Are We There Yet?

... and we're off like a prom dress.
Bye, y'all! Love!

Earwig

Pete Townshend. "Slit Skirts"

Live -- the Prince's Trust Rock Gala in 1982. Phil Collins on drums. Midge Ure on guitar.

Been running through my head for days now... so natch, I'm sharing.




The imagery in the lyrics blows me away...

I was just thirty-four years old
and I was still wandering in a haze
I was wondering why everyone I met
Seemed like they were lost in a maze

I don't know why I thought I should have
Some kind of divine right to the blues
It's sympathy, not tears people need
When they're the front page sad news.

The incense burned away and the stench began to rise
And lovers now estranged avoided catching each others' eyes

And girls who lost their children cursed the men who fit the coil
And men not fit for marriage took their refuge in the oil
No one respects the flame quite like the fool who's badly burned
From all this you'd imagine that there must be something learned

Slit skirts, Jeanie never wears those slit skirts
I don't ever wear no ripped shirts
Can't pretend that growing older never hurts.

Knee pants, Jeanie never wears no knee pants
Have to be so drunk to try a new dance
So afraid of every new romance

Slit skirts, slit skirt
Jeanie isn't wearing those slit skirts, slit skirt
She wouldn't dare in those slit skirts, slit skirt
Wouldn't be seen dead in no slit skirt

Slit skirts, slit skirt
Jeanie isn't wearing those slit skirts, slit skirt
She wouldn't dare in those slit skirts, slit skirt
Wouldn't be seen dead in no slit skirt

Romance, romance, why aren't we thinking up romance?
Why can't we drink it up true heart romance
Just need a brief new romance

Let me tell you some more about myself, you know I'm sitting at home just now.
The big events of the day are passed and the late TV shows have come around.
I'm number one in the home team, but I still feel unfulfilled.
A silent voice in her broken heart complaining that I'm unskilled.

And I know that when she thinks of me, she thinks of me as him,
But, unlike me, she don't work off her frustration in the gym.

Recriminations fester and the past can never change
A woman's expectations run from both ends of the range

Once she walked with untamed lovers' face between her legs
Now he's cooled and stifled and it's she who has to beg

Slit skirts, Jeanie never wears those slit skirts
And I don't ever wear no ripped shirts
Can't pretend that growing older never hurts

Knee pants, Jeanie never wears no knee pants
We have to be so drunk to try a new dance
So afraid of every new romance

Slit skirts, slit skirt
Jeanie isn't wearing those slit skirts, slit skirt
She wouldn't dare in those slit skirts, slit skirt
Wouldn't be seen dead in no slit skirt

Slit skirts, slit skirt
Jeanie isn't wearing those slit skirts, slit skirt
She wouldn't dare in those slit skirts, slit skirt
Wouldn't be seen dead in no slit skirt

Romance, romance, why aren't we thinking up romance?
Why can't we drink it up true heart romance
Just need a brief new romance

Vacation... All I Ever Wanted. HA!

Why aren't we flying? Because getting there is half the fun. You know that.
~ Clark W. Griswold

What: Obligatory road trip during Will’s Spring Break to visit the in-laws, aka grandparents.

When: Seven glorious fun-filled days, starting either tomorrow, aka Sunday 3/30 (if I get my act together) or Monday 3/31.

Where: Florida to Atlanta to Knoxville, TN to Franklin NC to Florida.

How: By car, baby. By car.

Why: To provide a pre-emptive strike visit, heading off threats from boths set of in-laws to come here. Better us go to them than them come to us. Trust me.

I’m in the process of trying to figure out what a nuclear family of three will need for a seven day trip, on the road. Laundry’s turning, suitcases are open, lists are made. Frankly, right now, I’m more concerned about how we’re going to entertain ourselves than anything. It’s all about priorities, people...

I’m loading onto the iPod touch the following items:

Torrent Downloads
Two episodes of Brothers & Sisters
Three episodes of Men In Trees

Picked up from iTunes
The season thus far of America’s Next Top Model
The season thus far of Eli Stone
The Darjeeling Limited
Waitress
The Seven Year Itch
Becoming Jane

Ripped from my DVDs and converted to mp4s
Major League
My Favorite Year
Bull Durham

Damn, I love technology.

Additionally, I have the following books in my travel duffel:
Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris
Pictures at a Revolution: Five Movies and the Birth of the New Hollywood by Mark Harris
Deep Dish by Mary Kay Andrews
Plus two "work-books," so to speak:
Portable MFA in Creative Writing
Writing Motherhood: Tapping Into Your Creativity as a Mother and a Writer

And, I've got my ongoing needlepoint project, DVDs for Will (the car has a built in player. Can you say life saver?) and another iPod loaded with music for the car.

Whew.

I'm totally not taking any chances with the boredom thing.

I’ve got lists going for just about everything -- Will’s clothes and food needs; my clothes; what NutriFoods I’m going to take with; etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Despite all this, I just know I’m going to forget something -- I always do.

Fortunately, we’re staying with one set of folks -- the Atlanta in-laws, aka the mister’s father and stepmother. We’re in hotels everywhere else. Thank goodness. I do not like staying with people if I can help it -- I like my own space in a hotel where I can get away and be. Even when visiting people I like. I know that’s weird, but that’s just how it is.

I’m not sure what we’ll be doing on each of our stops -- nothing tremendously exciting. Many times we just sit around and “visit” which means making small talk. That’s OK. Although sometimes it can get a little tedious and dull. If I’m being perfectly honest.

It’s a lot to cram into a week -- but I’d rather go visit them then have them come visit us, frankly. Especially my mother-in-law in Knoxville, who is an interesting combination of fundamental, conservative Christianity and new age medicine. Yeah. Interesting doesn’t even begin to cover it. When she comes to visit us, we take serious steps to alter and adjust our lives in such a way as to not evoke any behavior that she finds offensive -- like having a beer. Yes, they’re drastic measures -- but it completely beats hearing her comments and criticism regarding the way we live our lives. It’s bad enough that she finds passive-aggressive fault with the medical care we’re sought and given Will, sending along articles about the evils of the medications he’s on and columns about alternative care.

I need to stop -- I can feel my blood pressure starting to rise already.

At the end of this whirlwind trip, we head to NC to visit our very, very good friends. A treat at the end of the tunnel. Thank goodness.

