Regression

So I was at the grocery store, looking at the books (there was one about Camelot I wanted to find, Camelot's Destiny?? I don't remember), and suddenly I see IT. I squeal, lunge at the shelves, and pick up the coloring book.

Harry Potter.

Pictures from all five movies.

Clearly I must have it. I gladly pay the $5 for it, though normally I would never pay that much for a coloring book. Any coloring book. I go home before I recall: I have no crayons.

So last night I wandered over to Wally World, a box of crayons at the top of my list. Just above a roasted chicken. I broke down and bought the 96 box of crayons. I was tempted to try the 120 box, since it came in what looks like a cigar box, but refrained. Then I wandered down a few more steps, and lo, a coloring book of Pirates of the Caribbean! Poster sized floor coloring sheets, it advertised...and lots of representations of Jack. It was mine. I threw it into the cart.

Once I got home and ate my roasted chicken (discounted, no less), I started on a picture of Jack, then put it away when his boots sucked up about half my brown crayon. I pulled out the Harry Potter book and flipped through it for twenty minutes, choosing carefully which page I wanted to color. I finally picked one with Harry & Ron, and I began to color to my heart's content as I watched Flags of Our Fathers.

So...are there any childhood toys or memories you have that you can't resist revisiting whenever you get the chance? Me, I liked to draw and color. Occasionally if I'm in a park, I'll find myself hanging upside down from the nearest gym bar and shrieking like a monkey. I like to blow bubbles with my gum and pop it next to someone's ear. And whenever I see a carosel I can actually ride on, I lose my mind picking out the right horse. (It's usually a fierce black one who looks like he's going at a full gallop....)

All Things Harry Potter (warning: this blog may contain obsessive raves)

Today is June 21, and while to most people this only means: "hey, it's the first day of summer", for me (who shuns sunlight like a vampire), it means: in exactly one month, I'll have Harry Potter's newest (and last) book in my hot little hands and I will finally, finally have all the big questions answered.

Warning: if you write "Harry Potter is going to die" in the comments, as a dictator, I will delete it. Just saying. Cast your John the Baptist bits of doom on someone else's blog. I am obviously too narrow-minded to consider the possibility.

Okay. Per your request, I have come up with a short guide to dating a la Harry Potter. And it goes like this:

Number 10: Be moody, broody, and slightly mad. It worked for Lord Byron, and it probably helps if you’re also known as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” This worked well for Harry in book 5, where he finally got to snog a girl.

Number 9: Transfiguring your date into a supermodel will probably not get you a second date with them. Transfiguring yourself might. Swallowing some Polyjuice Potion might work for you, as well; however, keeping Orlando Bloom or Jude Law locked in a trunk so you can have access to stray hairs will most likely get you jail time for being a complete stalker/kidnapper. (Might just be cheaper, less law-breaking, to do a Hugh Grant.)

Number 8: Falling in love with yourself is the beginning of a life long affair. Ask Professor Lockhart.

Number 7: Be careful not to break your wand under stressful circumstances. “Making magic” with a broken wand is nie onto impossible.

Number 6: If you find yourself bickering with someone of the opposite sex all the time, you are in love with this person. You won’t know it though until she starts dating a complete prat because you live in complete denial.

Number 5: If blind adoration doesn’t work (and it never does), pretend to fall in love with someone else to make your Girl/Guy of Your Dream realize you’re a limited commodity. (Supply and demand has ruled since Eve and the apple.) Lead him on a merry chase as you happily date other idiots until GOYD kisses you in the middle of the Common Room.

Number 4: Fall in love immediately with someone who doesn’t know you exist. Wear your heart on your sleeve for years and blush profusely anytime he/she talks to you. Promptly get yourself possessed by the Evil Villain so he/she has to rescue you—at least that way he/she knows you exist.

Number 3: Tamp off jealous rages that the GOYD is dating a complete prat by accusing her/him of showing disloyalty to country, school, or common friends. Make something up if necessary. Guilt is a necessary and viable dating tool to get you to make out with GOYD.

