But Monday happened, and I feel compelled to share this with you. It’s necessary for my psyche, for my sanity, and maybe so that when I end up on an episode of Snapped, you will all understand. You’ll say, “Oh, well she’s the girl who woke up to shit prints that morning when she was peacefully dreaming about sexing with Adrian Grenier.” And maybe you’ll riot outside of the courtroom with signs that say, “Set Mandi Free For Adrian” or not. Again, whatever. I’m not planning on murdering anybody. (There you go detective. It wasn’t premeditated.) I digress. Continue reading →
It’s been a while, but I had to bring back the Penis Monologues because basically, I still have questions, and they’re not even mine. Remember back when you all submitted your questions and I said, “Hey, we’ll do this every week until we answer them all?” Yeah, well, then summer happened, and I got sucked into the sunshine and water and jumping up every time I open my lap top to get a snack or break up a fight. But I haven’t forgotten you, my loyal readers, and when I make a promise, I keep it…even if it gets a little postponed. Forgive me? Good because I have a treat for you. Continue reading →
Aussa Lorens is a bonafide Hacker Ninja Hooker Spy, and I may or may not have a huge cyber crush on her. I’ve had a long spell of writer’s block, and in a recent conversation, I mentioned rather casually that I once had a stalker, which led to her insisting that I blog about it, so here it is….my stalker story. Continue reading →
I’m kind of a big deal. Actually it’s the exact opposite of that. I received a nomination for the “coveted” Liebster award (it doesn’t matter how) from this crazy lady/awesome blogger, Joy at Comfy Town Chronicles, who makes me spew wine (or coffee depending on the time of day) every time I read her blog, . Thanks, Joy. You rock! Go check her out. But swallow before you read unless you like to spit. Then by all means, spit.
She said she was too lazy to Google what the Liebster is all about, but I’m not, so I will. Hold on a sec. Ok, here’s what I found. These are the rules.
1. Post the award on your blog.
Ok – done.
2. Thank the blogger who presented this award and link back to their blog. Thanks, Joy, for letting me nominate myself.
3. Write 11 random facts about yourself. I’ll get to that.
4. Nominate 11 bloggers who you feel deserve this award and who have less than 200 followers. Hmmm.. How do I know if they have less than 200 followers? I have less than 200 followers, but I’m not normal. I’ll find as many as possible.
5. Answer 11 questions posted by the presenter and ask your nominees 11 questions.
11 Facts about Moi:
I keep hot tamales in my underwear drawer. I mean panty drawer. (Haha to those who squirm at that word.) Shut up. I don’t like to share.
I sound just like Katy Perry when I sing…in my car…or my shower.
This is more of a confession. I am addicted to the shows The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. I watch every season because I’m a sucker for true love. Pfft. I like to watch a good cat fight over a mediocre looking dude who wouldn’t snag these girls in real life, but they paw all over him because he is “The Bachelor.” A few season ago, I joined a Bachelor Pool, kind of like a Fantasy Football League or a bracket for March Madness. It is So.Much.Fun. I’m pretty sure Chris Harrison wants to hang out with us at our pool party. Every Tuesday, (because the show airs on Monday nights) I get an email/blog post from Hellabuzzed who writes a hilarious recap of the show from a straight dude’s point of view. If you watch the show, you need to read these recaps.
My blog is a secret from the majority of my real life people. I’ve only shared it with a hand full of my close friends. Is that weird?
When people say, “to be honest” or “honestly”, I immediately think that they’re lying.
My dishwasher quit working on Christmas day, and I still don’t have a new one because I absolutely HATE shopping. (It can’t be repaired. I tried that.) I finally broke down and ordered one online this weekend, but then they called and said it was out of stock. I’m officially screwed, and I have dish pan hands.
I hate the word facetious. Just say sarcastic, for crying out loud.
I have dyed my hair almost every color. I asked my hairdresser to put lilac low lights in my hair over a year ago, but he won’t do it. I keep bugging him, but I don’t think I’ll win. Once he died my bangs the color that we now refer to as “rainbow bright red.” It was fun. I’m keeping it blonde now though because I don’t want to confuse my mom since she has dementia.
