If you saw ME in a police car what would you think I got arrested for?
I saw this in an email and am curious what you all think I'd be in jail for.
(P.S. Harry Potter is in theaters in 49 days.)
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, November 24, 2008
So It Begins...
What with Twilight come and...gone (well, it'll be gone in about 8 weeks or so, I imagine), I can now turn my attention back to that Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince will be out in about 8 months. 7.81 months to be exact. I have a little tracker. No idea how it works--math, you know--but the movie I was so excited and wanting to see on November 21 will actually be out July 17, 2009. Barring that WB doesn't flake out a second time and move it to Christmas 2009 to be complete prats.
I had a half-second's inkling of "waiting" to see Harry Potter 6 after the hub died down. Then I saw the second trailer. Or the actual trailer, really, the one that follows the kick-ass teaser which had me foaming at the mouth months ago. Oh, this looks good. These looks like things from the actual book! Could a miracle really have happened?
Anyway, I'm doing my Harry Potter dance, focused in on the release date with all the single-minded obsessiveness of a native-born Missouri deerhunter, counting down days until the next time he can deer hunt. Which by the way, is in December. I know, I didn't care to know that trivia either, but if I'm going to be burdened with that useless bit of info, it's only fair you should be too.
Anyway, here are the current stats for when Harry Potter will be in theaters. Obess with me. You know you want to.
Months: 7.81
Weeks: 33
Days: 234.33
Hours: 5,640
Minutes: 337,458
Seconds: 20,246,658.17
I had a half-second's inkling of "waiting" to see Harry Potter 6 after the hub died down. Then I saw the second trailer. Or the actual trailer, really, the one that follows the kick-ass teaser which had me foaming at the mouth months ago. Oh, this looks good. These looks like things from the actual book! Could a miracle really have happened?
Anyway, I'm doing my Harry Potter dance, focused in on the release date with all the single-minded obsessiveness of a native-born Missouri deerhunter, counting down days until the next time he can deer hunt. Which by the way, is in December. I know, I didn't care to know that trivia either, but if I'm going to be burdened with that useless bit of info, it's only fair you should be too.
Anyway, here are the current stats for when Harry Potter will be in theaters. Obess with me. You know you want to.
Months: 7.81
Weeks: 33
Days: 234.33
Hours: 5,640
Minutes: 337,458
Seconds: 20,246,658.17
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Friendship: Oh, What a Tangled Web...
My best (and longest standing) friend and I were talking about the complications of the man-woman dynamic. As in, women are sensitive, and men, while they typically mean well, are usually missing something important in the sensitivity area, like a brain. Men and women, duh, are wired differently and therefore think differently; and she was marveling that men and women ever hook up at all. I too wonder from time to time how men ever get laid.
I’m sure you all agree men can be amazingly obtuse and singularly dense about things that should be so obvious. You can even tell them and draw them diagrams about the importance of the topic you’re ranting about, and like Frasier, men are of this thought: “There's an incredible piece of scientific equipment known as the Tunneling Electron Microscope. Now, this microscope is so powerful that by firing electrons you can actually see images of the atom, the infinitesimally minute building block of our universe. If I were using that microscope right now, I still wouldn't be able to locate my interest in your problem.”
This makes men seem very insensitive—you know, not caring about our problems—and it’s not that they don’t care, or even that they don’t understand. I believe they’re more than capable of both. It’s just their priorities are not our priorities; and they are not going to devote that much energy into worrying about something that is not going to matter in five years (when it so clearly barely matters now), when they can be using that brain power for good and happy outcomes, like how to get sex…and possibly a beer.
I can’t say men are wrong in this. I like beer. But as a woman and a best friend, I have to agree that men are insensitive…and empathy deficient much of the time.
However, as complicated as the man-woman dynamic is, there is no way on God’s earth I will ever be convinced that it is more complicated than the woman-woman dynamic. My best relationships are with women, and they are the most frustrating, rewarding, irritating, happiest, worst, best, and most fulfilling relationships I have. One would think having a uterus would at least put me on a level playing field with my friendships. And God knows we talk about everything, so it’s not like we’re not communicating. It’s just that…I spend a lot of my time pandering to a lot of the irrational.
As women we hate this, right? I mean, that excuse holds us back from higher positions and holding office—it’s a lame excuse. We can be very rational, thank you. But oh, my God, I do think we hold the corner on being completely irrational as well. “You’re not even angry at me. Why am I the one being yelled at?” “Because I can’t tell my mother-in-law she’s a blazing shrew, that’s why!” Oh-kay. It’s also amazing to me how something can be only my problem, my desire or whatever, is suddenly encroaching on their happiness in some way. And if I pursue it, I’m not a good friend…and I’m not being sensitive to the situation. (Women can do the guilt manipulation like no one’s business, can’t they?) It’s even gotten that I almost have the same empathy disorder my best friend accuses men of having. Technically she knows I’m not, but I’m certainly giving a good imitation of it.