I’ve never had to process visits with both sets of in-laws so close together -- I feel like I need some flash cards on what I need to remember to say and to not say with each group. The joy of family. Fortunately, Will is always the star attraction on any visit, which is a very good thing. My stepmother-in-law in particular is devoted to him -- she couldn’t love him any more if they shared bloodlines. It’s wonderful to see them together.

So. Here we go. I’m hoping to have chances here and there to log on, check in and share an update or two. Just to have a bit of grounding and to let y’all know that I haven’t lost my mind.

Or ended up in jail.

Or both.


A vacation frequently means that the family goes away for a rest, accompanied by a mother who sees that the others get it.
~ Marcelene Cox

What my house looks like as I try to pack for a week-long family trip

chaos.

For the scoop on Singular Saturdays,

check out Jenn in Holland's fab blog.

Excellent...

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Yes, Virginia, there is joy in Mudville

I'm totally excited right now.

Because I have a date tomorrow with my very first boyfriend.

My daddy.

He and I are having a father/daughter outing and going to a spring training baseball game. The last one, actually, to be played in my hometown. Probably ever. Our resident team, the Tampa Bay (Devil) Rays, are moving their spring training show down the road starting next season.

My love of baseball can be traced directly to my dad. He played in high school and college and might have gone on in the sport, had an ankle injury not stopped things. Growing up, my tuchus was firmly planted on the unfinished splintery pine of ball park bleachers, as my brother played little league and Daddy was always the coach. There wa a time when I thought I might want to be the first female umpire. Until I realized how dirty I would get and how unattractive that chest protector was.

Daddy taught me how to keep score, how to watch the pitcher/catcher relationship and how to anticipate certain plays. To those who say that baseball is boring, I say pfttt -- you've just never been schooled in how to really watch it.

These days, I watch my own little ballplayer (left field!) play ball...

So tomorrow at about 1:05 pm, I will have my tuchus firmly planted in a grandstand seat, scorecard and pencil in hand, hot dog in my tummy, my first cold draft beer of the afternoon at my feet and my daddy next to me. (Plus my ball cap on my head and SPF smeared everywhere the sun might touch my skin.) Ready to hear those words: "PLAY BALL!"

In honor of the occasion, I've been marinating in All Things Baseball...

... I threw together a baseball playlist -- on Imeem, natch...


... I've been watching James Earl Jones sum up all that is beautiful about the game...


...and I've been laughing at this, perhaps the greatest comedic duet ever.


Enjoy! I'll see you at the seventh inning stretch.

Probably in line for the ladies... because really -- you don't buy beer, you just rent it.

Superhero Name: The Shatter Blur. Cool.

Time, time, time
See what's become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities...

I do believe have found the ultimate online time waster.

Blogthings.com.

Go on. Click it. You know you want to...

Every conceivable silly personality/personal preference quiz that you could conjure up is there. Seriously.

I could spend all day poking around the site -- or at least a good couple of hours.

Here's just a sample of what I unearthed:

Your Drag Queen Name Is:

Sofonda Cox

Drag Queen Name Generator

Your Star Wars Name And Title

Your Star Wars Name: Jangr Glst. Your Star Wars Title: Sevcar of Lliw

What Is Your Star Wars Name and Title?

You Are Very Sexy

Damn! You are one hot number. You have a lot of sex appeal. You know you're sexy, and you're not afraid to put it all out there. And while you're very appealing, you're careful not to be trashy or over the top. Sexy is all about attitude. And you totally have the attitude that people love. How You Are Sexy You are open to all sorts of experiences, and you have a taste for the exotic. Your adventurous spirit is very sexy. You know what (or who) you want, and you're not afraid to go get it. What could be sexier than that? You are flirtatious and fun with most people. You know how to keep things light, friendly, and sexy. You wear sexy underwear, and that's definitely hot. Feeling sexy is important to being sexy, even if no one knows what's underneath your clothes.

Are You Sexy?

You are a Brainy Girl!

Whether you're an official student or a casual learner, you enjoy hitting the books. You know a little bit about everything, and you're always dying to know more. For a guy to win your heart, he's got to share some of your intellectual interests. A awesome book collection of his own doesn't hurt either!

What Kind of Girl Are You?

Your Karaoke Theme Song is "Livin' On a Prayer"

You believe the best things in life are mostly forgotten, and you're definitely more than a little nostalgic . You're likely to still like the same foods, fashions, and music as you did when you were a teenager. You have a knack for knowing what elements of pop culture people have missed, without them even realizing it. It's great to remember the past, but don't forget that not everyone is as stuck in it as you are. You might also sing: "Pour Some Sugar on Me," "Rapper's Delight," and "Cherry Pie" Stay away from people who sing: "Toxic"

What's Your Karaoke Theme Song?

Your Mind is PG-13 Rated

Your mind is definitely a little dirty. You're naughty, but not trashy. You don't shy away from a dirty joke, and you're clearly not a prude.

Do You Have a Dirty Mind?

If you check this out, be sure to wave and say hello if you see me... chances are, I'll still be quizzing away...

The best way to fill time is to waste it.
~ Marguerite Duras

Ten Things I've Done You Probably Haven't: A Meme in One Act

The directive: List 10 things you've done in your lifetime that you think are pretty unique.

Okey dokey...

1. Had a baby at 25 weeks gestation.
Yeah, I’m playing hard ball with this one. If you have, God bless you. I understand. This is something that I would never, ever wish on anyone.

2. Marched in a protest around the state capital building.
Had a buddy who was the student representative on the state Board of Regents and he coerced a bunch of us to blow off classes one day during summer school to head to Tallahassee to protest proposed college tuition hikes. We all had placards: "STOP TUITION HIKES NOW" and did our thing, marching and chanting around the perimeter of the capital building. Hey, it was no Kent State, but it was as close as I was gonna get. Please -- it was the '80s. The only other protests happening that I knew of were the ones regarding apartheid. And at that point in my slightly pampered sorority girl life, I wasn't about to chain myself to the administration building doors, regardless of how I felt about a cause.

Anyhoo.

Our little protest happened to be a bit of a media event -- it must have been a sloooow news day. We get back to Gainesville that evening. And there's an answering machine message from my parents. Who had been watching the evening news and saw a piece on the student protest. Which featured me, front and center with my placard. Of course, I hadn't bothered to inform them of my plans in advance. It could have been worse -- at least I wasn't chained to the doors of an admin building somewhere.

3. Lost my virginity underneath my parents' Christmas tree.
HA! This is a good one, isn't it? A little bit of TMI on Wednesday, dontcha know...

