I guess "nothing" really means "a lot"

I have nothing to write about.

Really. I have been banging my head all week trying to think of some cool topic that moves me enough to put into words. Notta. A couple of times an idea would pop into my head and then suddenly I’m bored with it and shrug it off. So, I have no idea where this blog is headed. 

And that might be scary.

Here’s the thing: I’ve entered into this weird-makes-no-sense “I don’t care about anything” phase and it’s about to drive me insane. I strongly believe that it is a direct result of being sugar-free for almost three weeks. No joke. It has been H.E.L.L. To my knowledge, not one ounce of sugar has entered my system since I inhaled that most beautiful Snickers Bar sitting in moms car in the airport parking lot on Thursday, January 23 at approximately 8:30pm. And not the small Snickers. The big ass one.  

Chocolate. I miss it.

As I sit here typing, I can actually taste that now-long-gone scrumdiliumptious chocolate melting in my mouth.

I went to a birthday party last week and there was homemade chocolate cake. You have NO idea how much control it took me to NOT just lick that yummy chocolate icing off the top and sides of the cake, slowly and seductively, from one side to the other, back and forth, until it was all gone. <sigh> I didn’t because I didn’t want to be a failure in my quest… and NOT because it would have truly disgusted the whole entire party.

I thought I had the most marvelous idea the other day by buying some sugar/fat free chocolate pudding. Never again. I sat on my couch and ate the whole entire freaking bowl. Consuming small portions of chocolate is something that is foreign to me. If you and I were stuck on an island and the only thing we had to eat was a box of anything chocolate... well, let me just apologize in advance. I don’t fight pretty. 

I’m even afraid to light my fudge scented candle. It might just push me over that scared-she-might-kill-people ledge. Don’t worry. I don’t own a gun. Yet.

But back to the whole “I don’t care about anything” phase that I’m going through…

I’m not sure what the deal is exactly. I just don’t care. And that bothers me. I can’t tell you how many obstacles I’ve had to run around, through or avoid these past couple of weeks. Now that I think about it, I wonder if this new phase came about after I royally screwed up at work. And I mean royally. I have a wonderful boss who graciously didn’t fault me, but he and I both know that I’m the one who screwed up. There was nothing I could do but stand there and watch the train wreck happen. God, I felt bad. Horrible. All I could do was sincerely apologize and then move on. But… apparently I didn’t?

Maybe I’m punishing myself? I love my job and have a huge sense of loyalty. And to screw up that badly just crushes me. I found a huge problem today where someone (don’t know who) accidentally messed up a whole bunch of my files on the network. And we’re talking a couple of hundred here. I now am in the process of fixing them each – one by one. A co-worker has been kind enough to lend a hand. 

I tell this story for this reason: I didn’t get mad. I didn’t yell. I didn’t accuse particular employees of sabotaging my files. Normally this would have just sent my blood pressure sky high. However, today? I just didn’t care. It’s not like I handled it in a “mature manner”… I just didn’t care. I said, “well that sure does suck” and then proceeded to waste the entire afternoon fixing it.

What’s wrong with this picture? Sheesh. Someone do something QUICK to piss me off! Maybe it’ll snap me out of it.

I’m just so fed up with so many things right now that instead of going postal, I’m doing the opposite. Maybe I’ve entered some sort of crazy self protection mode. A modern day twilight zone. I can hear Rod Serling now…

“Peacer, you're traveling through another dimension -- a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land where there is no place for logical thinking. Where you willingly place your desires and emotions on hold. You've just crossed over into... the Twilight Zone.” 