And it’s when I’m being my most unempathetic that I actually feel men might have a point: this barely matters now. What are we getting so worked up about? Can’t you just be happy right this second without trying to predict the next five years of potential happiness to follow? After 33 years of being a female, I’m going to say: Nope. We can’t. Sorry. We’re just weird.
But the woman-woman dynamic is so important. I think it was my second day of kindergarten when I came to the stunning conclusion: Life sucks. Followed by the second conclusion: I better find a friend because that’s the only way I’m going to cope with the first conclusion. So that’s where I found my best friend. For a long time, I thought you could only have one real best friend. This is probably because of school. There’s a lot of back-stabbing and turncoating in school, so it’s little wonder that I basically had one friend who never did that so therefore I thought, you should only have one best friend. I’m not sure. I didn’t have a therapist then, but I imagine that was a lot of it.
Only my best friend knew something then that I didn’t learn until much, much later. College actually, because by then, I had been replaced in my friend’s life by a boyfriend. Talk about a rude awakening and adjustment phase. This is what I learned: No one person can be every single thing to you, and what an incredible burden to assume one person can be. You can have lots of best friends. For God’s sake, you wouldn’t want just one pair of shoes, would you? Which pair would you choose? Surely you’d need to consider the occasion.
This is a lot easier on certain aspects of the woman-woman dynamic. That means you can stop pestering your BFF to go to movies with you that she has no interest in, or asking to do “girl only” things with you, when you know she feels guilty leaving her husband alone on the couch. Don’t force your friends to be more than they are or give more than they can freely give. And for God’s sake, stop trying to make them more like you. It’s not going to happen; and it shouldn’t. That’s what being a friend is about. These are supposed to be people in which you feel free to be yourself around and they love you anyway. It’s about accepting people as they are, and if you can’t, then let them go. There is no point in continuing a friendship in which everyone is unhappy. Life sucks—and the point of friends is that they’re supposed to make life a little shinier.
But having all these best friends, all of which only see a certain Hellion, is this lying? Does this mean no one friend has ever seen Hellion in the altogether then? Which Hellion is the real Hellion then? Or are all the bits of Hellion true, even if when you put them all together they contradict themselves? (Women are nothing if not contradictory.) Is it possible to have a friendship with any one person in which all aspects of yourself can be shown and not fracture the friendship?
I don’t know.
I’m sure you all agree men can be amazingly obtuse and singularly dense about things that should be so obvious. You can even tell them and draw them diagrams about the importance of the topic you’re ranting about, and like Frasier, men are of this thought: “There's an incredible piece of scientific equipment known as the Tunneling Electron Microscope. Now, this microscope is so powerful that by firing electrons you can actually see images of the atom, the infinitesimally minute building block of our universe. If I were using that microscope right now, I still wouldn't be able to locate my interest in your problem.”
This makes men seem very insensitive—you know, not caring about our problems—and it’s not that they don’t care, or even that they don’t understand. I believe they’re more than capable of both. It’s just their priorities are not our priorities; and they are not going to devote that much energy into worrying about something that is not going to matter in five years (when it so clearly barely matters now), when they can be using that brain power for good and happy outcomes, like how to get sex…and possibly a beer.
I can’t say men are wrong in this. I like beer. But as a woman and a best friend, I have to agree that men are insensitive…and empathy deficient much of the time.
However, as complicated as the man-woman dynamic is, there is no way on God’s earth I will ever be convinced that it is more complicated than the woman-woman dynamic. My best relationships are with women, and they are the most frustrating, rewarding, irritating, happiest, worst, best, and most fulfilling relationships I have. One would think having a uterus would at least put me on a level playing field with my friendships. And God knows we talk about everything, so it’s not like we’re not communicating. It’s just that…I spend a lot of my time pandering to a lot of the irrational.
As women we hate this, right? I mean, that excuse holds us back from higher positions and holding office—it’s a lame excuse. We can be very rational, thank you. But oh, my God, I do think we hold the corner on being completely irrational as well. “You’re not even angry at me. Why am I the one being yelled at?” “Because I can’t tell my mother-in-law she’s a blazing shrew, that’s why!” Oh-kay. It’s also amazing to me how something can be only my problem, my desire or whatever, is suddenly encroaching on their happiness in some way. And if I pursue it, I’m not a good friend…and I’m not being sensitive to the situation. (Women can do the guilt manipulation like no one’s business, can’t they?) It’s even gotten that I almost have the same empathy disorder my best friend accuses men of having. Technically she knows I’m not, but I’m certainly giving a good imitation of it.
And it’s when I’m being my most unempathetic that I actually feel men might have a point: this barely matters now. What are we getting so worked up about? Can’t you just be happy right this second without trying to predict the next five years of potential happiness to follow? After 33 years of being a female, I’m going to say: Nope. We can’t. Sorry. We’re just weird.