I am addicted to sunglasses. I HAVE to wear them outside, even when it’s cloudy and not just because they hide my face. They are always on my eyes or pushed up on my head. All.Day.Long. I hate squinting. When I leave a theater, I feel like a vampire meeting the sun, so sunglasses are essential.
I listen to music all of the time. I play music when I get ready. Music is playing when I’m in my car. I listen to music when I clean and cook. I really only turn it off for important things like homework, dinner, and when I sit down to watch T.V., but I would be willing to bet a song is playing in my head. When I hear a really good song, I get obsessed with it and have to listen to it ALL THE TIME, but I
Never really listen to the words unless someone specifically tells me to listen to the words. I’m more interested in the different songs that each instrument plays. If you really listen, you can pick out each sound, and you might just find it as beautiful as I do.
Below is my current obsession. Listen to the different melody from each guitar. (12. The squeaking sound that is made by the movement of a guitarist’s fingers when he slides them over the neck to change chords makes my mouth water. Hubba hubba.)
Joy came up with some very interesting/funny questions. Here’s what I had to say:
1. What can I legally write off as a home daycare provider? KIDDING. (But not really if you know.)
Well if you work from home, you can write off a portion of almost everything. You take your square footage of your say “office” the portion of the house that you use the most for your work, and you divide that by the total square footage to determine the percentage of space you use, so if it’s like 20%, then you can write off 20% of utilities, gas, water, electricity, all of that. And then there are entertainment write offs…and food write offs. If you advertise your business anywhere on your vehicle, you can write off at least a portion of your payment. If you use Turbo Tax, it will walk you through it step by step. It’s a lot of leg work to get all of the totals, but my husband works from home, so we’ve been writing off shit for years.
2. What’s your favorite rock and why?
Rock & Roll. Because it’s much more interesting than river walks or lava rocks or granite or anything else. I took Geology in college. Ask me what I remember…not a damn thing. But I got an A!!
3. Number 2 was a joke, but I’m curious to see what answers I’ll get. Also to see if people read and answer, or read all the questions first. Plus, I could stand to learn a thing or 2. I don’t know any kind of rock other than “river” because they’re all over the Pinterest. They look smooth.
This is not a question, so I’ll just agree. River rocks do look smooth, and they feel smooth, too. I have some in my backyard. The people who lived here before us put them there.
4. If you could change the end of any movie or book, what would it be, how would you change it?
SPOILER ALERT!!!! Too many to name. Most recently, I’d change the end of The Fault in Our Stars b/c it made me cry, and I don’t cry. It was that good. Movie: I’d change the end of Drive Me Crazy, and instead of Sabrina the Teenage Witch waiting in the treehouse for my boyfriend, Adrian Grenier, I’d be waiting…naked.
5. Have you ever had to stifle a giggle at a funeral or other inappropriate place? How did you do it?
OMG – too many times to even try to name them all. Remember, I’m a preacher’s kid. My bestie’s dad was hilarious, and he would always make fun of these two women who would get up and sing every Sunday in church, so anytime they started walking up to the stage, I would do everything I could to avoid eye contact with him, but he was like a train wreck. I couldn’t look away. Most of the time, I was sitting at the piano, waiting to accompany the terrible that came from their vocal chords, knowing what was coming, and as soon as I would look at him, I’d do that laugh where you blow air out of your mouth in short breaths until you blow fart through your lips and eventually double over laughing while holding your belly.
Another time, same friend and I were at a different church, a Pentecostal church, you know the kind, holy rollers on speed. A really tiny lady stood up right next to my BFF and started speaking in tongues. I looked over at my friend and whispered, “Meka Leka Hi, Meka Hiney Ho, and the two of us burst out laughing, uncontrollably, hyperventilating laughter, and we could not stop. My dad never asked me to go back to that church again.
6.And do tell, in the previous question: What was SO FREAKING FUNNY?
When the fat lady sings, tongues, and Jambi.
