What's in a Face?

Like Melissa, I need to start a section called "ideas I totally stole from Marnie". But this was too good for me to pass up!! This face recognition thing on My Heritage is awesomely funny and cool, and something an adoptee like me CANNOT pass up. I urge you to try it! My husband and I have been taking people's photos (after we got bored with our own) and trying them, too. So, here are TWO photos, with TWO results for me!



I have no idea who any of these people are. Except of course, Demi Moore, and I don't think I look a thing like her. Plus, do you see ANYTHING Asian in my features? So, I had to try it again. Here is attempt #2:



What's with all the Asian references? And KELLY FREAKIN' OSBORNE?? Uh...no. Don't see that at all.

For those of you wondering what happened to the fro-like curly hair, just know that I have a love affair with a certain ceramic flattening iron.

So, who do YOU think I look like? Feel free to guess at my genealogy and ethnicity. And feel for me tomorrow, as I will be accompanying Songbird and 20 middle school students on a bus at 5:30AM to all-region choir auditions! Wish us all luck!

Blame Marnie

It's all her fault that you aren't getting another "story" post today. Her and her little TAG! Just kidding, Marnie; you are one of my favorite bloggers!

The hardest part of the tag was narrowing my Most Famous Oddities down to just five (I can hear the rattling of Songbird's head in agreement). But here goes (and I'll leave the obvious "story" out of it - that would be too easy):

1. I can grab my uvula with my fingers, yank on it, and no gag reflex. Same for my epiglottis, though it is a little tougher to reach - and I tend to just touch it, not yank on it.

2. I'm only half as good as Marnie, because I am legally blind in one eye, with absolutely perfect vision in the other.

3. I have a very dark mole that resembles New Jersey. It is placed in an intimate spot which has forced me to reassure my past loves (and my OB/GYN) that I do, indeed, wipe thoroughly.

4. I have one leg that is about an inch longer than the other. (Dang, I said I wouldn't use the "story," but I guess since you don't know that part yet, it's okay.)

5. I can type and talk on the phone (about something completely different) or talk to someone standing in front of me at the same time. And by "type," I don't mean looking at a document and typing it word for word. I mean typing personal correspondence or something off the top of my head while carrying on another conversation. I can also say the alphabet backwards.

Okay - not all that odd, but I've completed my assignment for the day!

So...What's in a Name?

An inquisitive child, I wanted to know everything about my abandonment. I harassed my parents, needled them, and finally got a “story.” According to the “story,” a nurse had been leaving her hospital shift in the wee hours of the morning and thought she heard the soft mews of a kitten. A cat-lover, she had to stop and check the bushes from whence the cries came. Voila – she found me, covered in ant bites, but none the worse for the wear. This “story” became part of my life-treasure, and I carried it always – along with a special place in my heart for that nurse. I even spoke about it in a college speech class. The “story” was neat and tidy – I was found in a safe location (hospital grounds) and meant for discovery.

After learning the truth, I tentatively asked my mother if she remembered any details about my abandonment. Nope. Nothing. She never mentioned the “story.” I guess it had also been abandoned, since it hadn’t been needed in many years. I brought up “remembering a story about a hospital bush…or something,” and I was emphatically told that I must have “made that up.” I was never TOLD that, you see.

I knew differently, but it is better to be kind than right.

I still haven’t shared the truth with her, b/c when I asked if it were possible to find out – would she want to know – the answer was an emphatic, “NO.” Plus, I was again lectured about the foolishness of such an exploration. ‘Nuff said.
But what’s funny is my nickname. Years ago, after hearing my “story,” my husband thought it would be cute to call me “Lawn Baby” – in reference to being found on a hospital lawn. It sounded better than “Bush Baby” – and, well, you get the picture. So non-id posed a REAL PROBLEM. What was he going to call me now?

Okay – let’s get back to the phone conversation with the social-worker-I’m-trying-to-convince-I’m-not-insane. So, I tell his lady that I’m living a great life – I’m very successful, a mother, etc….but my husband and I have a problem. Then I tell her the “Lawn Baby” thing – just to convince her that I’M NOT CRAZY and I’m WELL-ADJUSTED. I just want to know what he should call me now. Dumpster Baby? Curbside Baby? Trash-Can Baby? Alley Baby? Could she at LEAST tell me WHERE I was found??? There was a long pause, as I think she had never encountered THIS type of problem on the job. She asked me to sit down. That’s when she said (with a measure of complete dread in her voice), “You were found in the restroom of a filling station. The truck merely pulled away, and the police case was closed.”

I guess “filling station” sounds better than “gas station.” When I told my husband, he was appalled. “She didn’t tell you what BRAND??? Well, NOW what am I gonna call you?? Shell Baby? Exxon Baby? Mobil Baby?”

We haven’t done all the research as to what gas stations would have been around at the time in California. But we like to think it was one of those with the cute green dinosaurs.

You can call me “Sinclair Baby.” He does.

Getting Information - or "Non"-Information

Okay - enough of the hotties. Let's get back to the story.

I started poking around online, and found dozens of web sites dealing with adoptees in California. Who knew? But the first step was getting what is called "non-identifying" information, which according to Tina's page, is the only thing available. However, "in the case of adoptions occurring before 1984 - contact between an adoptee and birth parent may be arranged if the adoptee, birth parents and adoptive parents have filed waivers of confidentiality with the Department or agency." If I had been adopted after 1984, I wouldn't need anything from my adoptive parents. How ironically non-Orwellian.

So I send off and get the letter back. It's so weird - I remember opening it at my office, surrounded by coworkers who had been encouraging me all this time. Here is what it said, in part:

"You were abandoned on September 10, 1968 in Anaheim, California. You were dressed appropriately and wrapped in a pink receiving blanket. You were taken to the hospital and it was estimated that you were about five days old. You weighed five pounds, four and three-fourths ounces and were 18 1/2 inches long. You were described as an attractive baby with a nicely shaped head and small features. You had dark brown hair, blue eyes and fair skin. You seemed alert."

Nicely shaped head! Attractive! Wow! Now, maybe it's just me - but if this had said "weird-shaped head, wrinkly face - bald," I could have seen more reason for the abandonment. I sound like a baby-hottie!! But, I digress.

Reading this stuff about myself was kinda bizarre - like the blank pages of the first nine months of my life, starting to fill in. I have to skip some of the letter here, b/c that's going to have to be a whole different post. But here's more:

"The authorities had been trying to identify and locate your birth parents. Someone had seen a pick-up truck leaving the area where you were found with two people in it. The man who was driving had blonde hair. The local hospitals were checked to see if you possibly had been delivered locally. However, your birth parents could not be identified or located. Eventually, the Court determined that you could be adopted."

Okay...a blonde man? I finally worked up the courage to CALL the lady who sent the letter. I had to know more details. When I spoke to her (which will most likely bleed over into tomorrow's post), she was VERY hesitant to tell me any details over the phone. I had to reassure her that I was not a lunatic, but I had to know - was there any CERTAINTY that these people were the ones who left me? She told me that it was DEFINITELY those people, that in fact, the witness said it was DEFINITELY the blonde man who left me there - and that I was DEFINITELY meant to be found.

I harrassed this woman into telling me MORE! MORE! on the phone, including sending me more details, without sounding like a spastic mental patient. But you'll have to wait until tomorrow!