I think another issue holding back my emotions is the fact that I’m really worried about my oldest dog, Pepper. She’s 16 and isn’t doing well. I won’t go into her specifics, but it makes me incredibly sad. She’s my baby. My princess. My most loyal companion for nearly all of her sweet little Chow life. She has been my protector and confidant. Over the years she has given me great boyfriend advice – ok, technically, she’s bitten the ones she didn’t like. She has rapidly gone down hill the past 6 months and it’s tearing me up. It’s too the point that when I come home from work everyday, I stand over her tired, sleeping body on my bedroom floor waiting to see if I can see her breathing. I pray everyday that I am not forced into any decisions regarding her life and I pray that I’m not alone when I find her gone. I know this day – however it unfolds – will happen. And it will happen soon and I am not prepared. You would think that assisting her frail body up and down the front steps or helping her find her way when she blindly runs into walls or making her get up and walk when she’s slept all day, would prepare me… but it doesn’t. It makes me love her even more because she is mine. She belongs to me. Just as I have relied on her protection all these years, she now relies on me to help her find her water bowl. And that is something that I don’t want to go away. Loyalty is what loyalty does.

With all that said, please no one leave comments about what the “right thing to do” is regarding Pepper. I just can’t listen to that right now.  That is one decision I will avoid.

Ok, well now that I’ve unloaded.

At the beginning of this blog, I said I had nothing to write about. Guess I was wrong.

I Could Be Apathetic, But I Don't Really Care!!!

So I've had no desire to write of late. In point of fact, I've had no desire to do anything. It's actually starting to get a bit worrying, because I really can't get into anything at all. I have a fairly extensive list of hobbies, but I just can't seem to get interested in anything. I love reading, but I've started and given up on about a dozen books. I love movies, but I can't remember the last time I got excited about something, even old favourites. I love playing online games, especially puzzle type or poker, but of late I'm finding I actually turn it off before I solve the puzzle or making wild "all in" bets on a high card 8 because I don't care if I lose. Even reading blogs has lost its spark. Normally I could lose my whole day in front of my computer reading blogs, but I'm just not compelled. It's not you guys, that's for sure. On the odd occasion I have clicked a blog it's been as well written and interesting as I always expect. I just can't seem to be bothered to click the links. I could go on, but it would only bore you.

I looked at my blog today and thought "I can not face not having anything new on this page. I am a writer. It's what I do. For heaven's sake, force yourself to write! You will only break this pattern by forcing yourself to do it!"So I set off looking for a topic. Over the last week I've been reading the "Odd News" which is usually good for something that will get me giggling and set the wheels in motion, but nothing. On the odd occasion I've stumbled across "something that would normally get me "all riled up" I've thought "nah.. It's all been said". It just feels like too much effort to say it again. So I went so far today as to start digging through lists of writing topics. This has actually produced a mildly interesting blog previously, so I thought, maybe... But still nothing sparked my interest.

Finally I thought, "you're so apathetic about everything, apathy is obviously the topic" and set off to look into that.

They say "learn something every day" and what do you know, I did! Here's what Wikipedia has to say about apathy.

Apathy is a psychological term for a state of indifference — where an individual is unresponsive or "indifferent" to aspects of emotional, social, or physical life. Clinical apathy is considered to be at an elevated level, while a moderate level might be considered depression, and an extreme level could be diagnosed as a dissociative disorder. The physical aspect of apathy associated with physical deterioration, muscle loss, and lack of energy is called lethargy — which has many pathological causes as well.

So you see, it's no wonder really. I know very well that I struggle with depression particularly through the winter months. I also know that loss of sensory perception can lead to depression. For the best part of a month I have been fighting a cold which has been robbing me of my senses of smell and taste and culminated last week in a double ear infection which left me with about 90% hearing loss in one ear and about 50% in the other.* So I really shouldn't be surprised to find that I've lost my enthusiasm for just about everything. Actually, I'm not surprised at all. It would take entirely too much energy to be surprised.

Well, to quote Forrest Gump (which seems appropriate, because I'm feeling distinctly like my IQ is somewhere around 75) “That’s all I have to say about that”. Perhaps you've learned something too, and this blog hasn't been a complete waste of cyber-space. As for me, I hope it's at least broken the pattern a little. I'll try to care again tomorrow.Be well!