4. Been to a Super Bowl.
'Twas Super Bowl XXV. New York Giants v. Buffalo Bills. Great game, won in the last seconds by the Giants. I happened to be sitting around a bunch of Bills fans. Yes, grown men do cry over sporting events. It was a crazy game, as the first Gulf War had started literally days before. Lots of security. And a transcendent rendition of the National Anthem by an on-top-of-her-game Whitney Houston. Truly memorable.

5. Worked as an AFDC/Food Stamp specialist.
I've had a jillion jobs in my life and times, but this one was by far the most unique and most stressful. I didn't do this long -- just about a year. But nothing else I've ever done career-wise has impacted me as much. Personally and politically.

6. Torn all the ligaments in my left ankle.
Aerobics injury. Thought I'd just sprained it. Wrapped it up tight and took two more high-impact classes on it that week. The pain became unbearable and so I went to an orthopaedist who gave me the bad news, a lecture, an air splint, orders to stay off it for a minimum of eight weeks and a script for Darvocet. This happened twenty years ago. And my left ankle. Still twinges periodically.

7. Got busted by Disney cops for "inappropriate participation on a ride." No. Not what you think. Grad Night, Disney World. Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. My galpal and I had held our legs just so when the helpful assistant lowered the safety bar on our little ride car. Done so with the express intent of jumping out mid-ride and running around the inside of the place. Darn those security cameras. We were given a very stern talking to by a couple of official looking dudes and sent on our merry way with the promise to behave ourselves. You'd think with all the drinking-on-the-sly going on that night that security would have had more important things to do. But no. Does that girl with the BIG hair and fabulous blue eyeshadow look like a menace to society -- even Disney society -- I think not.

8. Taken an adult tap class.
Oh man. I won't go into huge detail, because I think there's a whole story to be told with this one... but suffice it to say that this was a riot of epic proportions. In a good way. I was the youngest person in this class -- which was taught by a dancer buddy of mine I knew from work -- by decades. Lots of decades. Let's put it this way: my classmates all knew where they were when they heard that Glenn Miller's plane had gone down.

9. Given a workshop at a national conference.
A highlight of my professional life. I presented a workshop on the nuances of school volunteer recruitment. And it was pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.

10. Had to use my emergency brake to stop my car because I'd completely worn the pads off my regular brakes and rendered them useless.
Yeah. I know. My dad still brings this up, 15 years later. What can I say -- I was poor and really girly about car stuff. That car (Pontiac Grand Am) was a piece of shit to begin with -- the head gasket blew on it when it was only two years old. Amongst other things. Although this brake stuff -- can't blame it on the car being a lemon. Trust me when I say that I tried, though.

It's TMI Tuesday, Mr DeMille. I'm ready for my close up.

1. Stubble... good or bad? How often do you shave?
Stubble on a boy = very very good. Hot. Smokin’ hot. My affection for all things hirsute is well documented here.

As for me, I shave my legs every day. I’m in Florida. Don’t go two days without wearing shorts. Seriously. And I gave up pantyhose years ago.

2. If someone shoves you up against a wall while kissing you, your reaction is... exceedingly and enthusiastically positive. That would be a very, very good thing. For both parties. Yes indeed.

3. Did you ever own a fake ID?
No, actually I didn’t. When I was of the age to be concerned about such things, one could legally drink at 19. Plus, honestly, underage drinking wasn’t such the taboo back then that it is now. I had no problem acquiring my beverage of choice -- which in those days was Lambrusco -- even in high school. Plus, I was always afraid I would be the one person who was busted with the fake ID.

4. What was your first job?
Aside from babysitting, my first real job was as a lifeguard/water safety instructor. Which is a fancy term for teaching swimming lessons. Held that one the summer between high school and college. Still might be the best job I ever had. I worked the late shift, which started at 2 pm. The pool was then closed from 4:30 - 7 for Masters swim practice. I would teach two swim classes and then close things up at 9 o’clock. My boyfriend would meet me after work and we’d go out until my curfew. I could sleep in, run errands and still have plenty of time to start my routine all over again. Plus, I was in amazing shape and had a killer tan. What more could a girl want in a job?

5. What is the sexiest word in the English dictionary?
Desire. Followed closely by imagination. And passion.

6. Are you left handed or right handed? Which direction does the top of your head lean when you kiss on the lips?
Right and right.

7. Females: Which breast is larger?
The left one. But only by about thismuch.

Bonus (as in optional): Define sexy?
Sexy starts always always always in the brain for me. It’s an attitude -- confidence without arrogance, self-awareness without pretense, wit without effort, intelligence without smugness. It’s a gleam in the eye, a hint of a sly smile, a slight swagger in the walk. Make me laugh. Make me think. I’m yours.

Music Monday: Let's Dance!

Everybody on the floor -- it's Music Monday!