But the woman-woman dynamic is so important. I think it was my second day of kindergarten when I came to the stunning conclusion: Life sucks. Followed by the second conclusion: I better find a friend because that’s the only way I’m going to cope with the first conclusion. So that’s where I found my best friend. For a long time, I thought you could only have one real best friend. This is probably because of school. There’s a lot of back-stabbing and turncoating in school, so it’s little wonder that I basically had one friend who never did that so therefore I thought, you should only have one best friend. I’m not sure. I didn’t have a therapist then, but I imagine that was a lot of it.
Only my best friend knew something then that I didn’t learn until much, much later. College actually, because by then, I had been replaced in my friend’s life by a boyfriend. Talk about a rude awakening and adjustment phase. This is what I learned: No one person can be every single thing to you, and what an incredible burden to assume one person can be. You can have lots of best friends. For God’s sake, you wouldn’t want just one pair of shoes, would you? Which pair would you choose? Surely you’d need to consider the occasion.
This is a lot easier on certain aspects of the woman-woman dynamic. That means you can stop pestering your BFF to go to movies with you that she has no interest in, or asking to do “girl only” things with you, when you know she feels guilty leaving her husband alone on the couch. Don’t force your friends to be more than they are or give more than they can freely give. And for God’s sake, stop trying to make them more like you. It’s not going to happen; and it shouldn’t. That’s what being a friend is about. These are supposed to be people in which you feel free to be yourself around and they love you anyway. It’s about accepting people as they are, and if you can’t, then let them go. There is no point in continuing a friendship in which everyone is unhappy. Life sucks—and the point of friends is that they’re supposed to make life a little shinier.
But having all these best friends, all of which only see a certain Hellion, is this lying? Does this mean no one friend has ever seen Hellion in the altogether then? Which Hellion is the real Hellion then? Or are all the bits of Hellion true, even if when you put them all together they contradict themselves? (Women are nothing if not contradictory.) Is it possible to have a friendship with any one person in which all aspects of yourself can be shown and not fracture the friendship?
I don’t know.
Friday, October 03, 2008
Poem of the Day: Ballad of the Men I Have Vamped in Vain
I saw this once a LONG time ago, printed it, lost it, and couldn't find it again. Fortunately someone put it on the web again, so here it is, for the rest of you. Truly fitting. And I'm sure some (or all) of you can relate like me:
OF virtue in woman and honor in man
Has many a bard sung the praise;
And if I now mention the subject again
It's distinctly a negative phase,
For while virtue and honor are well in their ways
One wearies at length of their clutch,
Especially when it inspires the phrase
"Yes, dear, but I love you too much."
These modern young men who write books about sex
All say, "To be chaste is a sin!
Live life to the full without hindrance or checks!
None too young or too old to begin."
But for the deplorable plight that I'm in-
(And you'll surely admit it is such)-
They have no reply but an asinine grin
And a "Really, I like you too much."
There are brave men a plenty, the newspapers say,
Who rape and seduce all the time-
But none of them happen to come 'round my way.
My friends don't seem given to crime.
For bridge or theatres or parties they're prime
And they don't seem to shrink at my touch.
But their failing (which goaded me into this rhyme)
Is that all of them like me too much.
It's not that I go in for Passion myself-
I find it a terrible bore-
But a virgin can have no respect for herself
In this day of the glorified whore.
So I call at young hopefuls' apartments galore,
But, when safe in a masculine clutch,
I imply my intentions, they show me the door,
And assure me they like me too much.
Are they cowards, or heroes, these diffident males?
Do they brave every feminine shell?
Or is it my personal presence that fails
To intrigue them? I never can tell;
For experts have said I make love very well
Still I must lack the magical touch-
For they praise and admire and love me-but Hell!
They-all of them-like me too much.
ENVOI:
You, prince, who have hardily ventured to learn
Of the men I have vainly ensnared,
I've done as you bid me, and ask in return
Whether you, in their place, would have dared.
And this I implore you, don't ever get scared,
And when virgins entreat your fond touch-
Do whatever you feel that the Fates have prepared-
But don't tell them you like them too much.
Anonymous, US, C. 1920
OF virtue in woman and honor in man
Has many a bard sung the praise;
And if I now mention the subject again
It's distinctly a negative phase,
For while virtue and honor are well in their ways
One wearies at length of their clutch,
Especially when it inspires the phrase
"Yes, dear, but I love you too much."
These modern young men who write books about sex
All say, "To be chaste is a sin!
Live life to the full without hindrance or checks!
None too young or too old to begin."
But for the deplorable plight that I'm in-
(And you'll surely admit it is such)-
They have no reply but an asinine grin
And a "Really, I like you too much."
There are brave men a plenty, the newspapers say,
Who rape and seduce all the time-
But none of them happen to come 'round my way.
My friends don't seem given to crime.
For bridge or theatres or parties they're prime
And they don't seem to shrink at my touch.
But their failing (which goaded me into this rhyme)
Is that all of them like me too much.
It's not that I go in for Passion myself-
I find it a terrible bore-
But a virgin can have no respect for herself
In this day of the glorified whore.
So I call at young hopefuls' apartments galore,
But, when safe in a masculine clutch,
I imply my intentions, they show me the door,
And assure me they like me too much.