August in October

HAWT. This is the autographed birthday-present-for-the-birthday-that-has-a-date-I'm-not-sure-of mentioned here. I can't wait to watch some football this weekend. And here is August, just in time for Fall Cuddling Season.

I promise that I will release some more exciting details of the abandonment/adoption story that began here. Including the tale of my first baby steps in the search (contacting the adoption agency), the whirlwind of interest from the online adoption community that led me to abandon (ha! ha!) that avenue of the search, my husband's new nickname for me, and the story of my first Christmas - which actually explains why I can't walk down a steep slope without holding onto someone, sliding down on my butt, or just tumbling down willy-nilly.

Thanks to all of you for reading along and making such supportive comments. They are greatly appreciated. I'm always amazed at others' fascination with my story. I usually don't immediately share it with people (as referenced by Mugsy); he has known me since grade school, and yet "never knew." I've found this process to be cathartic and experienced some feelings in the past few weeks that I realize it is TIME to feel. So thank you for the encouragement! I will return soon. And hopefully, you'll get a laugh out it all, as repayment for the therapy you are providing.

Satiating Songbird

Okay, so now some funnier things about being adopted! See that beautiful Southern California woman in this photo? That's my mom. When she would proudly show me off to strangers, the normal comment was, "Oh! She must look a lot like her father!" My mother, getting her own private giggle out of it, would usually just reply, "Well, I suppose she does!" We made a strange-looking pair - the tall, blonde, blue-eyed goddess and the plump, knappy-headed street baby.

That curly hair? Well, it got MUCH curlier as I aged. I'll have to dig up some photos (now that I have a working scanner) of JUST how curly it got. I literally had an afro when I was about 18 months old. And my skin just got darker. To manage the hair, mom started parting it and braiding it - sometimes leaving it in braids when I went to bed. But my hair as a youth will have to wait for a different post, b/c that is an odd tale all by its lonesome. This photo to the right is one of my favorites of us - I had it blown up for her on Mother's Day one year. It shows the typical mother-daughter relationship. Me causing havoc, and Mom having to clean up after me.

Now for the story that Songbird mentioned. I live in a very rural part of Arkansas, in a town of 5,600 folks; the county population nears 20,000. At the time I got pregnant with the kiddo, I believe there may have been one black person in town. And I had heard stories of hangings in the late 1960's of the very few people of color that had dared make any attempt to reside here. At some point during my pregnancy, it just hit me. As Songbird so eloquently recalls, "It was just so hilarious because your panic happened so suddenly. It was like one day you woke up and this thought sprang into your mind. 'Holy Crap!!!! I could have a black child!!!!' Then, in typical Tiffany fashion, you couldn't shut up about it. You obsessed for the rest of your pregnancy about having a black child." Which is true. I was panicked. Terrified. I literally asked my husband how he would feel if, indeed, this child turned out to be noticeably black. Who knows what genetics could be lurking in my background? We were ready to move out of town, if need be. It became this worry, all through my pregnancy.

However, all my fears were laid to rest. Unfortunately, blogger is not cooperating with me on this last photo, but as you can see here, I didn't have a black baby. I was not run out of town, nor hung from the gallows.

Quick Update for the Bloodthirsty

You guys crack me UP!!! Frothing at the mouth, waiting for more details...

There are some good ones ahead, so be patient with me. You must know two very important things before I proceed much further:

1) My parents (adoptive, but parents nonetheless) know NOTHING of this blog.
2) My parents would be absolutely HORRIFIED if they knew I had done any research AT ALL concerning my birthmother.

I seriously can't tell you why. What I can tell you is that all my life, my mother has insisted that my birthmother must be akin to the devil for leaving me. I have heard all sorts of negativity about this woman, including that she must have been a drug-addicted, slovenly, disgusting vile creature. I agree, it seems an abhorrent thing to do to a tiny baby. But...this concept of her being some horrific beast is hard for me to fully accept. I am so amazingly different than my parents, and my traits must stem partially from my biology. I have always given my birthmother the benefit of the doubt and can imagine a variety of scenarios that could have led to my abandonment.

I will tell more very soon. However, know one more sad thing. The state of California is what they call an "open records" state. What this means is that if my birthmother came into the adoption agency and volunteered her information, I would have the right to obtain such information. EXCEPT FOR ONE KEY CONDITION: My adoptive parents would have to give consent. I fully explored this when I applied to receive my "non-identifying" information (the minimum you can receive after the age of 21 without such consent). EVEN IF MY ADOPTIVE PARENTS BOTH BECOME DECEASED - I still can't get the information. Isn't that just f*&#ing crazy?

Yes, I thought of approaching them and asking for this consent. After working up the courage and having my first tentative conversation with them, I was met with extreme hurt and rage as to why I would even consider embarking on this adventure. (This happened when I was 26 years old.) So, being a good daughter (and knowing that it probably wouldn't be a fruitful endeavor), I elected not to pursue this avenue.

I am me. That will never change. And knowing that I have one little relative in this world, into whose little face I can see some semblance of my own, has been worth more to me than any knowledge I gained or will gain in the future.

MORE...but not the REST of the story...

You know, when you live with something all your life, it becomes ordinary. Forgetting the potential shock value, the subject of my last post was supposed to be a mere commentary on how weird it is for me to do those 'birthday' things. I even read my horoscope with a jaded eye.

There's a lot more to the abandonment/adoption story - mostly concerning the 9 months between the time I was found and the day I went home with my adoptive parents. But you'll have to wait for that. I think I've already freaked some of you out - and not intentionally! So I'll give you another part of the story that is more light-hearted than those tragic first nine months of my life.

We're flashing WAY forward, to around 1999. I saw one of those "Unsolved Mysteries" programs - which I NEVER watch. They had found the body of a young girl at some point in the mid-1970's and couldn't determine her identity. A sheriff in this particular area of Florida decided to reopen the case, as it had haunted him since her discovery. He commissioned an age-regression study - figuring she might be some type of runaway. He was in hopes that a formar teacher, classmate, minister, etc., might recognize her. As the regression was displayed on the television, I started feeling panicky, pacing the room. As the girl was portrayed as a younger and younger person, she became the spitting image of myself as a teen, then a pre-adolescent, then as a child. Buck-teeth and all. At the end of the segment, the host (Robert Stack, pictured here) looked directly into the television with one final clue: "The woman apparently had given birth to a child in the last few years." My jaw dropped.

I consulted with my husband; I had never been on a mad search for my birth mother - but this was too big to ignore. Even though I had been found in California, it didn't mean that my birth mother stayed in the state. I wrote down all the details I could remember, and then called the sheriff's department that had been featured on the show. They were clueless. I spoke with several people at the department, and since I couldn't remember the officer's name - no luck. All I wanted to know is if they could perform some sort of DNA analysis to compare mine with hers...and you can imagine how far that got me. When I finally found someone who could recall something about the case, they commented that the officer I needed to speak with had retired. On to contacting "Unsolved Mysteries." After several unsuccessful attempts to phone the show, I finally emailed them through their contact screen on the web site. What did I get for my efforts? A nice letter, acknowledging my contact, and a promise to let me know if anything further developed in the case.