Number 2: When asking a girl out to a dance, separate her from the “Pack”. This will be difficult since we all know women do everything in groups of two or more, even going to the bathroom—which is completely absurd since there is no such thing as two toilets in one stall.

Number 1: When you finally find the love of your life, break up with her to “protect her” from the bad guys and thereby let everyone in the world know that you’re just as much of an idiot as the next guy—because we all know this whole heroic ploy will have been useless when the villain kills her anyway and you wasted valuable time you could have been using to make out with her. Dumbass.

So what dating advice have you gleaned from Harry Potter? Or any movie really? I might be having another date again, eventually, I could use all the advice I can get.

Family History

When I was 10, I fervently hoped somewhere in the background of all our pious family histories (my family is riddled with do-gooders and deacon elders) there might be an outlaw or two to spice things up. I sincerely believed I might be a throw-back to an otherwise unremarkable family. Being I was the one child in like the entire family who hated church, being good or even particularly Christian, I wanted proof that we had some wild blood somewhere.

Now 20 years later, I’m realizing something: the current family members are the “throw-backs”. We have an entire family of outlaws; and if anything, I’m pretty sure much of current family are outlaws, but they spend so much time hiding it, we’re just not aware of what they’re doing. I can’t even in good conscious call myself the “black sheep” because comparatively, I’m a lamb when held against the others’ exploits.

For years, I would ask the aunts for family tidbits. Women=gossip, right? No, these guys were massive “cover up agents” and if I mentioned so much as the thought of “wouldn’t it be cool to have an outlaw in the family”, I got a half-hour lecture. Apparently I was approaching the wrong sources.

Last Memorial Day, Dad and I walked at Perche Church among the gravemarkers (because that’s the sort of morbid thing my family does), and he caught me up on stories. I was standing next to the marker of John Marshall [my last name], recalling he was the son of Adam Wirth (the one who died in the Confederate war), and was flummoxed by the marker next to him. George.

“Who’s George?”

“Oh, he was one of my uncles.”

“He’s by himself. He didn’t get married?” I mean everyone in my family gets married, usually a couple times.

“Yes. But she left him, so she’s buried somewhere else.”

She left him? Scandal! “Really?” I said. “Why was that?”

“Oh, he was wild. He shot a man and killed him.”

I gaped at my father, who deadpanned this bit of trivia. What? “He didn’t go to jail?”

“No, he got off. Pappy got a lawyer and they were able to get him off.” Dad stared at the stone, nodding. “Come to think of it, it was a cousin who turned George in for the reward, because up til then he was on the lam, then he gave the money to Pappy to pay for the lawyer.”

While I’m still gaping at this—with sudden clear revelation that this is the “relative” that the aunts hinted at but refused to talk about, awesome!—and Dad pointed out another headstone. “This cousin got married the day she had a baby. Nobody knew she was pregnant.” How can that be? I thought that only happened in The Enquirer.

“Oh, come on.”

“No, really. Her mother went and got her sister to help figure out what was wrong, and it was her sister who said, ‘She’s going to have a baby.’ They found the man she’d been with and she got married. She put the day of her wedding on her marker, see; and the baby died that day too…so we could all tell when she had the baby.” Very tragic, but at the same time, proof positive I'm not a throw-back.

Nothing but outlaws in my family.

How about you? Any salacious bits of gossip you’ve discerned over the years? You should hear my dad talk about the teacher who shot one of his students (in a fit of road rage, no less) and got off!

Friday Music Blog: At World's End

My obsessions know no bounds. Some say I have the making of great stalker material, but I like to think I'm more along the lines of: joie de vivre.

We all know Captain Jack has been my raison d'etre--okay, probably still is. (Harry does run pretty neck and neck, but if both of them were going to get hit by a bus, I'd save Jack first.)

Last Friday, after a spectacular bit of drinking with Sin at the local Trops (I had a half pina colada, half rum rummer, which was funnily enough called: A Pain In The Ass--how apt), we roamed around a bit and ended up at the local Target. We roamed the mall; but I soon began hunting for POTC: At World's End, the soundtrack.