(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial. You'll be glad you did!)

~~~~~~~~~

If you were to stop by Casa de jane on any given afternoon, you would probably be welcomed, offered something cold to drink and then asked to dance. You see, Will and I have started hosting Mama and Will's Fantabulous Dance Party Extravaganzas every day after school.

And it's a riot.

Unless we're sleeping, our house is never quiet. I've always got music playing (or the TV on...) Master Will is a big fan of this -- music runs through his soul like nobody I've ever known. He loves it. Singing. Listening. And grooving. He will catch a rhythm and start bouncing to it in perfect time. So our Dance Party was just a natural extension of that.

And this song -- "Brick House" by the Commodores -- is his favorite boogie tune. He will come up to me and say "Do you want to dance?" -- which is his way of telling me that HE wants to dance. His little communication skills are emerging in such a way that when he wants or needs something, he cloaks that fact posed in a question to me: dinner time comes when he asks me if I am hungry; bed times comes when he asks me if I am ready for night-night. Hey -- it's communication and he's trying. I'll take it.

Anyway, after being asked if I want to dance, to which I always say yes, I spin around in my office chair and grab his hands and we start to move. His little cerebral- palsy-plagued legs are still a bit shaky, but his spirit is willing and we somehow make it all work. We even have a big finish when I grab his hand and spin around in the office chair and then dip back. TA-DA!

Best moment of my day.

Here's the audio (with some still photos) of our favorite Shake Your Groove Thing song... dance party's today at about 4 pm (after snack time.) Y'all come on and join us!

Blessings

Easter is the demonstration of God that life is essentially spiritual and timeless.
~ Charles M. Crowe




Easter spells out beauty, the rare beauty of new life.
~ S.D. Gordon





For I remember it is Easter morn,
And life and love and peace are all new born.
~ Alice Freeman Palmer

Cheese of the Week

William Shatner. "Rocket Man"

Denny Crane. Happy Birthday! (props to Mr. Spears for the heads-up)

Before you go off to have a celebratory glass of scotch, check out what may be my favorite gig of his -- he performed this at an 1978 sci-fi awards show. It's everything you want The Shatner to be -- campy, funny, over-the-top and indulgent.

Fine Wine of the Week: Second Bottle

Judy Garland. "What'll I Do?"
Written by Irving Berlin.

When grabbing the Irving Berlin link from Wikipedia, I was reminded of this song of his. It's one of my favorites... beautiful, simple and whistful. And achingly evocative of parts of my life. I always get that far away look in my eye when I hear it... like now.

Fine Wine of the Week

Fred Astaire. Judy Garland. "We're A Couple of Swells." Written by Irving Berlin. From the MGM classic Easter Parade.

I was actually poking around, looking for a YouTube of the title song... no such luck -- but here's what I stumbled on instead.

I had this soundtrack on vinyl, believe it or not. It was part of a double album, paired with the soundtrack to Singing in the Rain. Wore the grooves out on both discs. And I had every single word and lyric memorized.

This bit -- totally charming and endearing. The likes of these two greats (plus the composer!) we'll never see again, as they don't make 'em like this anymore... so enjoy.

After watching some fantastic games in the NCAA Basketball tournament, I am

exhilarated.

For the scoop on Singular Saturdays,

check out Jenn in Holland's fab blog.

Puppet Show

Fie, fie, you counterfeit. You puppet, you!
~ A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III, Scene II

Stop-motion They Might Be Giants puppets!
(... and they really do look like the Johns. Seriously.)

Ana Ng!

A Mac computer!

Watch!

It's the Big One. Fool.

The ghost of Fred G. Sanford is alive and well and driving around west central Florida.

And he was on the road with me this morning while I was running errands.

My only regret: no sign of Aunt Esther.

[Fred comes home drunk]
Aunt Esther: Fred Sanford, you just a messy fool.
Fred Sanford: And you just a sessy pool.

Please note the excellent photographic skills on display -- I shot these pics with my cell phone, my arm extended out my driver's side window as I was motoring along.







It really is the little things in life that make me happy.

Aunt Esther: Who you calling ugly, sucker?
Fred Sanford: I'm calling you ugly, I could push your face in some dough and make gorilla cookies.

Miss Information

It has been one of Those Days. Seriously.

I have been the unwitting (and frankly, unwilling) catalyst for an annoying, bothersome, confusing, distracting, exasperating... (oh, I'll stop with "e" -- but I could go on with adjectives up to "z" on this one) real-life version of that slumber party favorite,
Telephone/Gossip/Chinese Whispers.

Sigh.

Here's what happened... straight from the mare's mouth.

4:50 pm, yesterday: I'm doing my prep work for my pre-school choir rehearsal, scheduled for 6:15 pm. My usual Wednesday afternoon activity.

5:15 pm: Hear a huge crash, followed by a beat of silence -- then loud cries and wails. Something was amiss.

5:16 pm: Find Will having taken a tumble on the hardwood floor, meeting the pine chin and mouth first. Tears, torment. And blood.

5:17 pm: Think. Wipe blood. Think. Inspect Will. Think. Not sure where blood is coming from. Think. Notice lip is a bit puffy.

5:19 pm: Call one of my choir moms to tell her what had happened -- Will took a fall, not sure if he cut himself. Want to watch him as he hit his head and I always err way on the side of caution when this happens because of his neurological issues. Can she handle choir rehearsal? No problem, I'm told.

5:25 pm: Determine that Will has just popped out one of his front baby teeth in the fall -- ergo all the blood. Whew.

5:35 pm: Back to playing happily and singing the 45302th rendition of Itsy Bitsy Spider. All is well. Standard kid stuff for once. Almost nice.

5:15 am today: Check my e-mails. Have one from the wonderful lady who coordinates a daily e-mail prayer list for our church. She had heard at adult choir practice that Will had a serious head gash from a fall and was in the emergency room, and wanted to confirm this with me before putting this info on the prayer list.

How on earth did we go from a tumble and a fat lip to being in the emergency room... good grief. Thank goodness this good lady knows me well enough to have asked me for details first before putting something on the prayer list.

4:30 pm today: Call from my dad. Checking on Easter dinner details -- I'm hosting. And oh, by the way -- half the church has been calling my mother with questions and "details" about Will's injury.

Double good grief.

To make matters worse, my mother never bothered to actually call ME to find out what was going on. She just sat and stewed all day, commenting to my dad that she didn't want to call because she "didn't want to be intrusive."

Good grief ad infinitum.

I explained to my very understanding daddy that if there had been a problem, I would have called them immediately. No call, no problem and why in the heck didn't ANYONE bother to pick up the phone to ask me what the heck was going on instead of simply passing alone erroneous information and why did my mother choose to listen to what other people had to say about what might or might not be going on in my life instead of just asking me herself and am I going to have to apologize to her for something that wasn't even remotely my fault and why do I always have to worry about other people's feelings when I'm in a family/Will crisis all the damn time.

Whew. Straight from the gut emotional regurgitation. Some feelings justified, some feelings reactionary. I was just trying to spit out all the crap. It felt good to cry that out on the phone and it feels good to type it out now. It's out. And gone.

Daddy said he'd take care of everything and everyone -- bless him.

I complete appreciate the fact that people really do mean well -- but sometimes the need to speculate rises a bit above common sense.

I just feel like I've spent a day with the former Iraqi Minster of Information, old Baghdad Bob himself.

And how was your day?

A Word from the Domestic Goddess

Too often in cooking people fail to make the distinction between time consuming and difficult. There is a difference.