As silly as it may sound, I still think that woman could have been my mother. Her image is still in my mind. It was that year that I decided to take more practical steps in order to discover the true story of my abandonment.

What's in a Day?

I recently stole the idea from this post from MJ, and even though I find the results to be quite accurate - I am troubled. Why? Well, here's a secret: I don't really know my birthday.

It probably should be the subject of a much-longer post, but I'll spare you, and give you the nutshell version. I was found by a gas station attendant on September 10, 1968, in the station's restroom. It was estimated that I was about 4 to 5 days old. I was "clothed appropriately" - according to the "non-identifying information" supplied by my adoption agency. (What? Does that mean I had a shirt on that said "Find me!" or "Take me to your leader?")

Okay - don't feel all sorry for me - I'm TOTALLY okay with my abandonment/adoption deal. BUT...every time I see one of these birthday things - I worry about the accuracy. I'm supposedly a Virgo, and I DO have a lot of those traits. But like Songbird, I have many traits of a Leo. Further complicating matters is the fact that the Emergency Room doctors at the time used my weight to help determine my approximate date of birth. I was 5 pounds, 6 ounces. My daughter was 5 pounds, 10 ounces when she was born - so how can you tell by weight? Maybe I was just a little sprout, like her.

At any rate - here are MY results. And once again, I think most of my friends and family would agree that they are pretty dead-on.

Your Birthdate: September 5

You have many talents, and you are great at sharing those talents with others. Most people would be jealous of your clever intellect, but you're just too likeable to elicit jealousy. Progressive and original, you're usually thinking up cutting edge ideas. Quick witted and fast thinking, you have difficulty finding new challenges. Your strength: Your superhuman brainpower Your weakness: Your susceptibility to boredom Your power color: Tangerine Your power symbol: Ace Your power month: May

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

August in September

I love football - make no mistake about it. But what makes it even better? A bit of August Busch, IV, during the commercial breaks. HAWT.

You know the ones I mean - for Budweiser Select, featuring that song from the Chemical Brothers:Galvanize, which makes me want to be all up in WHATEVER party August is at. He is 40. He is rich. He has style. And he smiles at me, wanting SO MUCH for me to take that Budweiser Select out of his hand.

I've received a lot of birthday gifts during my years on the planet, but last week, Mr. Big sent me one of the best: an autographed photo of August. If I had a scanner right now, I'd be sharing it with you. You can't find it on the 'net - it is rare indeed. Now, August is in my office, where he belongs.
This photo is NOT it, but this is what you'll find if you google August. (Oh...now doesn't that sound FUN!?!?!?) And I admit, I can see the author's point in a recent blog post asserting that he is made of WAX. He is that flawless. His new look (above) is updated, and less corporate. However, there is just something about a rich guy in a suit that I'm a sucker for. Here's to football and beer!

I'm Not a Virgin Anymore!

(Calm down, Mr. Big - don't let the title fool ya!)

I have officially been "tagged" by Julie! I feel like a schoolgirl who has just been invited by the "in-crowd" to sit at their special table during lunch. Here's hoping I don't get ketchup on my blouse during my first outing!

Four jobs I have had in my life:

1. Piano teacher - my youngest student was 5; my oldest was an arthritic 65-year old.
2. Sales girl for Parklane Hosiery chain
3. Bartender
4. Pianist for Mormon and Presbyterian churches (but not at the same time)

Four movies I could watch over and over:

1. Six Degrees of Separation - LOVED Stockard Channing and Will Smith's interaction!
2. The Talented Mr. Ripley, featuring a young, hot, talented Mr. Damon.
3. American Beauty - strangely, I identified closely with Kevin Spacey's character.
4. Titanic, because it haunted me. And I like Leo, even if Songbird thinks he's oily.

Four Places I have lived:

1. Huntington Beach, CA
2. Magnolia, TX
3. College Station, TX
4. Austin, TX

Four things I like to do:

1. Get away from everything and become totally immersed in a book.
2. Listen to new music with my kiddo. She has enlightened me!
3. Dance all night at a club with friends.
4. Watch football - even better if I can attend a game.
(Reading those answers, someone might think I have dual personalities!)

Four of my favorite foods:

1. Cheese enchiladas
2. Spinach/artichoke dip
3. Cheese blintzes
4. Guacamole Salad

Four places I would like to be right now:

1. Sunning myself on a beach in California.
2. Trekking across Europe with my daughter - taking in EVERY important landmark.
3. Investigating the pyramids of Egypt.
4. Shopping in New York City for SHOES!

Four websites I visit daily:

1. dooce
2. The Big Question
3. Go Fug Yourself
4. Stuff on My Cat - What could be funnier?

Four places I have been on vacation:

1. Laguna Beach, CA
2. Chicago, IL
3. South Padre Island, TX
4. Eureka Springs, AR

Four friends I think might respond (this is the part where I "tag" folks, right?):

1. Songbird, I mean, what are best friends for?
2. M J, because she seems really nice.
3. Belinda, because boy, she can WRITE!
4. Karmyn R, because she is a faithful visitor.

Sigh...I survived my first meme, and no blood was shed!
Oh...and as a POSTSCRIPT, I had to post my results from my pirate test, which I stole from Songbird, in honor of Pirate's Day!

My pirate name is:

Captain Jenny Cash

Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. You're musical, and you've got a certain style if not flair. You'll do just fine. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

More Plush Treats

After reading Susan in Va's comment on the previous post, I thought, "Well, now, there ARE some more yummy little toys that you can give to your favorite child! Here, we introduce the Ebola Virus.

Yes, a virus you can cuddle with, but is resistant to antibiotics. Want something a little more...say...palatable? Try Mad Cow. Favor a more legendary plague? Maybe some Black Death is more your style.

If this is a little too adventurous for you, start with something simple like the common cold. Or maybe not a disease at all - just a small pimple you can squeeze in your sleep. At any rate, explore the Giant Microbes site for more ideas - remember, Christmas is only a few short months away!

Disturbing

I'm not sure how to take this. I definitely utilized the books Everyone Poops and Once Upon a Potty in my attempts to coax my kiddo out of diapers. But THIS is almost TOO weird. I guess the most disturbing part of this web site is that you can order PLUSH DOLLS. And send your loved ones an e-card, featuring "Pee and Poo."

Then again, this isn't as frightening as the vulva puppets that a fellow blogger posted, so I suppose it could be worse!

And...We Have a Winner!

As soon as we arrived at the fair, Amber and I coerced our entourage into checking out the exhibits. She took the blue ribbon in the seascape category for her harbor photo! She was thrilled, and even more excited that she was awarded the 2nd place ribbon for her drawing of a cow skull. (I was genuinely impressed with that placement. The drawing took her about 30 minutes to complete and was a last minute entry.)

I spent the rest of the evening herding a group of teenaged girls and boys (with the help of two other friends) - keeping them from separating and sneaking off. Of course, I rode nearly every ride and am paying for it as we speak. Luckily, everyone behaved, the kids all survived the rides and taunting carnies, and Motrin along with my pride-swollen heart will fix what is ailing me today!