Are they cowards, or heroes, these diffident males?
Do they brave every feminine shell?
Or is it my personal presence that fails
To intrigue them? I never can tell;
For experts have said I make love very well
Still I must lack the magical touch-
For they praise and admire and love me-but Hell!
They-all of them-like me too much.
ENVOI:
You, prince, who have hardily ventured to learn
Of the men I have vainly ensnared,
I've done as you bid me, and ask in return
Whether you, in their place, would have dared.
And this I implore you, don't ever get scared,
And when virgins entreat your fond touch-
Do whatever you feel that the Fates have prepared-
But don't tell them you like them too much.
Anonymous, US, C. 1920
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Yoga & Hellion the Stress Addict
My doctor yelled at me again. Okay, she didn't actually raise her voice. She smiled kindly as she said, "Your blood pressure is a concern." You're telling me. Please don't tell me to stop eating salt, please don't tell me to stop eating salt.
So I need to work on not eating as much salt. And eating more fruits and veggies. And losing more weight. And walking more every day. And not stressing about every little thing every five seconds. Gah.
After leaving the doc's office, rather depressed that I'm about two more doctor's visits away from being taken out back and being shot for my crappy processed-foods lifestyle and genetics (both sides of the family) like some nag that's outlived her purpose, I went to the library and contemplated skipping the gym. But thought after having written on my form I went to the gym three times a week, that I shouldn't lie so soon after committing it to paper.
Holly was there after my BodyPump class. (I did both BodyPump and Yoga--does it matter? No, I still have a crappy HBP rating. Bastards.) I was laying on my mat, enjoying the fact I hadn't collapsed and died in the last class, and she grinned: "Corpse pose already?"
"Yep." Then I mentioned the doctor thing.
"You need to stop stressing out, man."
I just looked at her.
"You're right. Look who I'm talking too. Maybe you need some Xanex. And make sure they write you a big enough prescription that I get some too."
I've heard of worse ideas. Xanex is sounding mighty tempting at the moment.
But I did yoga instead. Maybe I'll ask the doc at the next checkup. Which is in a month. Yeah, me.
So I need to work on not eating as much salt. And eating more fruits and veggies. And losing more weight. And walking more every day. And not stressing about every little thing every five seconds. Gah.
After leaving the doc's office, rather depressed that I'm about two more doctor's visits away from being taken out back and being shot for my crappy processed-foods lifestyle and genetics (both sides of the family) like some nag that's outlived her purpose, I went to the library and contemplated skipping the gym. But thought after having written on my form I went to the gym three times a week, that I shouldn't lie so soon after committing it to paper.
Holly was there after my BodyPump class. (I did both BodyPump and Yoga--does it matter? No, I still have a crappy HBP rating. Bastards.) I was laying on my mat, enjoying the fact I hadn't collapsed and died in the last class, and she grinned: "Corpse pose already?"
"Yep." Then I mentioned the doctor thing.
"You need to stop stressing out, man."
I just looked at her.
"You're right. Look who I'm talking too. Maybe you need some Xanex. And make sure they write you a big enough prescription that I get some too."
I've heard of worse ideas. Xanex is sounding mighty tempting at the moment.
But I did yoga instead. Maybe I'll ask the doc at the next checkup. Which is in a month. Yeah, me.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Song Lyric Wednesday: Our Favorite Pet
As sung by The Limeybirds, who you should totally Google and go watch their act live if you get the chance. These girls are hysterical--and the interpretative dance is worth the price of admission alone. When I grow up, I want to be Charity.
Some folks have a pussy, a budgee or a tit,
Some folks have a puppy to fill the house with sh….
But me, I raise chickens, and I’ve a favorite one,
He’s Dick, my little cockerel, and I don’t know where he’s gone.
Has anybody seen my cock,
My big Rhode Island Red,
He’s mostly pink
With a little bit of blue
And purple round his head.
He’ll stand straight up in the morning
And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*
[He’s a chicken.]
Has anybody seen,
Anybody seen,
Anybody, anybody seen my cock
He’s a plucky little fellow
And he’ll stand straight up to me!
He’ll raise his head,
Again and again,
And make me utter, “WHEEEEE”
Has anybody seen my cock,
My big Rhode Island Red,
He’s mostly pink
With a little bit of blue
And purple round his head.
He’ll stand straight up in the morning
And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*
[He’s a chicken.]
Has anybody seen,
Anybody seen,
Anybody, anybody seen my cock
His two enormous waddles hang down
The best you’ll ever find,
Mister, you can stroke him if you like
If you feel that way inclined.
Has anybody seen my cock,
My big Rhode Island Red,
He’s mostly pink
With a little bit of blue
And purple round his head.
He’ll stand straight up in the morning
And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*
[He’s a chicken.]
Has anybody seen,
Anybody seen,
Anybody, anybody seen my cock
But now he’s gone
And flown the coop
His life was such a strain
He was always up…
When I needed him.
Perhaps he’ll come again.
Has anybody seen my cock,
My big Rhode Island Red,
He’s mostly pink
With a little bit of blue
And purple round his head.