~ Nigella Lawson

Call it potluck. Call it covered dish. Call it a BYOD (Bring Your Own Dish.) We’ve all been involved with or invited to an event where everyone is asked to bring a little something-something for others to nosh on.

My go-to dish on these occasions -- Sun Dried Tomato Pesto Torta. Been making it for nearly a decade, thanks to seeing it in Bon Appetit when on a hunt for something to take to a Christmas party.

Oh Em Gee, is it good. And others agree with this, she says modestly. It really is yummy. Don't think about the fat content, though, while you're enjoying it. It kills the garlic buzz.

My galpal in NC loves this so much that I don’t even think about going on our annual three-family week-long vacation to Captiva without making this. She might disown me if I didn't. She’s even eaten this for breakfast, I do believe.

Periodically, someone will ask me for the recipe. Which I’m more than happy to share -- I’m not one to bogart stuff like that.

However, once the askee has the recipe in her hot little hands (not being sexist -- it’s always women that have this reaction) and has a chance to look it over, invariably I get one of the two following responses:

“Wow. This looks complicated.”

OR

“Wow. I don’t make anything that has this many ingredients.”

Please. Just because a recipe has more than five ingredients does not a challenge make. Frankly, the most difficult thing for me in culinary land has just four ingredients: flour, shortening, water and salt. The elusive pie crust. Can't make a decent one to save my life. But that's another tale for another day.

Now, I will admit that I enjoy spending time in the kitchen (cooking, not cleaning... blech) more than the average bear. But I’ve been making this dish since my culinary skills were in their embryonic stage. It’s not that tough. It's basically all about the assembly. Seriously.

And the payoff. So worth it. Guaranteed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Not-That-Hard-I-Promise Sun Dried Tomato Pesto Torta (adapted just a bit from Bon Appetit's orignal recipe)

• 4 cloves garlic
• 1-1/2 cups basil leaves, packed
• 1/2 cup pine nuts
• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• 1 teaspoon lemon juice
• 4 cups cream cheese, room temperature
• 1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, freshly grated
• 1-1/3 cups sun-dried tomatoes, oil packed & drained
• 1/3 cup tomato paste
• 3/4 cup butter, room temperature
• non-stick vegetable oil spray
• fresh basil sprigs, garnish
• toasted pine nuts, garnish
• crackers or toasted baguette slices

Finely chop garlic in food processor. Add basil, 1/4 cup pine nuts, oil and lemon juice. Process until well blended. Add 1 cup (8 oz) cream cheese and 1/4 cup Parmesean cheese. Using on/off turns, process until just blended. Transfer pesto to medium bowl.

Coarsely chop sun-dried tomatoes in processor. Add tomato paste and process until mixture is almost smooth. Add 1 cup (8 oz) cup cream cheese and blend well.

Using electric mixer, beat 2 cups cream cheese and butter in large bowl until fluffy. Season with salt and pepper.

Spray 6-cup souffle dish with non-stick spray. Line with plastic wrap, extending plastic over sides. Spread 3/4 cream cheese butter mixture evenly over bottom of prepared dish. Top with half of tomato mixture, then 1/2 cup cream cheese-butter mixture, then half of pesto mixture. Repeat layering with 1/2 cup cream cheese-butter mixture, remaining tomato mixture, 1/2 cup cream cheese-butter mixture and remaining pesto. Top with remaining cream cheese-butter mixture. Cover and chill at least 8 hours.

Invert torta onto serving platter. Peel off plastic. Garnish with basil leaves and toasted pine nuts. Serve with crackers or baguette slices.

Firm Foundation

Brevity is the soul of lingerie.
~ Dorothy Parker

You know, it's the little things in life that really make me happy.

Like my new bra.

This one, right here:


It's really everything I could ask for in an undergarment. Or in any relationship, for that matter.

It's comfortable. Very important. Critically important. Vitally important. Now, we're just getting to know each other, my bra and I. We're not to the "been washed and dislodged the underwire" stage in our relationship. But I have some fancy new contraptions in which to place my delicates so they don't get all abused in the washer. Which hopefully will take care of the Underwire Incidents. You don't want to know how many old bras I have with only one cup underwired. So sad.

It's versatile -- look at all the different ways I can configure it. Plus, it's got that plunge thing going on for those tops that show more than a little décollage. The Va-Va-Va-Voom shirts. You know what I'm talking about...

It's supportive. The girls are lifted and lovely. Really. Take my word for it. And there's a little bit of padding too -- I actually like that extra bit of shape.

I think that this might just be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

How sweet it is!

If only there were matching panties...

Permission Granted

"So, jane. How are you?"

Loaded question. Especially coming from one's shrink.

And I figured I might as well get my $60/15 minutes worth and tell him.

About Will's recent health scare and how it unearthed my feelings of guilt over my role in his early birth. Didn't have to dig too far down to unearth them. They're always perilously close to the surface.

(Sidedbar: Here's the scoop on Will's wild health history: The Will Chronicles)

He paused. Then told me that while he can understand why I might feel that way, what happened, happened. It is what it is. And while I can blame myself and my body for letting Will down and envisage a different outcome had I gone to the hospital earlier, there's absolutely no way of knowing how that scenario would have turned out. It might have changed. It might not.

Just because we're made in God's image doesn't mean we get to play Him.

Wow.

It's far past time to let this go. I'm being way too hard on myself. And I deserve better.

His words. Not mine.

Same words said to me by my wise and wonderful pastor last summer.

Same words said to me by family and friends countless times over the past six years.

Sigh.

He told me to just go ahead and leave my guilt in his office. That it would be fine to do so. Honestly.

So I did. Or at least think I did.

I've tried this before. Unsuccessfully. But I'm thinking this time things might stick.

I hope so. This shit I tote around is exhausting. I'm sick of it.

Cross your fingers.

Earwig du Jour

Liz Phair. "Why Can't I"

Have had this song stuck in my head all day. For some reason. I love it. Truly. Madly. Deeply. So I thought I'd share.

Random Randiness

Never let it be said that I don't try to help out my fellow cyberspacers...

Check this out -- it's fun! Educational! And potentially profitable!

Hooer-Gigolo Meter: How Much Are You Worth In Bed?!?

Now when Clients 10, 11 or 12 come calling, you'll know what to tell them. *wink*

As for me...

Powered By Adult Shop


And now for something completely different:
The Nietzsche Family Circus.

The Nietzsche Family Circus pairs a randomized Family Circus cartoon with a randomized Friedrich Nietzsche quote. Click for some existential mirth!

Of course you drink I've been thinking... it's TMI Tuesday for goodness sake!

1. In the midst of a hangover have you ever promised to "never drink again?" How long until you broke that vow?
Oh yes, I’ve made that empty promise. Many times. It usually lasts anywhere from a day to a week. I’m pretty good about drying out between a hangover and my next indulgence. Especially now that I’m a Woman of a Certain Age and it takes me a wee bit longer to recover from such antics.

2. What is the stupidest thing you have ever done while drinking (or not if it is really stupid) but thought it seemed like a good idea at the time?
Where do I start? And how long do you have?

There was the time that a couple of us sorority girls decided that our pal needed a home perm (this was the ‘80, remember, when perms were all the rage) and the perfect time to administer this was after a Friday afternoon happy hour. Yes, that did turn out as fantastically as you might imagine. I think she ended up getting her hair cut very short and just starting over.