More Creativity Through Genetics

After my last post, I got into a conversation with my dear friend, Mr. Big, about our children's creativity levels. He has a daughter the same age as my Amber, so we routinely share notes. I came across these other photos that the sprout has taken, and since he was impressed with them, I decided to share them with you all. Now, this is a child who takes an average of 20 photos a day, so she has plenty of material - mostly self-portraits. She's not a narcissist, but since she doesn't have many willing subjects around the house - she's left with her own mug. She has a "twinkie" camera - her first digital, one of those Kodak Easy Share C310 things. BUT...she has been twiddling with some basic photo software, adding her own touches Now, I'm not fishing for compliments, just sharing. We'll be running off to the fair tonight - so I'll update you on how she did with her entries tomorrow!

The County Fair

Let me preface this by saying, I am NOT a country girl. Dirt, dust, pigs, cows, sheep, etc., are not really my bag, though I've lived in rural Arkansas for 14 years. BUT, I HAVE to attend the local county fair, for two reasons. One, the child usually enters artwork; and two, I will ride carnival terror rides with her friends. I end up being "the parent" with a passle of preteen girls in tow, giggling and screaming right along with them, doing my best not to throw up. I actually entered the crafts exhibit once, winning first place with my handcrafted Victorian Christmas ornament. These fair folks MUST know what they're doing.

This is the child's first year not to enter with a "class" of school kids. She has won in her class a few times, as she is artistically inclined. This year, she is entering a pencil drawing and the photograph you see here. She took this on a whim, during our vacation. She said she didn't even notice the clouds when she took it.

I'm also looking forward to viewing other exhibits, especially since Songbird and her mom usually sweep the cut flower competitions. Plus, I have found a farm animal that I can call "cute." GLITTER SHEEP!! The locals girls spray the sheeps' wool with some sort of glitter that even makes their stench more tolerable (the sheep, not the girls). I'm sure to share more, after my 2006 Polk County Fair experience. Stay tuned.

Quick Apple-Martini Induced Post

Just a quick post tonight, as I've always been told, "Don't drink and blog." Belinda, over at NINJA POODLES! recently had a contest for people to send photos of their kids and dogs. (Please don't submit, as the contest has LONG been over.) Coincidentally, my kid took a photo of herself with our Poo Woo, and it was (IMHO) really good. So I had to share.

Let's say it together, "AAAAWWWW!"

Kinda creepy (just like the kid), but cute (just like the kid).

I'm Gonna Lie

So, now you all have fair warning. I'm gonna tell a lie for the rest of the day, into the evening.

I guess it's been a ton of stress that caused it - and I'm going to share the truth with YOU, the faithful stranger on the 'net - I have a growth. You can forget the photo, 'cuz it's not gonna happen. Basically, I have a THING on my chin - to the left of my bottom lip. What looks like the beginnings of an "innie-zit," know what I mean? Those zits that don't really come up to the surface? But you can feel them there - like the stranger in the dark, lurking around, ready to pounce...one of THOSE. A non-approachable, non-squeezable, can't-find-the-point-of-release zit.

Only I don't think it's a zit anymore. Usually, a zit won't make your entire chin feel like it's been pumped with Novacaine, or make the lip that is at LEAST an inch above it swell, giving you a lop-sided smile. I HAVE had the occasional throbbing zit, but this thing is like a facial fetus with it's own heartbeat.

I've been told, "It's a boil." I've been told, "It's a cyst." And I live in the South, so I've been told to put every imaginable pultice (poultice?) on the thing, even a remedy including urine that IS NOT MY OWN. Not gonna happen.

The Nurse/Husband/Father of My Child is concerned, but his treatments include lots of antibiotics, epsom salts and hydrogen peroxide. That just gave the "non-zit" lots of little nasty white things on top, but still nothing poppable.

I woke up thinking it would be better this morning, but alas, I have Quasimodo-lip. So I'm gonna lie, b/c I have to stand in front of a college class and teach tonight. Who wants an instructor with a BOIL, or a CYST or even a ZIT???? YUCK!

So...it's a spider bite. Pass it on.

Not a Grown Up

I discovered, again, the hard way, that I still have a lot of growing up to do.

I am VERY opinionated - and whenever controversy ensues, I'm right smack dab in the middle of it, offering my 2 cents. Which is not always a good idea. Offering your 2 cents to friends who will love you no matter what is one thing - but doing so with a more critical audience can lead to problems.

I can't really go into details now, but I said something I'd give anything to take back. It wasn't hurtful to the person I was speaking to - in fact, it was an explanation of an earlier conversation - but they happened to be a friend of someone who might have been hurt by what I've said. Vague enough for you? Let's just say, I was talking on the phone to someone I THOUGHT was someone else...and didn't discover it until it was a bit too late. The shock. Then the horror. Then more explaining.

I received some comfort from a friend today, who relayed an even worse situation. She was picking up a group of girls from a dance, and they were telling her all about "Girl X's" behavior at the event. (Girl X was NOT in the car.) Seems "Girl X" was gyrating all over the boys in attendance, causing quite a scene. This friend said to her carload, "With that kind of behavior, Girl X will probably end up pregnant by the time she is 14." She was attempting to pass on a message about inappropriate behavior - and knowing my friend, it was meant as a "lesson" to the others about proper dance decorum. What my friend didn't realize is that one of the girls in her car thought it would be DELIGHTFUL to share this nugget with Girl X at school. Only the translation was, "So-and-so's mom said you're gonna be pregnant by the time you're 14."

Luckily for my friend, she wasn't at home when Girl X's mother called. She never had a confrontation. Even though she and Girl X's mother aren't friends, she KNOWS the mother heard about it, and is probably pissed at her.

So, my situation could be worse. Even though there have already been some conversations between others about my snafu. I called one of the parties who might have been offended by my comment, came (somewhat) clean, and am hoping for the best. Thank goodness I can still type with (as Songbird would say) both feet in my mouth.

By the way, I'm linking here to the Carnival of the Blogging Chicks, though Blogger is fighting me tooth and nail about posting their graphic. Must be more of my Neophyte-ism in action tonight

Whimpering (Softly)

I can't believe how TIRED I am. Only one week into the new school year, and I'm beat. I got in the bad habit of sleeping in during the summer (one of the perks of being the boss), maybe heading to the orifice (office) at 9:30AM. Now, I'm rousted up at 6:45AM, with the task sof helping the child get her breakfast ready, making sure she has all the appropriate accoutrements for the school day, approving of her clothing choices, and driving her to the middle school in time for the 8:00AM bell. Plus having to remember to pick her up at 3:15PM. Not to mention having to keep up with cheer practices, athletic forms, student info forms, homework assignments, and monetary requirements. Plus, I had to teach my first college class this week and finalize the plans for a Rotary District Membership Seminar that I am conducting all day Saturday in a town that is an hour and 45 minute drive for my home.

Oh...and let's not forget that even though I'm arriving at work much earlier, I feel so very far behind. I taught a Realtor New Member Orientation Course Tuesday morning, conducted a sales meeting Wednesday morning, fired an agent Wednesday afternoon, hired a new agent Friday, and approved a new advertisement for the football section of the newspaper to acknowlege my daughter's participation in Mena Bearkitten Cheerleading - all in addition to my normal duties.

And what? Pluto is no longer a planet?? My world is not the same!!!