He’ll stand straight up in the morning
And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*
[He’s a chicken.]
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Poem of the Day
Hey, I was in the mood for poetry. Even if it was my poetry. I wrote this about 10 years ago (Sept 1998).
Happiness is a state of being in which one feels
characterized by good fortune and marked by pleasure….
Soft kisses, wispy as moonlight,
Then rest quietly
Against my breast as the shimmering caress
The sweet-plump curve of my hip—once, twice,
And the game is up.
I stretch and groan, my belly stretching
Into me, his morning stubble raking in a teasing nuzzle
Down the slope of my neck…and
His teeth graze
Wantonly along the rise of my breast, nipping delicately.
And he pauses there until I open my
Eyes and smile, my hands reaching to cup his face
Between my palms, one leg creeping to curve over his hip.
His smile is voracious, carnivorous even…and he
Pounces, kitten-like, his silky hair tousled across his brow
And his muscles rippling…he smells of bedsheets and nights unbridled
And moments tender-rough…and I tug at his shoulders until he collapses
Mockingly into
A heap on top of me, laughing as he rolls me
Above him, my hair teasing as it spills around
Us. His hard warm hands
Rub up my back and curve firmly over my shoulders, tilting me as he
Drawing a slow wet kiss on my midriff.
The morning light dims and the bedrooms walls fuzz at their edges,
As we melt languidly into the bedsheets…and his fingers
Begin their roguish romp, sliding down and down, and I open my eyes
To see his impish salacious smile—and I laugh joyfully,
Thinking….
Happiness is a state of being in which one feels
Characterized by good fortune and marked by pleasure.
Ah, ‘tis true, ‘tis true.
P.S. Here's your quote of the day: "If you don't think sin is fun, you haven't been committing the right sins."--Billy Graham (attributed)
Happiness is a state of being in which one feels
characterized by good fortune and marked by pleasure….
Soft kisses, wispy as moonlight,
Then rest quietly
Against my breast as the shimmering caress
The sweet-plump curve of my hip—once, twice,
And the game is up.
I stretch and groan, my belly stretching
Into me, his morning stubble raking in a teasing nuzzle
Down the slope of my neck…and
His teeth graze
Wantonly along the rise of my breast, nipping delicately.
And he pauses there until I open my
Eyes and smile, my hands reaching to cup his face
Between my palms, one leg creeping to curve over his hip.
His smile is voracious, carnivorous even…and he
Pounces, kitten-like, his silky hair tousled across his brow
And his muscles rippling…he smells of bedsheets and nights unbridled
And moments tender-rough…and I tug at his shoulders until he collapses
Mockingly into
A heap on top of me, laughing as he rolls me
Above him, my hair teasing as it spills around
Us. His hard warm hands
Rub up my back and curve firmly over my shoulders, tilting me as he
Drawing a slow wet kiss on my midriff.
The morning light dims and the bedrooms walls fuzz at their edges,
As we melt languidly into the bedsheets…and his fingers
Begin their roguish romp, sliding down and down, and I open my eyes
To see his impish salacious smile—and I laugh joyfully,
Thinking….
Happiness is a state of being in which one feels
Characterized by good fortune and marked by pleasure.
Ah, ‘tis true, ‘tis true.
P.S. Here's your quote of the day: "If you don't think sin is fun, you haven't been committing the right sins."--Billy Graham (attributed)
Monday, June 23, 2008
Heaven, Ice Cream & Mark Twain
My sister and I were discussing church yesterday. She was trying to talk me into going to her church. I said, I'm too liberal for a church; and I look for fights. I believe what I believe. Not to get all political or religious, but if you did a checklist of the democratic party, I'd probably agree with most of it...though most of the little ticks on the democracy side is, well, considered immoral by 99% of churches. (You know, hate the sin but not the sinner, which sorta drives me crazy since I still think you're not really loving the sinner at all. You're kinda being...self-righteous and better-than-thou towards someone you think you're better than. I call it conditional love. They'd love you for real if you were sinning like a big fat sinner you are.)
Anyway, so was our discussion. And my sister says: "Well, it doesn't matter. There won't be any sex in Heaven."
This is not news to me. 18 years as a Deacon's daughter, I'm well aware of all the fun things Heaven is without. To which my sibling added: "Well, it's better to spend eternity in a pleasant climate than in a fiery hell." I asked her if she was sure, since we were going to be without sex and all. I mean, ETERNITY is a long time to go without something. That's like getting to Heaven and there's no ice cream. "But you won't be hungry," they explain patiently; and frankly I have to think: "That's really not the point of ice cream, is it?" How often do we eat ice cream because it's a health food to help along as we're hungry? Exactly.
You don't eat ice cream because you're hungry. You eat it because it tastes good.
So it's really not the point that in Heaven we won't need sex because we won't need to procreate; and we'll all be brothers and sisters (and therefore it's all sorta incestuous anyway)--and well, you think it was bad now when you're in the middle of sex and you realize, "Hey, Jesus is watching." (Hey, it's happened.) I mean, in Heaven, he's really watching. We all are.