Then there are the fabulous occasions known as Drunk Shopping Trips. That’s always a good time. Especially if accompanied by other Drunk Shopping Friends. Again, the danger time for this was always post-Friday Happy Hour. The post-drunk analysis of what was bought was always a treat. Sometimes, I’d get lucky and have made some surprisingly good choices -- but more often than not, the purchases were along the lines of “WTF was I thinking?” Hoochie shirts were very popular with Drunk Shopping Me. Horrendously ugly earrings. And it seems that I could never resist the siren call of Anything On Sale. There was a store called the Body Shop that seemed to always be the undoing of Drunk Shopping Me. This Body Shop is not to be confused with the fab skin and hair care establishment -- it was a clothing store that had car doors as the doors of the dressing cubbies. At least I think it was called the Body Shop. And the merchandise was befitting an establishment that features car doors on the dressing rooms. High klass.

Drunk Shopping Me has also made appearances in my post-collegiate life, although not with a lot of frequency. At a preview party for a huge rummage sale my volunteer organization was hosting, I drank way too much beer and ended up buying a figurine of Buddha that had a little man holding onto a gold ring that was attached to one of the Buddha nipples. Along with a tapestry-upholstered prayer bench. And 10 back issues of the Southern Living Annual Recipes. Which are the only items from the shopping haul still in my possession. Imagine that.

3. On a scale of 1-10, where do you rate green beer?
Depends on what kind of beer it is that’s green. The color is really of no concern to me, as long as I deem it drinkable.

4. Have you ever kissed someone you shouldn't have (drunk or sober)?
Silly question. To which the answer is, of course.

I’m debating on whether to tell the story...

...oh, what the hell. It is TMI Tuesday, after all.

I had just turned 30. Still a swinging single trying to figure out what the hell I really wanted to do in life. Working in PR during the day and in grad school at night. Taking a class in Contemporary Latin American Fiction. (Great class -- loved it. Difficult in a thought-provoking way. Taught by my most favorite professor ever. Good stuff.) There were a couple of us who would head to the campus watering hole after class for a beer. Or seven. In this crew was a very hot dude, with intense eyes and really long hair and intelligence that wouldn’t quit. And a band of gold on the ring finger of his left hand.

We happened to be unwinding after class the evening of the ‘94 midterm elections, when Newt Gingrich and his Evil Agenda were the news of the day. The more the negative (from our perspective) results rolled in, the more we drank. As the night went on, the conversation went from political to intellectual to saucy. And the body language of Hot Married Dude evolved from laid back to intense to intimate.

We ended up closing down the pub and decided to take our little party elsewhere -- to a gloriously seedy bar called Mastry’s that was just up the street, where we drank even more and got even saucier. And as it was time for us to go our separate ways, Hot Married Dude walked me to my car and planted one on my intoxicatedly willing lips. If not for the calculated taco blocko (female version of the cock block) of my then-friend-but-not-anymore-because-she’s a-bitch, who at that very moment not coincidentally decided to come roaring up in her car and flash her brights (jealously), I have a feeling that the kiss would have evolved into something. Maybe regrettable. Or maybe not.

How's that for TMI.

5. What is the stupidest thing you have ever seen a drunk do (besides driving a car)?
Actually, the only really stupid drunk I can recall is... me. So one more story on myself.

Spring of my senior year in high school. I had gone to visit a childhood pal of mine, who was a freshman at UF, to get a feel for campus life. We went to a fraternity mixer the first night I was there -- and I got to fend off the advances of my first frat boy. Second night I was there, we ended up at -- you guessed it -- a Friday afternoon happy hour. Which extended into the night. And we ended up at a party where she and I tried to pierce a dude’s ear. Using only ice as the numbing agent. Trust me when I say that it seemed like a good idea at the time. Fortunately for everyone, we were spectacularly unsuccessful. I don’t even think we even drew blood. Ah, the follies of drunken youth.

I suspect I could think of more stories -- especially involving my adorable rascal of a brother -- but I’ll just leave it at that one. For the time being.

Bonus: How do you cure your hangover(s)?
Water. Lots and lots of water. Before going to sleep, if possible. And like three extra strength Tylenol. Also before going to sleep if possible. And I’m a firm believer in the restorative powers of eating something carb-y and greasy, either while still drunk, if you’re up to it. Or while hungover. Best hangover food ever -- a Lil' Asher from a no-longer-in-existence place in Gainesville called Skeeter’s. This little ad from 1986 describes it better than I ever could...


The Lil' Asher was an artery-clogging piece of heaven that involved eggs, hash browns or home fries, melted cheese and one of those big biscuits. I’m convinced that the greasy stuff leveled out your system and the big biscuit soaked up all the booze.

I was once so hung (after a night of three-for-one drinks at a place called Bash Riprock’s with the Great Unrequited (gay) Love of My Life, who drank like a fish and dared me to keep up with him) that I had to ask my wonderful roommate Miss L. to get me a Little Asher to go, as I could not get up off the couch where I had fallen asleep (OK, passed out) the night before. Now that's called being hung.over.

Wow. Reading all these stories makes me sound like a real lush. It’s no wonder my UF college GPA was a total underachievement on my part. But I had a hell of a good time underachieving, let me tell you.

PS: These days, cold pizza fills in as my greasy, carb-y hangover food of choice. It’s not quite as effective as a Lil' Asher, but it works.

When I look in the mirror, I see a Douchebag

douchebag: someone who has surpassed the levels of jerk and asshole, however not yet reached MF level. (Thanks, Urban Dictionary!)

With that in mind, here's a great Time Waster guaranteed to provide hours of endless entertainment and yes, some controversy:
Who's Douchier? You decide!

My high score: 8. I was taken down when I deemed Gene Simmons to be douchier than Papa Joe Simpson. Which was wrong, in the eyes of the game. Hmmm.

Have fun! And make sure to have some Purell handy -- some of these guys look like they might could give you something...

Chick Perspective

During last night's (or, more accurately, this morning's) Insomnia Fest, I was tuned into TV Land, as I'm wont to do in the wee small hours, as there's always something on I'll watch. I was enjoying Barney Fife nervously and pompously melting down over being the temporary sheriff while Ange was in Raleigh when we cut to commercial.

This commercial.



I'd seen it before -- during football season it ran and ran and ran. But the absurdity of it really struck my sleep-addled self at that moment. WTF? Six guys, sitting around a'pickin' and a'grinnin', singing about Viagra. That's just odd.

For the other side of the coin, I give you this:



PowerChicks and Viva Viagra. We've certainly come a long way, baby, from Bobby Riggs' brand of male chauvinism, haven't we...

Music Monday: Irish Spring

Top o' the morning to you on this fine Musical Monday!

(Pssst... for more musical musings, check out Soccer Mom in Denial. You'll be glad you did!)


~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Once upon a time, there was a magical place where leprechauns wore board shorts, shamrocks mingled with sea grapes, football was both about the Shamrock Rovers and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and fish & chips could mean grouper & fries (yes, I know that chips = fries. Work with me here, people!)

It was called the Harp and Thistle. A piece of Ireland -- smack dab in the middle of the hustle and bustle and neon of a beach community. In what was basically a double wide trailer on a corner lot at the quiet end of a busy street.

Somehow, it worked. The laid back sensibility of the beach translated well to this pub where if everybody didn’t know your name, it didn’t matter, since all who walked in the door were immediately classified as a friend. The tables were really close together, making it easy to conversate with anyone and everyone around you. Old, young, local, tourist. We were all Irish compatriots the minute we walked through the door.