I know, I'm whining. And my husband keeps telling me that I put too much on my plate. I guess I wouldn't be happy otherwise, or I wouldn't keep doing it!!! I have renewed respect, each and every day, for those who have more than one child, or don't have a significant other. Thank goodness the child's first football game is over this evening, and I'll get to sleep in on Sunday. God knew that people like me needed a day of rest, and for that, I'm blessed.

Whale Tail, AKA Vacation Day Six

When I originally planned our vacation, I wanted us to participate in different activities than we had during our previous trips to Laguna Beach. Plus, Amber is a little too old (thank GOD) for Disneyland now, so the obligatory trip to that venue is no more. One of our activities this year was a Coastal Dinner Cruise, leaving the Dana Point Harbor at 6:00PM. As we were waiting to leave, these birds appeared as sentinels, ready to enforce the rules at any sign of disorder. As we were lining up to board the boat, there were about 40 passengers wearing the same blue shirt with "Smith Family Reunion" emblazed on them. While the three of us were at the front of the line, some of these pushy Smiths decided THEY needed to be at the front of the line (most likely worried that they were going to miss out getting the premiere seating at the top deck of the boat).I can't abide it when people cut in line. Especially grown people, over the age of 50. As we boarded, I was determined to also get those top seats, as they had tables for dining and offered a spectacular view. Each table arrangment could have easily sat 6 people - and there were 8 tables - but the Smiths decided that two people, one on each side of the table, was the perfect arrangement. I finally convinced one of the Smiths that this was a bit unfair, and managed to secure seats for the three of us on the top deck. Roger can get a little nervous when I assert myself, but I do it in my business all the time, so it's second nature to me. As the only non-Smiths in the section, I felt like we had managed a coup. A coup with a view!! The other poor passengers didn't dare challenge the Smith clan, and were forced to sit inside the cabin, with limited viewing options. Two great things about this harbor cruise (besides the food) were the live music, by Mike O'Bryan, and the alcohol! Mike entertained the crowd with classic favorites from the Eagles, Steely Dan, Jim Croce, etc. Most passengers knew every song, and after consuming a lot of alcohol - we were all singing along like drunken sailors by cruise-end. Roger especially enjoyed this, as he admired Mike's Taylor guitar and had a good chat with him after we docked.

It took me a while to gain my sea legs, but the Corona helped me a lot. Amber wandered around the boat like an old pro, shooting photos like mad. We got a special treat, as the captain spotted several humpbacked whales during our cruise. Whales do not usually swim so close to the Southern California Coast during the summer months - but due to exceptionally warm waters, we had unusual luck. The captain decided to detour and do some whale chasing, to our delight! I don't have a really fancy camera like Ree, so my shots lack a little something. But I managed to get two of the whale! A shot of the hump and his spray, plus the tail, right before he disappeared from view! (Don't ask me why I call the whale a "he" - I did not visually verify the sex!) Unfortunately, Blogger is not cooperating today. I have managed to upload two photos, but the whale photos have refused to post. So, for the hump with the spray, click here, and for the view of the tail, click here.

Shopping Laguna, AKA Vacation Day Five

One of the best things about having a daughter is that I have a "partner in crime." On every family vacation, we drag Roger along on at least one shopping spree. Poor thing - he ends up sitting on various benches with other men the entire time, rolling his eyes and trading traumatic stories with fellow victims. It is hysterical to observe how a man will perk up the second he sees his female clan emerging from a store. Even more amusing is his dejection as he realizes that they only exited long enough to pop into the store next door. Premature Eshopulation. I only had one shop in mind this trip - Fawn Memories. A must for buying the souvenir t-shirt. Somehow, I didn't end up with one, but Roger got three for himself (the only shop he got excited about).

Amber was a shopping fiend, insisting on getting surf-rat duds at Hobie and a store that had tons of Roxy apparel. After spending WAY too much on the kid (thank goodness I only have ONE), we delighted in Frappucinos from Starbucks and did some window-shopping. An entire day in downtown Laguna isn't enough time, IMHO!Laguna has some fantastic galleries, and as an avid collector of egg paperweights from The Glass Eye Studios, I was particularly interested in shopping for a new one to add to my collection. I didn't find "just the right one," but I DID stumble into The Crystal Image, which was AMAZING! My parents have always been rockhounds, and I caught the bug. This was the last stop on our shopping adventure, and it truly made my day. Rocks galore! And some dang pricey rocks, I might add. Why, you can own your own quartz sphere, with a diameter of 3 1/2 feet, for only $14,500! Needless to say, this was one store Roger made sure he escorted me thru - every step of the way, lest I give in to temptation.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I'm getting really angry. All I want to do is RELIVE MY VACATION, yet recent events keep popping up, and life is going on, and I'm all cranky and stuff.

Before we left for our trip, I heard a rumor that the Assistant Administrator of our local hospital would be leaving for a new job in Texas. That in and of itself is not a big deal, even though my husband is employed at the hospital. The big deal is that said Administrator was planning to teach an undergraduate course in human resource (HR) management this Fall at our local community college. Anyone who knows me knows that I won't be satisfied with my present job forever. Owning my own business allows me a ton of freedom, but my "second career dream" is to be a professor. Since I have an MBA, I am qualified to be a member of adjunct faculty.

The same week that I heard the rumor (which was a bona fide fact), I saw an interesting ad in our local paper. The college was accepting applications for adjunct faculty. Since I was leaving on vacation the very next day, I casually contacted their office to see if they were trying to fill the HR instructor slot. They were unaware that the instructor was leaving, and I was told that they were really just "developing a pool" of "possible instructors" for classes the college "might be adding in the future." So I left for vacation, thinking that I had some time to get my stuff together.

A week after I returned, I assembled my resume' (which is really difficult if you haven't done one in over 14 years), dug out my transcripts, and managed to find some references (also difficult when you've been your own boss for a while). No word for a week. Since classes start August 23rd, I figured they had already found someone to teach the class.

I got the call Monday. Can you teach the class? As thrilled as I was, I was taken aback. What. Have. I. Done.

So, I now have an old syllabus (from 2003), a student textbook, and 2 hours and 45 minutes of classtime, every Wednesday night, to fill with wit and wisdom and experience that will make a difference in students' lives. Wish them luck.

Sand and Sawdust, AKA Vacation Day Four

Back to our vacation coverage. It was another day on the beach, as we felt obligated to take in the full Laguna Beach experience. We trekked out to Aliso, which had a beautiful pier the last time we visited in 2000. Roger was determined to rid himelf of the "farmer's tan" he usually sports. (He's not a farmer; he's a fisherman - but the tan is the same.) The Fabulous Resort provided us with beach chairs, boogie boards, etc. as part of our package. What they didn't provide was fur-penetrating sunscreen. When Roger decided (after about an hour) to apply the spray-on sunscreen (which played total havoc with the topcoat on my fingernails), he did so liberally. What he did NOT do was make sure the sunscreen reached the SKIN. A vast majority of it clung to the forest of his chest hair. At least, after 3 hours in the sun, his chest was a lovely red shade.

Though it was hard to even begin to top our experience at the Festival of the Arts and the Pageant of the Masters from the previous evening, we decided to meet up with my parents again later that day and check out one of the top art festivals in the country, the Sawdust Festival! I can say this about Amber, she just loves art. She has a very unique sense of style and taste, and going to these events were the highlight of her trip. It made me so proud to watch her discover artwork that struck her. At some booths she took a lot of time, flipping through the prints in order to examine the artist's work more closely. She was drawn to things that I would normally not give a second glance. To view the artwork thru her eyes was a real treat.