7. Did your father or any other relative walk around the house in their underwear?
Walking around in one’s underwear was strictly prohibited in my home. My Dad was a complete psycho about it. Didn’t want baby girl to see his or my brothers’ junk. I’m not mad about it.
8. Am I the only person who didn’t have such a relative? My friend Jennifer’s father told her she had the “brains of a soda cracker” (yes he used the plural) for bringing friends over when he was walking around in his underwear. I see people talk about it in books and whatnot, but that was the only time I’d ever seen it. (He was wearing Walter Whiteys *patent pending on that phrase* and a white Tshirt if you’re wondering. I know I would be.)
My friend’s dad always sat in his Walter Whities and wife beater, cigarette hanging from his mouth, can of beer in his hand. Think Rodney Dangerfield in Natural Born Killers.
9. Do you kind of wish society was less uptight about things like walking around in underwear? Why or why not?
I totally do. I think Muricans are too uptight about nudity in general. I mean, it’s all so effing taboo. They’re boobs. Everyone has them. It’s a package. Nobody needs to look at it, but they mostly all look the same. Get a grip, people. I think this answers the question.
10.Why do I keep answering my own questions? In your professional opinion.
Well, since you asked for my professional opinion, you bring up some very interesting and thought provoking topics; therefore, you are justified in wanting to answer the questions after presenting them. It’s natural to ponder them yourself. Your answers are important. And maybe you’re a bit of a narcissist. I’m the pot, dude, so it’s ok if I say that.
11.What is your most irrational fear? Or pet peeve if you don’t have any fears.
Fear: Suffocating. I swear. The worst thing in the world would be to die because I CAN’T BREATH.
Pet peeve: It’s simple and a lesson in grammar. Your is the possessive form of you. You’re is a contraction for you are. Its is the possessive form of it. It’s is a contraction for it is. There is a place. Their is the possessive form for they. They’re is the contraction of they are. Lose means unable to find. Loose means it is not securely fastened. Where indicates a place. Were is the past tense for are. AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, A LOT IS TWO WORDS AND CANNOT IS ONE!!!!! But it’s really no big deal.
12. Have you ever had an epiphany? Or do you think that’s just a word people throw around to make the rest of feel like they’re smart or inspired?
My epiphany is that social media has brought out the stupid in most people. I am amazed at the inability of most to string two sentences together. Don’t even get me started on punctuation.
My nominees: Drum roll please…
1. Beth at Writer B is Me, hilarious, uncensored, thought provoking, and she wants to sleep with me. You win, Bethie. Come on over!!! (and I know you probably have more than 200 followers, but you’ll always be #1 for awards for me…no matter what the rules are.)
2. Hellabuzzed because haters gotta hate, and his hating makes me laugh.
3. Lizzi, at Considerings because she’s everything that is *sparklybeautifulgoodness*, and her guest post got me the most views I’ve ever had.
4. Laura who writes at History of a Woman and not just because she likes to fall asleep to the sound of gun shots. She’s a super cool chick, and I really enjoy her writing, and I may or may not have total blog envy with how beautiful her blog is.
5. Sharn at Spankalicious. She’s funny, hot, and you never know what to expect when you click on her posts. I love a good enigma.
6. Adrea in Wonderland who writes about online dating. She gives each guy a smurf name, and The Smurfs was my favorite cartoon growing up, so that’s how I relate to her.
7. Jana at Stop Me If I Told You who always has hilarious posts. Plus she’s a loyal reader, and when she comments, it usually has something interesting that she found from doing research on some little piece of what I wrote. I love her.
And these people probably have more than 200 followers and also have probably received the Liebster in the past.
8. Dana at Kiss My List because she always has something interesting to say, and she wants to take me on a vacation. Plus, her blog just got a nice makeover, and it looks fabulous!
9. Phil: The Regular Guy NYC because he says I’m hot, and flattery will get you everywhere with me…even awards.
10. Don at Don of All Trades. He can make me laugh one day and then sob into my sleeve the next. I’ve loved Don since that night we had a party at my blog.