*Thankfully the antibiotics are starting to work. I got most of my hearing back over the weekend, but I know the infection still isn't gone entirely. I still have 2 days on the course of antibiotics, so fingers crossed I don't have to go back to the doctor again. Getting an appointment there is like trying to get an audience with the pope!

Dear Diary

As I routinely laid my day’s jewelry in my small antique bowl, my eyes moved upward noticing the row of books I had placed on the shelf a few years back. Books that range from biographies to Paris travel guides to Robert Frost poetry. Also in that collection are my old journals. Journals that I haven’t written in or read in years.

As a child I was obsessed with blank books. Unfilled journals. I was constantly buying them. I had this idea that one day I would fill them all with words. My words. Words that I would creatively orchestrate into a poem or a personal essay. To me, my written word was proof that I was here. That I existed.

I guess I’m still that way.

All throughout my childhood I often felt invisible. Skipped over. Not worth the effort. Looking back now, that contradicts how my life really was. My parents showed me unbelievable love. I was popular with my friends. I won awards and was fed compliments. But yet I somehow still felt undeserving.

I removed my journals from the shelf, sat on the couch and began thumbing through the pages. Reading my own words written by the younger me. Remembering how I felt as I wrote each entry. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Not unlike the feelings that motivate the writings of this older me. It’s just more alarming when it comes from the mind of a 13 year old. Somehow when you’re older, being bitter is expected.

I notice some of the entries are quite powerful. After finishing a page, there are no questions left to ask. Feelings are clearly explained. I've discovered that my words were more raw and forthcoming as a child than they are as an adult.

There are also pages full of love and hope. Ideas for my future. Wants, needs, desires. Most of which make me smile since they are totally unrealistic. I wrote confessions of love for some stupid boy and then admitting hurt when the feelings weren’t reciprocated.

I have my grandmother’s diary from the early 1930’s. She mostly wrote about school and washing her hair. She mentioned a few times about being ill and staying in bed. After she died, I selfishly and sentimentally gathered several of her old things – her diary being one of them.

I’ve read through it many times and enjoy her innocence. I love knowing her at that age through her words. However after reading my own childhood journals… I wonder who will possess them after I’m gone. Who will be the one to thumb through my personal thoughts? My words reveal much more than my grandmother ever would have dreamed.

If as a child I viewed my journals as proof that I existed, then I must let them be exactly that. No need to hide how I felt. What I was. What I am.

I suspect this blog is a mere continuation of me proving that I exist.

Anonymously Mine

These tulips were delivered to me at home today, in the early morning.
The note attached simply said…
“Happy Valentine’s Day”
I’m not quite positive who sent them.
No name on the card.
You know what? It doesn’t matter.
They’re beautiful.
Someone thought about me.
And that’s all that matters.
Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Kinda makes me wanna cry.

The ABC's and 123's

Things that I love
Including, but not limited to...

• Chocolate: any type except tootsie rolls.
  
• Tivo: couldn't live without it!!
  
• Laughing. Hard. The kind that makes your side hurt.
  
• When people make a more stupid mistake than me. Obvious reasons.
  
• Hugs. Makes me feel loved.
  
• Flea Markets: good ones, not the ones that just re-sell rejected merchandise.
  
• Being trusted.
  
• Receiving cheques in the mail.
  
• Spending time with friends. Doing absolutely anything. Or nothing.
  
• Clean bed sheets - although I don't like making the bed.
  
• Alfred Sung: not much smells better. Every day fragrance.
  
• Roller Coasters: love that feeling of thinking I could die.
  
• The ocean: mesmerizing. I could stare at it for hours.
  
• Text messaging
  
• WWW
  
• When I screw up and no one finds out.
  
• My dogs. They love me unconditionally. I wish people did.
  
• Riding on a motorcycle. It's a rush.
  
• Dreaming. Nice escape from real life.
  