Frankly I want to be wherever Mark Twain is. He has us nailed.
Still.
Clearly I can't hope for Heaven making up for the dearth of hanky-panky I have going on down here. So I guess I'll just have to catch up so when I'm in Heaven, I don't miss it so much. I should probably go ahead and eat all the ice cream I'm going to want as well.
I don't know about you but I'm going to my local Ben & Jerry's.
Anyway, so was our discussion. And my sister says: "Well, it doesn't matter. There won't be any sex in Heaven."
This is not news to me. 18 years as a Deacon's daughter, I'm well aware of all the fun things Heaven is without. To which my sibling added: "Well, it's better to spend eternity in a pleasant climate than in a fiery hell." I asked her if she was sure, since we were going to be without sex and all. I mean, ETERNITY is a long time to go without something. That's like getting to Heaven and there's no ice cream. "But you won't be hungry," they explain patiently; and frankly I have to think: "That's really not the point of ice cream, is it?" How often do we eat ice cream because it's a health food to help along as we're hungry? Exactly.
You don't eat ice cream because you're hungry. You eat it because it tastes good.
So it's really not the point that in Heaven we won't need sex because we won't need to procreate; and we'll all be brothers and sisters (and therefore it's all sorta incestuous anyway)--and well, you think it was bad now when you're in the middle of sex and you realize, "Hey, Jesus is watching." (Hey, it's happened.) I mean, in Heaven, he's really watching. We all are.
Frankly I want to be wherever Mark Twain is. He has us nailed.
...the human being, like the immortals, natually places sexual intercourse far and away above all other joys--yet he has left it out of his heaven! The very thought of it excites him; opportunity sets him wild; in this state he will risk life, reputation, everything--even his queer heaven itself--to make good that opportunity and ride it to the overwhelming climax. From youth to middle age all men and all women prize copulation above all other pleasures combined, yet it actually as I have said: it is not in their heaven; prayer takes its place.Prayer. I don't know about you, but that does not sound like a pleasant way to pass an eternity. What would we have to pray about? We're already in heaven; everyone else is in heaven--if they didn't make it, we've been told prayers won't help them at this point. So now we're left with praise prayer, which I'm not saying God's not deserving, but I think he has a bit more to do with his time than say 'Thank you' a billion times a day as we continue to praise him. I mean, that's gotta be boring after a while...and he's a humble guy, so he's only going to tolerate that so long, I would think.
- Letters from the Earth
Still.
Clearly I can't hope for Heaven making up for the dearth of hanky-panky I have going on down here. So I guess I'll just have to catch up so when I'm in Heaven, I don't miss it so much. I should probably go ahead and eat all the ice cream I'm going to want as well.
I don't know about you but I'm going to my local Ben & Jerry's.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
6 Words or Less
I think Marnee tagged me for this. Weeks ago, but I haven't thought of anything.
Obsessed...no. Passionate. Yes, passionate.
Passionate, rebellious, and freedom-seeking pirate
There we go.
Me in 6 words.
Obsessed...no. Passionate. Yes, passionate.
Passionate, rebellious, and freedom-seeking pirate
There we go.
Me in 6 words.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Taglines and Costumes
At the Bandits, we were asked to pick three words that describe your "voice." I picked irreverent, droll, and chick-littish. Then I said, well, not typical chick-lit, more like "small-town, Southern chick-lit." Terri now thinks that should be my tagline; and Cassondra (at the Bandits) also thinks that is the way I should pitch my work to agents/editors. What do you all think? And those of you who've read my stuff--do you think small-town, Southern chick-lit works?
And I think I'm going to be Maid Marian (dressed as a sassy Robin Hood outfit with bows and arrows) for Halloween. I have the costume picked out; lot less material than usual; and I get weapons. Now if I can just find the right shoes!
And I think I'm going to be Maid Marian (dressed as a sassy Robin Hood outfit with bows and arrows) for Halloween. I have the costume picked out; lot less material than usual; and I get weapons. Now if I can just find the right shoes!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
An Ideal Man Is Like....
A good bra: supportive, uplifting, and makes us feel sexy
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
Quote of the Day
The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one other person. --Vi Putnam
No idea who Vi Putnam is, or if in fact, this is a person...but damn, that's a great quotation.
No idea who Vi Putnam is, or if in fact, this is a person...but damn, that's a great quotation.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Movie Season Is Upon Us
I love this time of year: the morel mushrooms are all over the place (and God, they're good) and the hype for summer movies is at full throttle.My former boss isn't intrigued by the movie selection this year, but man, I'm hyped. (Okay, not the in same sort of hyped I was last year at this time, when I was literally counting the minutes until I got to see Sweet Jack again...but there can be only one Pirates of the Caribbean. Or three, maybe four if they work out the details. Whatever.)