The ale (Killians for me -- I know it's not from the UK, but I love it anyway) was cold, the shepherd’s pie hearty, the company engaging, the tunes rollicking. There was live music on the weekends, always of the Irish variety. Singing along was just a given, if not a prerequisite. If you didn’t know the words to a song, it was no matter. Swaying along, mug in hand sailing through the air in rhythmic motion worked just as well.

I went there on girls’ nights out, on dates, with a group. It was always fun to go with newbies, as going in, they were never sure what to expect but coming out, we’d invariably be making plans for the next time. Girls’ nights out were always interesting, as more often than not, we’d encounter similar groups of boys and spend a lively evening doing that thing boys and girls do when they meet out on the town.

The Harp & Thistle is but a memory now, as the passing of one of the owners brought an end to the mirth and merriment. There was an attempt to recreate it in a bar in one of the beach hotels (a Howard Johnson’s, of all places) but that didn’t stick.

So today, on that most Irish of days, I celebrate my little slice of the Emerald Isle as a fond flashback. With this song, with which I sang along boisterously many a Saturday night...






Before you go, I raise my beverage (AM: water or iced tea; PM: agave margarita. What. I don't like whiskey. And my margarita is light green thanks to the lime juice) in a toast to you!

My friends are the best friends
Loyal, willing and able.
Now let’s get to drinking!
All glasses off the table!

Here's to women's kisses,
and to whiskey, amber clear;
Not as sweet as a woman's kiss,
but a darn sight more sincere!
(Hey! I beg to differ on this one... come ‘ere and let me show you my sincerity...)

Sunday Seven: Take Three

Name your top seven choices for a campaign theme song if you were going to run for president...



Don't forget: Vote early, vote often.

(PS: Isn't this player cool? You too can have fun with playlists at Imeem. Just go. Check it out. You know you want to...)

Telly Time!

Fun Fact: I love anything and everything that could remotely be classified as Pop Culture-ish (with the exception of SciFi... shudder)

Music. A vital, ingrained part of my life

Movies. A slice of escape. Nothing better than a cool, dark theatre, a small box of popcorn, milk dud, a coke and a double feature.

Theatre. My passion. Makes me laugh. Makes me cry. Makes me think.

Books. Have you seen my house? Overrun with books like you wouldn't believe.

But my true Pop Culture passion -- the thing that fuels me and takes up the most space in the file cabinets of my mind -- is Television.

Love it. Need it. Gotta have it.

And while I embrace and watch many, many shows, I do have a favorite episode of all time.

It's not from my all-time favorite sitcom, the splendiferous Dick Van Dyke Show. My previous nom de plume wasn't Laura Petrie by chance, dontcha know. That over-forty-year-old-show still holds up today. It's smart, witty, funny and sexy. I adore it.

Believe it or not, my all-time fave is from the third season of the usually ridiculous (but lovable) Gilligan's Island. Entitled "The Producer," it features Phil Silvers as producer Harold Hecuba and a genius, brilliant and pretty damn accurate musical version of "Hamlet."

I've watched this more times than I can count -- even bought the season three Gilligan's Island DVD set for it (and the radioactive vegetables episode which immediately preceded it during the show's original run.)

And thanks to AOL video, I can share it here. So take time, if you can, to watch. Laugh. Sing along. That's what I'm doing. Guaranteed.

A Word from the English Major

In honor of this auspicious date, I thought I'd do a little brushing up on my Shakespeare...

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! (Julius Caesar Act III, Scene II) It has been said, quite famously, to beware the Ides of March.(Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene II)

Which is today.

Pah. Such a serious warning for such a beautiful day. Even my pal Miss Riss, living in the winter-plagued heartland, was able to throw off Jack Frost’s mantle and enjoy the advent of warmer weather. It seems that the winter of our discontent
(Richard III, Act I, Scene I) has dissolved into a blustery memory. *knocks on wood*

I can really tell spring is here -- everything is a vibrant green, although that might simply be an after effect of the torrential rains we had yesterday. My car is covered with a constant fine yellow dusting of oak pollen, thanks to the ginormous (yet lovely) trees in my neighbors’ yard. It’s a sight welcomed by car wash owners and one that is shared by just about everyone I see on the road -- it’s true that one touch of nature makes the whole world kin. (Troilus and Cressida, Act III, Scene III)

It’s been a lazy day -- one that started for me with the soft light through yonder window breaking (Romeo And Juliet Act II, Scene II) exceedingly early. My old friend Insomnia is paying me a visit and occupying me during the wee small hours of the morning, denying me the ability to sleep, perchance to dream- ay, there's the rub. (Hamlet Act III, Scene I) (speaking of rub, what I wouldn’t give for a serious back massage -- from some big strong hands belonging to a handsome dude... but I digress...)

The cleaning kick I was on last weekend continues today, although not nearly as turbo-powered. Tackling the living room, rearranging the furniture to find the best fit and look to accommodate the new end table. Which is, naturally, turning up all sorts of interesting things that have accumulated away from standard sight lines underneath furniture and behind everything. It’s a losing battle -- me versus the grime. I never would have imagine myself a woman to be overmaster'd with a piece of valiant dust? (Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, Scene I)

Dinner is now in the oven -- I’m totally sporting a lean and hungry look (Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene II), with the lean courtesy of The Damn NutriSystem, and, well, the hungry part too. It’s my one real meal of the week -- Italian Mac & Cheese. ‘Tis a dish fit for the gods (Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene I), but it will be all about portion control with me. Need to make sure I’m not sacrificing the lean part of the equation to overly satisfy the hungry part.

And my trusty agave nectar margarita is by my side -- once again. What they say about one desiring too much of a good thing?(As You Like It Act IV, Scene I) does not apply to my cocktails, thank you very much. Besides, the agave nectar is low in carbs and organic to boot. It’s really a health food drink -- mostly for my mental health more than anything.

As brevity is the soul of wit, (Hamlet Act II, Scene II) I shall bid you farewell, until tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, (Macbeth Act V, Scene V)when chaos is come again (Othello Act III, Scene III) and I will surely write about it.

Remember: We are such stuff as dreams are made on, rounded with a little sleep. (The Tempest, Act IV, Scene I)

This Just In...

Jon Bon Jovi...

... is prettier than I am. Even now.

... sings higher than I do. I'm blasting some Bon Jovi now and trying to sing along with the part after the modulation in "Living on a Prayer" killed my voice. While he soared on and on.

... has a mighty hot hairy chest. And some serious abs.

Yeah. That's incredibly shallow. But I had to console myself somehow.

Sigh.

My adorable new haircut is

sassy.

For the scoop on Singular Saturdays, 

check out Jenn in Holland's fab blog.

T.G.I.F.

It's raining. I had an early St. Patrick's Day meal with my parents, which included a pint of green beer. And it's Friday afternoon.

I'm really trying to be good and disciplined about writing something -- anything -- everyday. But today just seems like it should be a Meme kind of day. I'm weenie-ing out, I know. But it's better than nothing, as it at least got my fingers on my ergonomic keyboard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I give you money and send you into the grocery store to pick up five items. You can only pick one thing from the following departments, what is it?

1. Produce: Baking potatoes

2. Bakery: Cuban bread

3. Meat: Filet Mignon (two)

4. Frozen: Premium Ice Cream

5. Dairy: Sour cream

I would already have the Cabernet Savignon and butter at home.

See a theme here?