• Toes. Fingers. I'll stop there.
  
• Seafood
  
• Mexican Food (homemade is SO much better)
  
• Pizza
  
• Ok, food.
  
• Hot Bubble baths
  
• Massages. Wish I could get them monthly.
  
• Writing. Free therapy.
  
• Traveling to places I've never been.
  
• New shoes. Love that feeling of wearing cute shoes!
  
• Sleeping late.
  
• Tattoos. They tell a story.
  
• Having deep conversations with people.
  
• Watching people in action - doing what they do best. Seeing them in their element.
  
• The feeling of belonging.
  
• Being understood and accepted anyway.
  
• Sleeping in a t-shirt

Apparently it wasn't as funny as I thought.

Yesterday at 3:11pm…

Starbucks guy: What can I get for ya.

Me: Ohhh… I think I’ll take a Venti Miller Light.

Starbucks guy: [no reaction]

Me: [waits for reaction]

Starbucks guy: [looks at me and says nothing]

Me: Ok, well change that to a sugar free vanilla fat free latte. Thanks.

Some people just have no humor.

Let it shine. Let it glow.

The following is part of a conversation I had Sunday night in the back seat of a car as a group of us were driving back from a posh dinner. For some reason, I had Neil Diamond’s song “Heart Light” stuck in my head….

Me: (singing loudly and totally off key) “Turn on your heart light. Let it shine wherever you go. Let it make a happy glow for all the world to see…. Turn on your…”

Him: What’s a hard light?

Me: What? A hard light? What are you talking about…

Him: You’re singing “turn on your hard light”…

Me: It’s “heart light”… “turn on your heart light”… Neil Diamond. What, never heard the song?

Him: Ohh, I though you were saying “hard light”. I couldn’t figure out what that was.

A few seconds of silence.

Me: Hard light. Sounds kinda like hard on, no?

Him: Well, I wasn’t going to go there, but yes.

A few more seconds of silence.

Me: (singing loudly) “Turn on your hard on. Let it shine wherever you go. Let it make a happy glow for all the world to see”.... you know, I kinda like that version better.

Him: Figured you would.

One bad and one good

Bad first

In my usual life I normally ask for the bad news first as the good news can cheer me up a little after. Been really busy the past week and I haven't been able to post for the past few days. With this in mind I started a post and was editing, everything seems or sounds perfectly normal. Until I feel my eyes start to close without me blinking, it gave me the hint - "go to bed, got to bed". Well I did, or I was trying to but suddenly I smelt something burning. It definietly felt like a cartoon scene, you know each time bug bunnys bottom burns and the way he reacts, that's what took place with me sitting on my comfortable leather chair half asleep and started to panick. I thought I was in fire and was urging to get up. Then I realised that it wasn't me that was burning but actually it was my lovely leather chair. I got up and started to look around the chair and see what was burning it.

Oh Ohh...

Yep, oh ohhh indeed. As seen in the picture above, I realised it was the new floor lamp with creme shade that mom bought me 2 days ago and now it was burning my chair and causing a horrible smell in the room. Well it was wrong when I decided to put the lamp right behind my chair. And it was also is dangerous, the whole house could of burned and me and mom too, cause I leave the lights on while I sleep because of my darkness phobia. Well you found another thing of me...

I moved the chair far away from the lamp, so it cannot touch each other again. But what made me panick apart from getting burned was my mom's reaction. As she bought the lamp for me, and the chair of course and I put both of us in danger - not a great payback was it??!!

Aim

I still haven't mentioned to mom about my adventure last night, thank god it was past 1 am in the morning and she was fast asleep. She hasn't noticed the burned lamp shade and chair as I've put clothes to cover the chair and moved the lamp to a safe empty corner and twisted the shader around so it can't be visible. My aim is to replace these goods with fresh ones without her knowing it. Thank god again she doesn't know that I'm blogging so there's no way she can find it out.