Speaking of sequels I'll toss my money at, Indiana Jones is coming back to the big screen. Granted it's been almost 20 years and lately, Indy has been looking a bit worse for wear, but they're bringing back Marion, too. And there might be a "secret baby" (all grown up), being that Indy's sidekick in this movie is a 21 year old guy who has some "personal business" with Indy. That is one secret baby plot I can get behind. I've been dying for Marion and Indy to have some babies, and just the THOUGHT that might be what's going on has me excited! He's still got the hat and the whip...and that devilish look about him. AND he's an archaeologist! Hello, the older you get, the more interested he is in you.
This weekend I'll be seeing Made of Honor, which Patrick Dempsey has become my favorite movie leading man. Loved him in Enchanted, and I think he'll be just as enchanting here. This weekend, What Happens In Vegas also will be out--and though I'm sure it's not going to win any awards, it still looks amusing. Campy and funny...and the same plot device we've seen in about three other Ashton Kutcher movies, but whatever. Looks amusing. Anything to distract me from my dreary life.
In June, I've picked my "Get Out of Jail BAD Movie" Movie: The Love Guru. I've already raved about this at the ship, because it features, at some point, Justin Timberlake in a speedo and sporting a pornstache. I'm so there, baby. I don't care how bad it is, it looks funny.
Of course, Adam Sandler's summer movie comes out like a week before him (maybe two), and it looks like it has some merit as well. Politically incorrect, cheap laughs, and I'm sure an ending where he saves it from being a completely themeless movie.
So it's clear I'm going to be spending a lot of my time at the movie theater this summer--which is good because I don't have AC anyway. What movies will you be seeing and what are you excited about?
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Contest
No, I'm not featuring a contest. But Amazon is.
If you're a Harry Potter fan...or even an Amazon.com fan, this is the contest for you.
Go here, and play.
No fee. Just be willing to be one of a billion entries that's filtered out...and take the chance that you might be one of the ones. I've already entered. Wish me luck...and meanwhile, I wish you luck. One of us should get the chance to go!
And if you don't win the Grand Prize, there's always the second prize. :)
If you're a Harry Potter fan...or even an Amazon.com fan, this is the contest for you.
Go here, and play.
No fee. Just be willing to be one of a billion entries that's filtered out...and take the chance that you might be one of the ones. I've already entered. Wish me luck...and meanwhile, I wish you luck. One of us should get the chance to go!
And if you don't win the Grand Prize, there's always the second prize. :)
Monday, April 14, 2008
It was a necessary war, they said.
We must fight for truth.
For justice. For prosperity.
And for these things, they sent my son
To die for peace.
My prayers fell on deaf ears,
My fury at the senseless death ignored.
And so my son returned to me,
A broken toy soldier in a box,
And I buried him with my heart.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
The Deathman Cometh....
You know you sometimes read these little new bits in the newspaper and laugh because they can't be true. And yet they are.
This week, I read about a man who was on the way to the store to get some mushrooms for his pizza, who died when he swerved to miss hitting a deer. The clincher? He was riding a scooter.
You laugh because you think, No way, what kind of bad luck are you under to have that happen? I mean, he was wearing a helmet!
To top this, this guy was in my yoga class. A marathon runner. Tight hamstrings--only wanted to do that yoga pose where you can put your fingers under your heels and straighten your hips to the ceiling. He was a wonderful guy. For one, he never was resentful for the fact me and my two yoga-partners-in-arms were complete gigglers; and if any of us were missing, he'd ask after that person by name. He was smart, interesting, and the loving father of three sons and loving husband of a professor here at the university. He was a very valued colleague; he worked for the chief counsel of the county. He ate right, I believe; exercise faithfully; and even yoga'd to relax. What does all this get you?
Dead. From a rogue deer.
So last night I yoga'd to the best of my ability, as we lit candles for him and played his favorite CD in class; then after we went out for ice cream (though we hadn't had supper yet.) Because you never know. You might not get a chance for dessert if you do it the "right way."
So go get ice cream. Tell your friends you love them. Hug your children.
The Grim Deer stalks, baby. It stalks.
This week, I read about a man who was on the way to the store to get some mushrooms for his pizza, who died when he swerved to miss hitting a deer. The clincher? He was riding a scooter.
You laugh because you think, No way, what kind of bad luck are you under to have that happen? I mean, he was wearing a helmet!
To top this, this guy was in my yoga class. A marathon runner. Tight hamstrings--only wanted to do that yoga pose where you can put your fingers under your heels and straighten your hips to the ceiling. He was a wonderful guy. For one, he never was resentful for the fact me and my two yoga-partners-in-arms were complete gigglers; and if any of us were missing, he'd ask after that person by name. He was smart, interesting, and the loving father of three sons and loving husband of a professor here at the university. He was a very valued colleague; he worked for the chief counsel of the county. He ate right, I believe; exercise faithfully; and even yoga'd to relax. What does all this get you?
Dead. From a rogue deer.
So last night I yoga'd to the best of my ability, as we lit candles for him and played his favorite CD in class; then after we went out for ice cream (though we hadn't had supper yet.) Because you never know. You might not get a chance for dessert if you do it the "right way."