If you ever have the chance to visit Laguna Beach, CA, please make sure it's during the time of these festivals. If you have any interest at all in art, jewelry, glass pieces, sculpture, etc., you will be so glad that you did!

Spanked by Songbird

Okay, maybe not spanked, but more like slapped on the wrist? Nah...I like the idea of getting spanked better. So, forgive me, Songbird, but you are complicit in this recent post. And I know you didn't spank me, but rather felt I should have posted more photos on my flickr site. So I did. There were LOTS of photos taken on the recent family shoot - and so many were experimental (so that the photographer could practice setting up shots and getting the lighting right.) The ones I've posted today are ones I didn't have printed, for one reason or another. Mostly b/c I didn't like the way I looked in them. (I know - vanity is a sin. But they're my photos!) Songbird felt I was too hard on myself, and that I should share some of the "rejects." So, taking the advice of my elders, I am. Be kind to me. Even if I am trying too hard to be like Julie!

Another Photo Break

I'm taking another break from our regularly scheduled vacation coverage, b/c some of you expressed interest in seeing those professional photos we had taken. So they are FINALLY available at my flickr site. This has to be my favorite - I am not a huge fan of photos where the subjects are looking straight at the camera, and this one really captures the essence of the kiddo. It's one we're sure to treasure more as she gets older!

Beginning of the Bloat, AKA Vacation Day Three

On Thursday, I'm not myself. I have peed maybe 3 times in 2 days. No excavation of the bowels, either. I attribute this to breakfasts at Denny's. Unless you order a la carte, the cheapest breakfast deal is $5.99. A HUGE serving of omelet, two pancakes, sausage and bacon. Our fabulous resort served a complete breakfast buffet, but at a cost of $12.99. We ate there on day two, but for day three - it was gorging at Denny's. I didn't even come close to finishing my meal, but Roger and Amber had no trouble.

BTW, remember when you learned how to drive? Most likely, your father taught you. Well, I was in a time warp, as my father rode in the passenger seat of our rented SUV, with me behind the wheel. I'm a great driver, but to my father, I'm still 15. Even at the ripe age of 37. So as we're traveling down PCH, I'm constantly peppered with comments such as:

"Slow down!"
"You're going to turn right up the road!!"
"Don't leave so much space between you and the next car!!"
"We don't run over pedestrians in California like they do in Arkansas. It's against the law here!"
Mind you, these are not gentle instructions, but more like demands. I kept my cool, and got us safely to our destination, which was the fabulous Festival of the Arts! The web site explains more, but not every area artist can partipate. There are all sort of exhibits of fine art, from oils, photography, jewelry, sculpture - you name it. The child was absolutely fascinated by the array of works. A premiere cultural experience, if you ever make it to Laguna Beach during this time of year. HOWEVER, the prime attraction for the Festival is the Pageant of the Masters! There are no cameras allowed, which is a total shame - since there is nothing I can say that would do justice to the experience. Basically, live people "re-enact" paintings and sculptures, and it is absolutely phenomenal. The show is narrated, and accompanied by a live orchestra - and the cast recreates art so faithful to the original work that it is almost IMPOSSIBLE to tell that LIVE PEOPLE are involved. Truly amazing. The recreation of some of Van Gogh's works, as well as "The Last Supper" were among the highlights. Attending this one event made the trip for me. Even if my father looked at my high heels and commented, "Those don't look like good walking shoes."

Sand Crack, AKA Vacation Day Two

Our first entire day in So. Cal. HAD to be spent at the ocean. Mom and Dad led us to a secluded beach across from the Montage Resort to gently initiate us into the experience (as seen in the view posted previously here). The beaches in Laguna are unforgiving - lots of rocks, and sheer cliffs above. Amber and Roger tentatively waded out, while I found a sunny spot to brown my skin. I'm NOT a swimmer. At most, I'm a flounderer. More of a sinker. And an astute panicker. I have no interest in putting myself thru any further humiliation in order to overcome this fault. I remember being forced at the age of 13 to take swimming lessons. They finally gave me a "Poliwog" certificate, just to get rid of me. When I was a baby, I used to scream when my mother would get water on my face. Scream to the point that my digestive system would revolt, causing me to vomit in the bathtub.

After seeing Amber pick sand out of her swim bottoms for the umpteenth time, I knew she had forgotten that with the fun of big waves come the not-so-fun sand. She was amazed at the sheer volume of sand and salt that was in her hair, her suit, her everywhere. When we returned to the hotel, we washed gobs of sand out of her bikini. She must have showered for an hour. After a thorough de-sanding, we finally met up with the parental units in Dana Point for much needed dinner (and drinks) at El Torito, as I'm a huge fan of Mexican Food! More about our fabulous resort in the next post...

They're here!

The official photos from our vacation (well, at least any that are of interest) are finally up at my flickr site!

You'll notice there are only two photos of me. One reason is that the kid and I were the only ones lugging cameras around. Another reason is that the kid doesn't want a bunch of photos of her mother. Well, to be honest, she DID take one of my butt in a swimsuit. You will NOT see that one! Sorry, Internet!!

I did suffer one small problem during the trip - I bloated. So, at the beginning, I was fine (see the plane photo), but at the end, I was 7 pounds heavier. 7 pounds heavier in ONE WEEK! I dropped it all two days after our return, and my ankle bracelet no longer left hour-long indentations in my leg.

Oh well - enjoy the photos!

The Orifice Chronicles, Part Deux

We interrupt our regularly scheduled vacation coverage to bring you...MENA TRACTOR PULL!! Get your lawn chairs - this one's all fun! The day I returned from vacation, I was quickly reminded that I was back in the South. In front of my office is an EZ Mart, which is bordered by a grassy area which slopes down to a big ditch. To the left of my office building is another big ditch, which leads down to a culvert that diverts creek water. Thankfully, the mowing responsibilities for these two areas fall to the Arkansas State Highway Department. (Notice the reverence I give them?)Not too long after mowing commenced to the left of my building, the gentleman operating the device miscalculated the weight of his equipment, and became lodged in the culvert, as witnessed in the photo to the left. At the same time, the mowers were working across the street - and guess what?? EZ Mart Mower became stuck within HIS ditch as well, as you can see here to the right (click on images to enlarge). Now, as difficult as this may be to believe, this honestly happened within MINUTES...prompting me and Lanna to snap some photos. (Okay, I was too embarrassed to take them and sent Lanna to do the dirty work.) But as you can see in this final photo, if you look closely, Mower #1 is barely visible over the guardrail to the left of the photo, while Mower #2 is firmly lodged across the street. Sometimes, I LOVE having an office on the highway!

Snakes on a Plane, AKA Vacation Day One

It's been almost a year since our last flight, so I was anxious to see what might have changed security-wise. I was hustled to the side with my "suspicious" bag on my last trip, so I was pleased that the little airport in Fort Smith didn't put us thru much hassle. One flight to DFW, then another to John Wayne in Orange County for 4 hours of total flying time. No sweat. A couple of airline safety talks were the highlight, as the announcement of what actions to take in case of a "water landing" always crack us up. Roger turned to me during this portion of the airline spiel and asked, "Did you see any pontoons on this plane?" I also enjoy their euphemistic reference to your seat cushion as a "flotation aid." I prefer, "The Oh-Shit Pillow."