The good thing is...

I donated my organs just few hours ago. Not that anybody cares but I do. I had it in my mind for the past few years but everytime I saw the leaflet i said "oh I'll do it later". But as i was watching tv this morning and eating my cereal there was an advert about organ donations. It mentioned that 90% of the population supported being a donor but only 23% have actually singed up for it. It was giving the message of gifting someone with life after your death. The reason for many people not signing for it is b/c of the same excuse as mine, and I really do not like filling in forms and posting them to be honest. But I realised that it actually has a website which you can go and register to become a donor. You can even choose what to donate and what not to, which is a good thing too.

You are more likely to need a transplant than become a donor...

And the day is still not over...

Peep all you want. It's legal

Blogging.

Everyone has a blog. You can get them for free or really, really cheap. Anyone can be important now. Even the little people like us.

I’ve been doing a lot of blog reading lately. I’ve pretty much been all over the world and back in search of the perfect blog. I plead guilty to the charges of peeping into other’s private lives for personal entertainment. Guilty of living vicariously through those I will never meet. I may have even read your blog. You never know.

It’s amazing what dirty laundry you people will air. You’ll talk about what/who you did last night, your pets, your children, your husbands, your girlfriends, your boyfriends, your husband’s boyfriend, death, illnesses, political issues, social issues… it’s all right there ready for us to read. And frankly… I L.O.V.E. it. Your curtains are wide open. Blinds are pulled up. Our legal binoculars positioned. We can peep all we want. It’s legal.

You people want us to look into your life and see what’s going on… juicy or not. It’s as if it is your own personal version of Reality TV. Your own 15 minutes of fame.

Hello. My name is Peacer and I’m a blogger.

Ok fine, I’m guilty. I’ve been sucked into it as well. I’m out here right along with the rest of you people. And the crazy thing is… I like it.

I was a little late in the blogging game. In my first blogging attempt I was loyal and dedicated. I posted my views on life and even talked about helping mom with her boring laundry. I talked about my relationships… the good ones and the hopeful ones. I talked about it all. And then… I stopped. I forgot to blog one day and then it turned into another bloggless day and then another. Before you know it, I had abandoned my millions of internet fans… okay, maybe just a few. Ok, one. Just one fan. Are you happy? Just one.

I thought about the ole' blog fondly. I even went to it and looked at it. Re-read my entries and self-servingly chuckled at my own witty ways of wording. Thought to myself, “I really ought to start this thing back up” - only to then click the red “X” at the top right corner of the opened window. I have to admit, there was a certain amount of guilt. I had taken the time to make my blog look pretty by choosing the right colors and formatting. I had taken care of it as if it was tangible, but then I just packed up and left. Moved out with no “good bye” note or “Dear John” letter. That was until . . .

I can’t help it. It's his fault.

It all started with an email from a long time friend of mine. He was diving into his own blogging pool just as I had only a few months earlier. An email with hopes in rallying up an audience. This stirred something inside me. A blog renewal, if you will. I started to remember the good times we had. I thought to myself, “Maybe it will work this time. Maybe if I adjust my priorities, I’ll have more time for it.” I hesitated, but eventually clicked on his emailed blog link. There it was: His Blog. My addiction developed again and soon there was a new blog in town. Not the old one. A new one with new stories of my boring life.

So here I am. Here you are. My imaginary audience who have been there with me since the beginning. God bless your loyalty. I want to thank you for keeping my exposure minimal and not spreading the word too fast. You know, I hate to get too famous too quick. I'd hate to bring the site's server down due to overwhelming traffic to my blog. I also don't think I could handle the paparazzi. Being put on the Forbes Top 100 Blogs list might just send me over that emotional cliff. The pressure of forced daily creativity might just prove too much for me.

Girl Power = More Power Than I Realized

I’m not really sure what "Girl Power" is exactly.

