissed Someone Of The Same Sex: Yes, a couple of times. Not for me.
A Little or A Lot Of Tongue: In between, but use it like you know what you are doing!
Older or Younger: Older
Top or Bottom: Both.
Lights On, Lights Off or Candle Light: Preferred is Candle light or pitch blackness.
Do You Like To Cuddle After: Yes, sometimes.
Do you Like To Cuddle In General: Not particularly. I'm not the cuddling type.
Trimmed, Shaved or Let IT Go Wild: Trimmed/Shaved.
Him / Her First or Second: Her first. Always HER FIRST.
Have You Ever Had Bad Sex: Ohmygod, who HASN'T?
Have You Ever Had Sex With Someone And Regretted It: Oh please. (wipes tears of laughter) Definitely. Welcome to my 20s.
Ever Have A 3Some, 4Some or More-Some: Yes. It was in turns awkward and hilarious. Not hot at all.
Does Sex = Love To You: Wow. It used to, when I was very young. But then I got older, and learned that it doesn't. But then I married the Pope, and re-learned that it does. And it is so much much much different and special when it DOES = love.

Right NowRight Now, Who Are You Thinking Of: The Pope, my husband.
Right Now, What Are You Listening To: The first draft of my Salome2007Xmas Mix. (god I sound like an ad)
Right Now, Do You Love Some One: Yes
Right Now, Does Someone Love You: Yes
Right Now, Do You Know Where Your Mechanical Bull Is: :) Some dive bar in Texas.
Right Now, Is It Raining: No, thankfully, because it is so cold it would snow.
Right Now, How Many MySpace Friends Do You Have: None. I despise the Myspaces and Facebooks, won't join them.
Right Now, Are You Happy: Yeah.

Blogging After Work - Day 2

Ladies and Gentlemen, here you have day two of me rushing home and blogging before anything else. BEFORE WINE, even.

I worked late tonight, so there was no traffic (except the exit lane of death that is a mere seconds into my commute, which by the way:

Hey, Asshole, in the Starlite Tours Van:

I AM going to get in, sir, whether you kindly let me or not. I can see that there is abominable traffic, and you are irritated (nice touch with the visible sigh and the head shaking), but I HAVE to get over, because I'm not going to the Key Arena tonight, or any other place downtown. I will remind you about the EVERY OTHER CAR yielding on the freeway rule. And if it isn't a rule, so what? It is just WHAT YOU DO. So, either you are going to let me in, or I will force my SUV ass right onto your bumper to prove a point. Because whichever insurance ends up being liable for this, you will lose your job. You think I don't know how that works?

I Know Some Things,
Salome)

Anyhoo, no traffic. So as I'm flying along the dark freeway, I wonder what CD is in Disc 2 of the radio. I think it is [a particular singer who shall remain a secret], but I'm not sure, and she's a finalist for the Salome mix, under eclectic (but so extraordinary) Salome songs that I'm sure everyone else will hate, but I am determined to include as she sings with the voice my heart would have if it could talk. So, I push Disc 2 on the radio, to switch over, but that takes SECONDS, which is far too long, so I look up at the CD holder strapped to the visor. and I go crosseyed trying to read the titles of the CDs in there. In the dark. While going 60 on the Freeway. You are starting to see why my husband is scared when I drive. I realized my idiocy in nanoseconds and brought my eyes back to the road, chuckling a bit.

It is a wonder I am still alive.

Update on Today's Post:

1. Under bed thingy does not fit under bed. Shit.
2. I bought a brand new bedspread in EXACTLY the same color scheme as the old one. Sigh. Pillows all match, but the fresh look is not there.
3. Why, when you wash a duvet cover, does it cease to fit the #$%*!@#$$ down comforter! Shit.
4. Lakshmi, we will bake the cookies together, with many martinis, and it will be joyous.
5. Heidi Klum is way too pretty. I think she's a robot.