We did have one minor incident on our last leg of the flight. Roger had to visit the facilities while the flight attendants were serving drinks. On his way back to his seat, an attendant was backing down the aisle in front of him, oblivious to his repeated verbalizations of, "Excuse me." When it appeared she was about to back over him and trip, he gently placed his hand on her back and repeated his line. She whipped around and said, "Don't touch me!! After 9/11, we are extremely sensitive to people coming up behind us and touching us!" I barely heard this, as I was getting up to let Roger back into our row. She started babbling to me about how inconsiderate people can be, and how flight attendants have to deal with so much these days - semi-apologizing for her outburst. All I could focus on was Roger seething with embarrassment. He felt she was inappropriate, and I agree. And has anyone noticed that the flight attendants aren't as hot as they used to be? I calmed Roger down by noting that the attendant who had committed the heinous act was old, fat, ugly, and had over-bleached hair.

After picking up the rental and checking into our kick-ass resort in Dana Point, we followed Mom and Dad back to their house in Laguna Beach (5 minutes up the road) for some of the largest hamburgers I have seen in my entire life. I wish I had a photo of THAT to share! Watch for the photos on my
fickr site!

Weeee're Baaaaaack!

Ah...7 days of forgetting all about work. Soaking up the Southern California sun. It was awesome. I will have more details about the trip in upcoming posts, but here is a view of the precious little one, as she stands atop a hill overlooking a beach we visited.

I miss it so much already!! Now, I have to spend the next hour checking in on my favorite blogs to see what I missed. Can you IMAGINE being computer-less for AN ENTIRE WEEK?!?!? Yeah - it was great.

Vacating

Well, I'll be back, folks. I will have NO INTERNET ACCESS for a WEEK!! My dad's computer is down, and I don't have a laptop. So, unless I stumble into a 'net cafe on the beach, I'll be MIA...I'm sure to have withdrawals.

OH! And we got the photos back! So enjoy this photo of the Lane clan, and pray for our safe return from the wilds of Southern California!

The Orifice Chronicles - Incident 1

It was a typical busy day at the orifice (office). Crazy busy, agents rushing around, customers and clients filling our 2-story building, and the phone ringing off the hook. I am inclined to hang around the front desk in times like these, helping out the client coordinator. Lanna is extremely capable, but there are only two of us, trying to handle a team of 10 agents and numerous clientele.
The young son of one of our customers comes racing towards the front desk, holding a box of matches in his hand. He exclaims excitedly, "These were in your bathroom!!!!" His tone was of sheer panic, as if our lives were in danger, because they were in plain view, IN OUR BATHROOM. That SMALL CHILDREN might occupy. Such as HIMSELF. It was as if he had discovered a hornet's nest in there - along with a rattlesnake and two tarantulas thrown in for good measure.

Lanna and I try to keep from bursting out in laughter, and I calmly tell the boy, "It's alright Sweetheart, they belong in there. That is their home." All the while, trying not to lose complete control, while witnessing the abject horror on his face.

Thankfully, his mother was not one of the complacent parents we often encounter. She had overheard the conversation, and swooped in to save us from our plight. "It's okay, **** (name deleted to protect the innocent/panicked), they probably use those to light candles in there from time to time. Just go put them back where they belong."

As Lanna and I almost collapse from the effort of stifling raucous laughter, the mother watches lovingly as the lad leaves to return the matches to their proper place on the back of the commode. She passes us this knowing look, with great kindness, as we share the common "assumption" of what great benefit matches can be for those who choose (or are forced by nature) to use that facility for more "odorous" bodily evacuations. This bathroom is dangerously close to the lobby, and though we have three bathrooms - this particular one has the perfect ambience to get the bowels moving. Sometimes, the Febreze spray just doesn't do the trick.

Shortly thereafter, I hear this loud voice from the bathroom: "I've looked all over in here, and I CAN'T FIND CANDLES!!!! Where are the CANDLES?!?!?! How can they light candles?!?!? THERE AREN'T ANY IN HERE!!!"

The mother, obviously mortified, apologizes with, "I guess he's just at that age where you can't put one over on him." Sadly, we could barely respond, as Lanna and I finally collapsed and burst out laughing, tears streaming down our face.

I don't envy that poor woman, as she will have to finally explain the matches. I can envision her future, as her son will undoubtedly one day "do his business," light a match, stick his head in the toilet to take a whiff and exclaim, "MOM!!!! This DOESN'T WORK!!!! I've lit the match, and how come I CAN STILL SMELL S**T?!?!?!?!"

Conversations With Songbird

My good friend Songbird and I recently had a discussion about Davey Havok, the lead singer of AFI. I love their video, "Miss Murder." I sent photos to Songbird, noting that he was as beautiful (if not more) than some women. At first, she didn't think him too hideous...but as our conversation continued, things turned sour. We often disagree about men; she thinks Matt Damon looks like a child, while I think he's HAWT. I despise Matthew McConaughey, but she'd like nothing more to be all wrapped up in his muscle-laden arms. She says I'm attracted to "girlie boys," or some similar phrase, since I prefer a more slender build over a big hunk. She describes certain men as "oily." Davey isn't my type - but there's something attractive about him. Kinda like Tim Curry in "Rocky Horror," you know? He's looking 80's retro - like Depeche Mode, New Order, Erasure - reminding me of the days when I was clubbing continuously and discovered The Cure.

So Songbird and I engage in an email exchange, as we often do. Her latest rant HAD to be shared, and put the "nail in the coffin" of the Davey Havok topic:

Me (after sending her a photo of Davey with long hair): I love grossing you out!! He does clean up though - in a Robert Smith (from the Cure) kinda way. Do you think he's oily???

Songbird: He doesn't really meet my criteria for oiliness, but I don't find him attractive in the male sense of the word.

First, he wears more makeup than I do.

Second, I can't take the lip piercing. It has the same effect a giant, yellow zit on his face would have with me. It mesmerizes me. I would try to look into his eyes as he spoke to me, but my eyes would keep cutting to the heinous lip mutilation ( or the giant, yellow zit ). Gross!

Third, I hate his hair. And what are you talking about "he does clean up"? I've never seen a picture of him cleaned up. He is always a painted "lady" with a bad haircut and a mutilated lip!! I am embarrassed that I thought he was relatively good looking in the first pic you sent me. I must have been under the influence of too many sinus capsules.

More Linkage, Dude

I gots new stuff! (Dem der's dat Arkansas enflu-ants, comin' out 'n mah writin'.)

My friend and I are fairly new to blogging, so we share other blogs that we find interesting. (You MUST read her posts about Disnementia and Parental Pride.) We've made some new discoveries that we are both adding to our sidebars!

One such discovery is Pioneer Woman. If you want to read some hysterical posts, check out Ree's site! She is the mother of four, and lives on a real ranch where they slice off calf testicles with wild abandon. Ree takes wonderful photos, too. Her fireworks photos are not to be missed.