One of my favorite music purchases for me is to buy soundtracks. I must own more soundtracks than...well, anyone. I have a Harry Potter one, yes. But Target did not have said soundtrack; the mall closed and I couldn't return to the music store and get the lone copy they had. Sin and I parted ways around 10, and I darted off to the local Wal-Mart to find the soundtrack. (I can be very relentless in my pursuit of something, I know.)

And there it was. A lone copy--right there at eye level--and I skipped out of the store (after I paid for it) and played it all the way home. And all week, really. At work. In the car. If I had a CD player in my room, I'd probably play it for when I went to sleep at night. I went and found the lyrics for the "Hoist the Colors" song; and I sing along with the little boy in the first track. (The words are very interesting by the way.)

My favorite track is probably #11. It's the one where Jack and Davy fight on the main mast. I love that...bit...the rise and fall of it. It's so exhilirating. The track that immediately follows is the one that's for Will and Elizabeth--and it's so romantic and heartbreaking, I get choked up all the time listening to it.

Do you like movie soundtracks? Do you own any? Which ones and why? And can you listen to a soundtrack and pinpoint where in the movie we're at?

Ranger, Ranger, Ranger

Six days until a new Plum book hits the stands. Apparently this one will be much like the other twelve: no resolution in regards to the Morelli and Ranger debate. Much like reaching a conclusion of 'whose side Snape is really on', it seems Janet is loathe to make her commitments known. She loves instead to play her “The Lady or The Tiger” card and leave us fans squirming and wailing in the background, wishing for our commercial fiction to have a bit less ambiguity and a lot more Ranger.

Because face it, it’s gotta be Ranger.

And in honor of that Man of Mystery, let’s list the top 10 things you can (and should) do with Ranger, should you ever cross paths:

1.) Have him ruin you for all other men
2.) Drive his car—and get it hijacked, or at least suitably wrecked
3.) Take him out for pie
4.) Think of new and impressive ways to amuse him, mainly by being yourself
5.) Elope to Vegas—this will be especially exciting since he’s got a warrant out for him in Nevada
6.) Invite your wily, sex-crazed grandmother over to hit on him; laugh when he squirms
7.) Give him a bubble bath—and use a lot of that good-smelling soap of his as you suds him up
8.) Exchange sexually-charged banter for hours—then go home and take a cold shower (it’s what Janet does to Stephanie in every episode of the Ranger show)
9.) Dress up in your best CFM outfit and pretend you’re helping him catch a mark
10.)Have him ruin you for all other men—because the first time, while memorable, is never
enough

Anything special you’d like to do with Ranger?

8 Random Facts

Terri has finally (finally) started her own blog; and the first thing the wench does is assign the rest of us homework. That's just like her hard-working Capricorn ass. Delegate.

And to add to it, there are apparently RULES (but I'm going to say they are more like guidelines.) 1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 2.People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 4. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

8 Hellion Relatively Obscure Facts

1.) I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 22, which in our town puts me in the same classification as “senior citizen discounts”
2.) I had a pony named Dance when I was 12; she had dark liquid eyes and long white eyelashes, and when she trotted it looked like she was floating on the air.
3.) I can quote an absurd amount of the dialogue from both POTC movies. This probably stems that I watch those movies at least twice a month.
4.) I finished my first manuscript in April/May 2002. It was my “Lucy” story; and I got lots of polite “no, thank yous” from agents and editors when I tried to query it.
5.) My favorite thing to drink is regular Pepsi. It can almost always right a bad day; and having the first sip is so much like the first drag of a cigarette, it’s not even funny.
6.) My 11th grade English teacher was Ms. Yount, whom I happened to see over the weekend, and when she asked if I was writing and what, and I told her, she said (in front of my father, who was standing there patiently): “Frannie, you know I never read that trash. Don’t you read anything decent? How about Sue Monk Kidd? Have you read her?” I haven't but I do have one of her books on my bookshelf. Next to Pride & Prejudice, which I've also not read.
7.) I have a red stapler on my desk like Milton from Office Space. Of course, I’m rarely ever threatened to be moved from my premise because nobody else who works here wants to deal with the students either.
8.) I’m not actually Amish. I do live on a farm though; and I do still claim I didn’t even know what FM was until I was at least 9 or 10 and my big-city niece brought her naughty rock-and-roll music out to corrupt me.