A friend of mine’s eight year old daughter likes me. I mean, really likes me. I took her to paint pottery on Saturday which only escalated her fondness for me. When my friend, the father of the reigning Miss Girl Power, inquired about her affection, she responded with the attitude that only an eight year old girl can have: “cuz she’s a girl.”

She’s all about the Girl Power. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who has liked me just because I’m a girl. I hope I have other characteristics that someone may consider first when deciding if they want to be my friend. I would like to think my wittiness or accepting personality would rank higher than just simply being a girl. I may not be the smartest fish in the bowl, but I hope that someone would admire my intelligence before persuing a friendship based solely on the fact that I’m a female.

She threatened my life the other day.

On Sunday morning Little Miss Girl Power’s father emailed me an invitation for an early dinner.
Normally I jump at the chance to eat his culinary concoctions since they are incredibly delectable. Plus I’m growing tired of eating cereal for every meal. However on Sunday I had a scheduling issue. In my emailed response, I noted my conflict and waited for his reply. And waited. And waited.

Later in the afternoon I emailed him a second time with a sarcastic remark and within minutes I received an email saying “answer your freakin phone!” It seems that I had left my cell phone in my car the night before.

I fetch my phone and… there they were. Five missed calls from the president of Girl Power herself. Five very important voice mails that were impatiently waiting for my retrieval. How dare I not have my phone next to me at all times? How dare I miss even one phone call from her royal highness?

The first voice mail was sweet. She politely introduced herself by name and gently offered the invitation for dinner. The second voice mail was still sweet, but had a very slight hint of urgency. By the fifth voice mail… she was pissed and passed out all kinds of threats. With the sound of high irritation, she s-l-o-w-l-y reiterated her full name and the full name of her father just in case I was too stupid to realize the matter at hand. She then explained to me how I w-i-l-l be there for dinner. Will. And then she hung up. No closing salutations. No “I’d love to see you.” No “hope you can make it.” No “I hope you’re not dead.” Nothing. Just a click. I felt my ranking in the office of Girl Power rapidly declining.

Until Sunday I somehow managed to live 20 years with my life being threatened only once. Considering the places I’ve been and the things I’ve done, being threatened only once is a huge accomplishment. A triumph worthy of recognition. The first time was by a crazy man and now... it's by an eight year old girl.

Girl Power: Zero Tolerance.

I guess I didn’t realize that aggravating the social structure of Girl Power resulted in being reprimanded. I didn’t know that this multi-level organization required that I remain alert and on my toes in case my recruiter beckons me at any given second.

Like how all Girl Power members should, I quickly gathered my things and headed over to the castle. She was pleased. And that’s all that matters. She soon forgave me and we had a lovely conversation over dinner about how she enjoys chocolate covered ants much better than chocolate covered crickets.

Girl Power. It’s an eight year old's world and I’m slowly learning how to be worthy of it.

The Perfect Guy

I read an article recently titled “Shopping for a Spouse”. The author wrote about how most of us create a “list” when shopping for a companion. I’m guilty. I have a list. It seems that the older I get, the longer my list will get, too. It’s not like I have it actually written down. It’s a virtual list. Somehow that seems less pathetic. I guess, for most of us, we begin writing our list when we are teenagers. When I was in high school I didn’t realise that I was forming a list, but I was. It probably didn’t actually take on the list form until I am in my early 20’s. God knows what will it turn into when I reach my 30's.

Teeth.

I’ve been described as picky. Although I extremely deny it, I guess there’s probably some truth to it. There are those times when not being picky has seemed to backfire. Once I found myself on a date with the eternal college student. You know the type: it’s been 20 years since they graduated from college, yet, they still party and carry on as if they are still part of the fraternity. Another time I was on a first date with a guy who felt the need to tell me all of his medical problems . . . and that was just during the appetiser. Bad situations like these send me into the edit list mode. In fact, the list has seemed to now fork into two different lists: the “gotta have” list and the “no way” list. Thankfully the content of the list has changed since I was a teenager. I no longer require my man to like Duran Duran or to take me to Taco Kid once a week.