Our next discovery is Eric at Humble Beginnings. Now, you might think it odd that we check out the site of a deacon-soon-to-be-priest, but he's funny! Besides, if he was wearing a hat like Elwood from the Blue's Brothers, can't you just hear him saying, "I'm on a mission from God?" He might even be able to dodge bullets, Matrix-style. Check out his blog - you might learn something. For instance, I had no idea priests went out on dates. Or had duck-covered shower curtains.

Lastly, I had to add IMDB,, for all things movie-related. I can't stand it when I forget an actor's name, or what movie he/she was in, etc...so this site allows me to get some sleep at night!

Hope you enjoy our recommendations - go check 'em out!

Tormented Soul

After taking a trip out of town yesterday to buy a swimsuit (horror of horrors!), I spent a relaxing Sunday just bumming around. The swimsuit experience was humbling, and even though ladies my age/size (and many that are older/larger)are bravely sporting two-piece swimwear this season, I remain too modest for such trappings. After finding a cute one-piece that reflected my sexy-yet-still-someone's-mother status, I felt triumphant, yet exhausted. What better way to spend my time Sunday than watching "Mommie Dearest?" I've been a cinematic neophyte for far too long.
Just look at the beauty of Joan Crawford in these photographs. Gorgeous. Yet, after watching this movie, I realize she was a haunted woman - and most likely suffered from some type of psychological disorder (OCD?) coupled with alcoholism. Though I cringed at the pain she inflicted on her daughter, Joan's own emotional turmoil made me take pity upon her. I had to read her bio on IMDB to get some sense of who she was. Amazing how such a stunningly beautiful and successful woman could self-destruct.

At any rate, I'm glad I finally saw the film. And Faye Dunaway scared the hell out of me with her performance. (I'm removing my wire hangers.) As a sidenote, a friend from New Orleans (thanks, Gary) sent me a link to some incredible photos out of Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. These photographs were taken by a local photographer, who happened to have many "before" shots of monumental buildings in the area. He later returned to these sites after Katrina to document the transformation. Some of the most stunning are of the interior of the Our Lady of the Gulf Catholic Church, and you can see them for yourself at Wilkerson Photography.

Entering the Black Hole

It's official. Roger and I are about to embark on an adventure that has torn many a loving couple apart. No, I'm not talking about the upcoming vacation. Worse. We have decided to build.
We've found just the right builder, the bank is ready to hand over the money, and we have totally agreed on the floor plan. Now, as people entering this dangerous territory do, we are tweaking it a bit. See that back wall? Moving it out a few feet. Probably going to rearrange the master bedroom and flip the bathroom to the other side, so we can have french doors leading out to the back deck. The tile (12x12 porcelain - a warm terra cotta hue) will extend into the entire kitchen/eating/living area. The only carpeted areas will be the bedrooms. What you can't see (though you might have caught a hint of it by the staircase to nowhere) is the bonus room above the garage. That's where Roger's music studio will reside. Finally, I will live in a house where guitars and amps don't fill the dining room!

Speaking of dining rooms, to us, having a formal dining room is silly. Yes, we entertain, but our friends prefer casual dining with their beverages. Dining optional. Interestingly enough, so many house plans have formal dining rooms tucked somewhere - along with a dining area like you see in this plan. Ridiculous waste of space. How many places can you possibly eat? This plan also has 10' ceilings, a requirement now that I have lived in a house with them for 13 years.

In the end, we should have over 2200 sq ft. Plenty of room for family and friends. Only one small hitch. We are now looking for the perfect piece of land.

Blogging Chicks - Aren't They Cute?

Now, how could I not join a group called "Blogging Chicks?" I am still so new to this blogging genre and HTML in general, I didn't understand a good portion of what the kind Michele of the Blogging Chicks Blogroll Metablog said in her introductory letter. A Metablog? Is this like a regular blog on steroids? At any rate, if you check out the "blogroll" in the sidebar there, seems as if I have entered an amazing line of code into my blogger template (thanks, Michele) that allows you to magically access the blogs of many a chick. You're welcome. I feel even more Neophyte-ish than ever. But I've joined with the hopes that by associating with these chicks (and doesn't that term beg to have the word "hot" in front of it?), I'll learn something in the process. And Michele, I'll do my best not to embarrass the group. If you need to punt me, I'll understand.

Cinematic Neophyte

There are good and bad things about having a husband 15 years older than myself. The bad things include hearing phrases such as, "You've never seen that?" Good things include Roger's attempts to educate me so that I can catch up to his generation. And this education continued the other night as I watched the original MASH movie from 1970 - which was EXTREMELY FUN, given there was war involved! (Yes, I have one of those History-Channel/Military-Channel-loving spouses - who watches all war, all the time. I have yet to understand his fascination with this genre.) Also - cut me some slack - I was TWO YEARS OLD when this movie was originally released.

I loved the comedy and overlapped dialogue. I discovered how "Hot Lips" got her name! "Spear-chucker" makes sense! The daily announcements were hysterical! And, even though I might be committing some sort of cultural blasphemy here, I liked Donald Sutherland and Elliott Gould better as Hawkeye and Trapper John. The absence of a "laugh track" made the humor even better.

Next up: "Mommie Dearest" and "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Yeah, I know, you can't believe I haven't seen those either.

Family Photogenics

This was the last family photo we had professionally(?) taken, on a family vacation in 2003. So I was thrilled when a family friend asked us to be guinea pigs, as she needed subjects for a photo shoot. Our friend is thinking of trying a second career as a photographer, and since her daughter already owns a studio and is well-versed in the business (and was on hand during the shoot) - it was a no-brainer to participate.

It was so much fun, and I found out that I am very comfortable in front of the camera. No shots yet, as they have yet to be computerized and processed, but I will share them as soon as possible!

Belle in the Making

I've never considered myself a "Southerner," though by virtue of living in either Texas or Arkansas for the past 30 years, I suppose others might disagree.

My parents hail from California, so I had never eaten a fried vegetable until high school, when one of my mother's friends introduced her to fried okra. It was a completely foreign dish, and I distinctly remember almost gagging from the grease content the first time she made it for me. Never before had I consumed a vegetable that had not been steamed - as that is the most perfect way to retain all the flavor, crispness and vitamins. I also had never eaten a vegetable served from a can - the BLASPHEMY of such!!

My friend prides herself on being a true Southerner, and I'm constantly reminded of her prowress in all things domestic, horticulturistic, etc. (Did I just make up a word there?) She brought me some freshly picked blackberries this week, and I decided not to let them go to waste, but instead to make a cobbler. My introduction to the cobbler came a few years after I moved to Arkansas. One of my agents brought one to my office and was just flabbergasted that I had no clue what one was, nor how to make one. "It's so SIMPLE," she professed, and immediately, I could tell she had lost a great deal of respect for me. Well, to redeem myself, I purchased one of those "Southern" cookbooks (one compiled by locals) - and found a recipe that looked as simple as could be. The "magic" of cobblers appears to be the dumping of the chosen fruit onto the batter, and the batter magically rising around the fruit, forming a crust on top. I refused to believe this phenomenon, until tonight. It's not quite done yet, but as evidenced by the picture to the left, this is indeed the case. (And yes, my anal retentive nature required me to check on the process, every five minutes during baking.)

Though Songbird may disagree, I am well on my way to conquering this strange Goliath that is the "Southern Culture!"