And that's all. Tag the following: Sin, Terri, Holly, Susan, Ely...ah, hell, I can't think of 8 people. I'm tagging 5. I'd like to see anyone make me find another 3. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Body Pump

I'm convinced I was not created for exercise. Truly. I don't enjoy it; I don't enjoy sweating; none of it. I enjoy SLEEPING. If "naps" or "reading on the couch with my legs dangling off the top cushion" were considered olympic sports, I'd be a gold medalist. So it is with great surprise I tell you that I survived my first (and possibly my last) Body Pump class last night.

Now let me qualify this that the person teaching this class was subbing for the normal teacher; and the substitute is our Yoga Instructor. We would pretty much follow her into the nine circles of hell if she went; she's that good. So when she said she was subbing the Body Pump and wanted us to come, I was like, "You're kidding, right?"

My friends (traitors) all sing-songed, "Oh, that'll be awesome, Sue!" and immediately signed us all up.

Yeah, traitor #1 wasn't singing that tune when I showed up last night. "I'm so tired. We didn't promise we'd go tonight."

"Yes, you did. She said, I'll see you and you and you on Monday night at 6."

"Oh, I guess we'll go."

You bet your sweet bippy, we're going, you sadist.

So there we were. And to add to it, she made us go to the front of the class. I hate being in "classes" of any sort of athletic prowess. I suck; and I hate sucking in front of EVERYONE. It's like 7th grade PE all over again. To make matters worse, we were far and away from the door, so I couldn't just sneak out if it got to be too much (which admittedly is what I did LAST time, to a different teacher & class). I was in this for the long haul, for better or worse.

Time passed relatively quickly; and Sue, as always, was excellent at showing us how to do the movements, while making it fun and not making us feel stupid about it. And in the middle of the squats I thought I was going to die, literally die. Then after the squats were done, standing became a real chore because my legs shook like a palsied victim for the other 30 minutes of class. But I managed to do almost all of the moves for the class.

Granted today my range of motion is rather limited; and I expect (I totally expect) tomorrow's range of motion will be even less (and I have yoga tomorrow night!)--but by the end, I was rather impressed I hadn't died in the middle of the class. That I had done the moves almost as well and as many times as the regulars. I would totally high five someone right now in victory, but I can't really lift my arms (good thing, my keyboard sits on my lap, right?)

So what have you ever done that you couldn't believe you did--and you were totally proud of?

Vacation

May is always the time of year I contemplate vacation.

Mostly because I'm swamped under about 200 folders, of which I'd rather be doing ANYTHING else, than and about a 1000 questions daily of random shit and problems. Drama, drama, drama. Vacation begins to look mighty fine.

So I booked my plane ticket to go see Terri (and Tiff and Sin--but I'm flying to Terri's house--so she doesn't have to go in the parentheses) and will be gone for a week. Of course, being our plans are basically to everything as much as possible for as long as possible until we're completely broke--or dead, I imagine when I return from vacation, I will need a vacation to recover from it. Such are what vacations are all about though, I suppose. And when you're with friends, you don't notice you're tired as easily. Sorta like little kids who've been allowed to stay up for an overnight slumber party. Yeah, right, try getting them to go to bed at 8 pm. Good luck.

In the meantime till August, I'll still have folders. And reports. And reports of reports. And the 1000 daily dumbass questions...and drama. Tonight though, I'll be driving up to St. Louis to visit my friend Jackie, whom I also forget I'm tired when I spend time with her. (Forget, that is, until I find myself in the midst of a hypoglycemic rant and no idea why...and then I realize, maybe I should have let Jackie go to sleep hours ago. *LOL*)

Tomorrow, after my writing group, Jackie, Erica (Jackie's little sister--and rather my honorary little sister), and I will go see POTC3--because that's the good friend I am. *grins* It has nothing to do with the fact I only want to see that movie about a dozen more times or anything. No, no. It's friendship and loyalty only.

Where are you vacationing this year? Who will you most be glad to get away from at the office on your vacation and why? What is the first thing you're going to drink on your vacation?