My list has matured along with my age. I require that he have good hygiene, a good sense of humor, financial stability, taller than me, and, above all, the ability to put up with me. I guess he also has to have teeth. Can’t forget the teeth . . . which reminds me of story that I won’t share with you. My list is obviously quite a bit more detailed than the six examples before mentioned. But just in case my future husband is reading this article, I'll refrain from going into much detail since I don’t want to scare him off.

SWM ISO

Do guys make lists like women do? It makes me wonder what’s on it. I hope the next poor sap that I date doesn’t show me his list. I have no doubt that I will never be able to live up to it. Not that I’m putting myself down, it’s just that if everyone wore their list on the back of their shirt, would anyone get a date?

There are the general polite terms that we apply to our future mates: compassionate, funny, gentle, goal oriented, funny, good job, assertive, funny, etc. If a guy had his list displayed on the back of his shirt, I’m pretty confident that I would be able to check off several of them. However, I would definitely have to take myself out of the running if his shirt said he was looking for someone who is 6’2”, 24, a red head and wealthy. But you know, I guess it would be nice to know that up front before I waste my time, huh?

It's raining men.

I don’t know if you know much about this E-Harmony Internet thing, but I have a couple of friends that are members. They seem to be happy with their cyber success so far. My friend, Bubba (name has changed to protect the guilty), joined the site a couple of months ago. He’s been chatting it up with several women and has narrowed his focus down to five. The reason I bring this whole thing up is because when you register for the site, they ask you a jillion questions about who you are, what you like, what you’re looking for and what you’re not looking for.

I have no intentions on becoming a member of the E-Harmony family, however, I did fill out the questionnaire. It was really interesting to sort through my “kind of man I want” mental filing cabinet and transferring the data into the computer. I went as far as I could without paying for anything. And, believe me, the questionnaire is pretty detailed. It took me about an hour to fill it all out. They’ve matched me up with more men in the central Arkansas area than I would know what to do with - how and when will I ever get there to met my matches, a big crazy thing. So, if you’re matched up with someone named ME in WonderLand, chances are you’ll never hear from me because I ain’t payin’. I’m just too much of a traditional girl to go that route. I wish Bubba all the harmony luck in the world.

Great expectations.

So, you’re asking yourself, “What’s this babbling blog all about?” Frankly, I’m not sure. It’s a
mixture of things really. For one, I feel it’s okay to have a list - just as long as you don’t shut out all of us nice gals because we’re vertically challenged. I can always change the color of my hair, but I can’t make myself grow taller and no way I will legally change my age. Not even for you. Secondly, make sure your list is healthy. I’m pretty sure that mine is, although I’m sure I have friends that would disagree. There are things on my list that I will not budge on, but generally I feel that it’s a guideline.

On E-Harmony you answer specific questions about what type of person you’re looking for. The problem is this: The more specific you are, the less likely it is that you’ll get a lot of matches. This is the problem in real life as well. There should be a give and take on some stuff. I won’t be able to live up to someone’s list (a.k.a. expectations) 100% and neither will he on mine. But isn’t that okay? Do we want someone perfect or do we want someone perfect for us?

I saw a random penis yesterday evening...

Thought that would catch your attention. I figured while everyone blogs about 9/11 memories, I would relay an interesting tale that happened to me yesterday.

And, yes, I saw a random penis.

Here are the facts:

I left my house approx. at 5:40pm yesterday evening.

I began approaching the corner gas station.

I looked towards the station and saw a man standing at the side of the building.

I then realized that this man was urinating.

Right there. Daylight. Near the street. Urinating.

He glances over at me and sees me staring at him, driving slow, shocked.

He’s staring at me and I’m staring at him peeing.

He finishes his business, zips up, and walks behind the building.