~~~~~~~~~

Let's say you’re heading out for a weekend liaison. You're only allowed to bring three articles of clothing with you. So, what's in your bag?

1. Matching bra & panties set (that counts as one)

2. Bathrobe

3. Scarf *lascivious eyebrow raise*

Again with the theme thing...

~~~~~~~~~

If I was to listen in on one of your conversations throughout the day, what five phrases or words would I be most likely to hear?

1. Seriously.

2. Please. (as in, Oh. Please. Yeah, right.)

3. Good grief.

4. Shit. (sad but true)

5. Dude.

~~~~~~~~~

So, what four things do you find yourself doing every single day, and if you didn't get to do, you probably wouldn't be in the best mood?

1. Something musical -- whether listening or singing or both.

2. Get on-line. It’s my lifeblood.

3. Read. Something. Anything. Everything.

4. Eat. Even on The NutriSystem, I need to fuel the system. Or else things could get really bad. Like “There is no Jane, there is only Zhul” bad.

~~~~~~~~~

You're driving down the road, and suddenly you're hit with this sense of road rage. What three factors probably contributed to it?

1) People who refuse to move over into a left lane so I can merge safely onto the interstate and not have to drive a hundred yards on the median because they’re so unaware of the rules of common courtesy of the road.

2) People riding my tuchus. Chill, dudes. Chances are you’re just being an asshole because I know I’m driving fast enough.

3) People who turn reallyfast onto a street with moving traffic, end up in front of me and then go really really slow. GRRRRRRRRRR.

~~~~~~~~~

Sweet, you just scored a whole afternoon to yourself. We're talking a three hour block with nobody around. What five activities might we find you doing?

1. Napping.

2. Taking a long, luxurious bubble bath with candles and wine and music.

3. Reading. Something. Anything.

4. Goofing off on-line.

5. Writing.

~~~~~~~~~

We're going to the zoo. But, it looks like it could start storming, so it'll have to be a quick visit. What three exhibits do we have to get to?

1. Anything with baby/young animals. SO cute.

2. Giraffes. Love them.

3. Chimpanzees. Fun!

~~~~~~~~~

You just scored tickets to the taping of any show that comes on t.v. of your choice. You can pick four, so what are you going to see?

1. 30 Rock

2. Mad Men

3. Entourage

4. Ugly Betty

~~~~~~~~~


You're hungry for ice cream. I'll give you a triple dipper ice cream cone. What three flavors can I pile on for ya?

1. Mint Chocolate Chip

2. Heath Bar

3. Rocky Road

~~~~~~~~~

Somebody stole your purse/wallet…in order to get it back, you have to name five things you know are inside to claim it. So, what's in there?

1. My voter’s registration card (wallet)

2. My ancient Aministy International membership card (wallet)

3. MAC Pop Mode lipglass

4. Moleskine notebook with pen attached

5. Orbitz Cinnamon Gum

~~~~~~~~~

You are at a job fair, and asked in what areas you are interested in pursuing a career. Let's pretend you have every talent and ability to be whatever you wanted, so what four careers would be fun for you?

1. Talk Show Host

2. Published author

3. Disc Jockey

4. Personal Shopper

~~~~~~~~~

If you could go back and talk to the old you, when you were in high school, and inform yourself of four things, what would you say?

1. All boys aren’t douchebags. Many are, but some really aren't. Promise.

2. It may be hard, but try not to be so shy. People do like you more than you realize.

3. Follow your dreams -- no matter what anyone does to dissuade you.

4. Never, ever think about straightening your hair. Or going blonde.

Tune In, Chill Out, Turn On

Groovy Web Stop of the Week: Imeem.com

A fab site where you can make your own cool, hep playlists and then share them wherever and with whomever you like.

So. Much. Fun.

I've been laboring for weeks, trying to figure out a way to get some tunes onto the blog. This site was the answer to my dilemma -- and here we are!



Pssst... if you join Imeem or are already there and want to friend me, I would totally dig it. I love learning about what other people are listening to -- even though it can get very expensive...

Rock on, mis amigos. Rock on.