So go get ice cream. Tell your friends you love them. Hug your children.
The Grim Deer stalks, baby. It stalks.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Watercooler Talk Friday
The boss is out of town today, so there were several moments in the day where my ass actually wiggled out of the office and talked to the co-workers.
First topic of discussion was very important. I sent a co-worker to go look at the movie trailer for The Love Guru. Clearly an Oscar-nomination worthy flick coming out in June--and if anyone should get the Oscar nod, it should be Justin Timberlake, who is going to be the sole reason I'm watching this flick. Plus the site had the quite memorable quote of the day: "If you're happy and you know it: think again." That's my mantra, baby, right there.
The rest of it...well I was *going* to talk about but it got too long, too heavy, and displayed way too much of my ignorance about China-US relations. Clearly though I prefer to not worry about the direction the boat (America) is headed and will just play my fiddle to the best of my ability until the damned thing hits an iceberg and sinks itself.
The question of the day boiled down to this: when it comes to November and you head to the polls are you going to be voting FOR someone? Or are you going to do what most of us will be doing, "I'm not voting to FOR someone, it's more like I'm voting AGAINST someone." None of us knew who we wanted to voted for. All the options frightened us. And frankly I'm going to think it's a miracle if Bush doesn't get us in another war before he leaves office.
First topic of discussion was very important. I sent a co-worker to go look at the movie trailer for The Love Guru. Clearly an Oscar-nomination worthy flick coming out in June--and if anyone should get the Oscar nod, it should be Justin Timberlake, who is going to be the sole reason I'm watching this flick. Plus the site had the quite memorable quote of the day: "If you're happy and you know it: think again." That's my mantra, baby, right there.
The rest of it...well I was *going* to talk about but it got too long, too heavy, and displayed way too much of my ignorance about China-US relations. Clearly though I prefer to not worry about the direction the boat (America) is headed and will just play my fiddle to the best of my ability until the damned thing hits an iceberg and sinks itself.
The question of the day boiled down to this: when it comes to November and you head to the polls are you going to be voting FOR someone? Or are you going to do what most of us will be doing, "I'm not voting to FOR someone, it's more like I'm voting AGAINST someone." None of us knew who we wanted to voted for. All the options frightened us. And frankly I'm going to think it's a miracle if Bush doesn't get us in another war before he leaves office.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Revelation Monday
I found out I'm not a pessimist.
Look.
"Philosophical pessimism is the similar but not identical idea that life has a negative value, or that this world is as bad as it could possibly be."
I do not believe the world is as bad as it could possibly be. I have the utmost faith and belief that it can and will get worse.
Happy Monday!
Look.
"Philosophical pessimism is the similar but not identical idea that life has a negative value, or that this world is as bad as it could possibly be."
I do not believe the world is as bad as it could possibly be. I have the utmost faith and belief that it can and will get worse.
Happy Monday!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Old Obession Thursday
Normally I don't write on my personal blog so often, but clearly I'm procrastinating on...well, everything.
And the Daylights Savings Time has totally #(%)*#()$#* up my week.
So I was up till 1 am finishing Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows--there is a certain point of the book where you literally can't put the book down, you have to start doing stuff one-handed and hope you don't, oh, crash your car and stuff.
So I've finished up the annual "Christmas" read of all the books, which is basically what I've done since I've started the series. Harry Potter is very...well, Christmasy in the way. Christmas is a big deal to him--so I read them at Christmas.
I read The Goblet of Fire for what, the tenth time? I honestly don't know; and in book 3, Harry acquires a map. In Goblet of Fire, a professor BORROWS this map and doesn't return it. Seriously. I realized suddenly he doesn't have his map back by the end of this book; and in book 5, when Harry is clearly holding the map once again, there is no explanation HOW this occurred?
So I'm calling out to other fans, does anyone *know* how he got the map back? Did I misread my 10th reading of book 4 and my whatever reading of book 5 and he did get it back?? Please help me. It's been driving me mad, and MuggleNet Staff won't return my emails.
And the Daylights Savings Time has totally #(%)*#()$#* up my week.
So I was up till 1 am finishing Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows--there is a certain point of the book where you literally can't put the book down, you have to start doing stuff one-handed and hope you don't, oh, crash your car and stuff.
So I've finished up the annual "Christmas" read of all the books, which is basically what I've done since I've started the series. Harry Potter is very...well, Christmasy in the way. Christmas is a big deal to him--so I read them at Christmas.
I read The Goblet of Fire for what, the tenth time? I honestly don't know; and in book 3, Harry acquires a map. In Goblet of Fire, a professor BORROWS this map and doesn't return it. Seriously. I realized suddenly he doesn't have his map back by the end of this book; and in book 5, when Harry is clearly holding the map once again, there is no explanation HOW this occurred?
So I'm calling out to other fans, does anyone *know* how he got the map back? Did I misread my 10th reading of book 4 and my whatever reading of book 5 and he did get it back?? Please help me. It's been driving me mad, and MuggleNet Staff won't return my emails.
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