Now, why did this man find it necessary to relieve himself right there next to traffic? Did he just have to pee soooooo badly, that using the gas station’s restroom was too much of an inconvenience? If he had to go behind the station anyway, why didn’t he just do it back there?

I don’t understand this and not sure I want to.

Shhhhh......it's a secret ;)

People have secrets.

They carry them around with them every day. All day. They do whatever they can to make sure that no one finds out. So no one can judge them. Pitty them. Humiliate them. Maybe it's so no one will have ammunition against them. They try to control it, but it's more like the secret controls them. They become a slave to it. It gets to the point where the secret is almost tangible. It lives and breathes and haunts them.

Not just "them". Me, too.

This is something that everyone can relate to. I don't think there is one person on this earth who doesn't have a secret. If you tell just one trusting person, isn't it still a secret? You're still controlling who knows and who doesn't. I guess it depends on who you tell. Maybe if you tell just those who are directly affected by it, then it's not a secret anymore. Thank God we don't have to wear t-shirts with our biggest secret printed on the back. Thank God! That would not be good. I would never leave the house.

There are small secrets and then there are big honker secretes. Of course, the bigger the secret, the juicier it is.

Public admittance.

I bring this all up because one of my favorite websites is Post Secret. I love this site! It was such a brilliant idea. Sure wish I had thought of it first. It accomplishes two things: a way for someone to let their secret out... tell the world...release themselves from any guilt; it also is a marvelous way for us to see other people's secrets... compare them to our own... see if someone else is more sick.

Sometimes there will be a secret on there that really just brings it all home. It'll be the pinnacle of secrets. The one that makes you wonder how this person can function every day knowing this about themself. It makes me wanna be the guy who started the site. Receiving all of these pieces of broken lives. Pieces that were sent in - in hopes that it will heal them. I also wonder how many of them are made up. I wonder who would make up a secret. What type of person would this be? I wonder if making up a secret is a secret in itself. Do you make up a secret because there's not enough juicy gossip in your own life? Pretty sad, but I'm sure it's done.

Some of the secrets aren't that bad, in my opinion. Some of the secrets I've actually done myself and don't consider them secrets. But then I have to realize that everyone is different. Ashamed by different things.

“Hi, my name is…..”

If I were to mail the PostSecret guy, I wonder what secret I would tell. Which one would it be? Which secret is the one that is harming me the most? Which one am I most ashamed of?

My Thought Bubble...!!!

You know those weird, random thoughts that go through your head? I’m sure that if my “thought bubble” was visible, everyone would run screaming. Even I don’t say everything I think – and that’s scary because I already get weird looks.

So I’m taking a shower this morning…

Don’t worry. No need to cue to porn music. I’m doing my normal girl routine. You know. Shaving the legs and underarms. And so I randomly think to myself, “Why do I do this? I mean WHY? I live alone. Nobody’s here to even care! It just takes up time.” But I keep on shaving anyway. And THEN I say to myself, “Maybe I’ll just shave half my body. Just one leg and one armpit. Like forever. I wonder what that would look like. I wonder how long my hair would grow. No one would have to know. If someone found out, would they think I’m a freak?”

What??????

So I’m at church last weekend…

The preacher is up there talking and doing his thing. The moment is serious. Suddenly, I have the overwhelming need to stand up, scream and start running around flapping my arms like a crazy girl.

What is WRONG with me???

So I’m celebrating a co-worker’s birthday the other day…

On birthdays, everyone gets their favorite choice of bday cake. Her favorite is white cake with white icing. First of all – B.O.R.I.N.G. So we’re all surrounding the cake trying to get a piece and someone describes it as being “white on white”. I think to myself, “I wonder if that’s anything like girl on girl.”

An oath to myself:

No matter what the inner-ME tries to tell me…

I will always shave both legs and both underarms. I will not scream and run around at church like a crazy girl. And next time I think of a porn reference, I will say it out loud so everyone can appreciate it.