11. Mike and Phoenix at Past My Curfew. What’s not to love about Mike? He is a great writer, makes me actually want to try and cook something, always supports me, and has this cutie little Golden Retriever that I love.
And I’m throwing in a bonus because I just love her so much: Sandy at Mother of Imperfection. Sandy Why yi yi Oh Sandy…she’s just golden and in my opinion all things *perfection*.
One more bonus even though she’s probably way too busy responding to the 900 comments she gets on each post to ever play along, but I just can’t leave out one of my absolute favorite bloggers who is feisty and hot and addicted to Nutella: Aussa, the infamous Hacker Ninja Hooker Spy
Thought provoking, prolific, questions to ponder and then answer.
1. Who is number one on your exemption list? (An exemption list is a list of people who are not in your every day life (celebrities, authors, sports figures) who you’re allowed to sleep with should the opportunity arise…no pun intended *snickering like a teenage boy*) Mine is Adrian Grenier. No surprise there. I have about 599 people on my list.
2. What is your favorite smell and why?
3. What book can you read over and over again. If you’re not into books, what movie never gets old?
4. What is the story behind your blog name?
5. What is your favorite song and why?
6. What is your least favorites song, the one that makes your put your fingers in your ears and say “lalalalala”?
7. What’s the best book you’ve read lately? (I’m reading God Shaped Hole, and it is brilliant.)
8. What did the last text you sent say? Word for word. (K does not count. If “K” was your last text, then I want to know what your second to last text said.)
9. What gives you the heebie jeebies? It doesn’t have to be scary. It can also be gross. I hate nose hair. That’s a heebie jeebie thing for me.
10. Do close talkers bother you as much as they do me? If so, why?
11. What are you wearing? I’m not even kidding.
Nominees: Do what you will with this award, but for the record, I really enjoyed reading Joy’s post and then writing this. I hope you have fun with it, too.
When I very humbly requested Lizzi of Considerings to guest post for me, and she immediately said, “Yes,” I jumped up and down, clapping my hands. I may have even performed a cartwheel. Excitement? No. Elation.
Lizzi has a way with words, to completely understate her talent. As my eyes travel through her stories, her fingers reach out from my screen and wrap themselves around my heart, yanking it, tugging it, and turning it to putty in her palm. She makes me laugh. She makes me think. She more often than not makes me cry, and I never cry. She is brilliant. A Writer. A wordsmith, and she’s here today with Part Deux to Shadows and Stardust. Make sure and click the link to read Part One, a beautiful story inspired by yours truly. To be called a muse by one of the most beautiful writers I’ve ever laid my eyes on, both humbled me and made my heart grow at least three sizes. So, please welcome my dear friend, Lizzi, whose words will sink into your soul. Then get ready to want more. She’s good like that.
The town’s main street was thronged with people, huddled like penguins inside their winter coats; braced against the cold but determined in their quest to purchase. They were bedecked in bags, like peculiar woolly bumblebees, each surrounded by an ethereal cloud of their own steam – breath puffing words into visible clouds as they hurried past.
I was honeybagged myself, straining against the weight of New Things. The once-straight handles twisted and turned, cutting the circulation off in my fingers and combining with the chill air to freeze them into reddened claws – travesties of the hands that once were.
I navigated my way out of the main streams of people, cutting across others, ducking behind groups of chattering teenagers, taking big steps and little ones, my feet mindfully stepping the complex dance of Saturday At The Shops – avoiding dreamy couples, Stormtrooper mothers and cantankerous old women wielding their roll-along shopping trollies like tartan-coated weapons.
Seeking shelter in an eddy by a side-route off the main street, I found space to pause, down bags and rub some life back into my twisted hands. Leaning back against the building, I watched the crowds as they flowed past, marveling at their individuality and simultaneous mass-anonymity, wondering what their stories might be.
Hands warmer, I turned to gather up my bags once more when an alcove doorway caught my eye – fifty yards back from the river of humanity, it wasn’t so much the door which caught my attention as it was the small movement of a fabric-coated lump stuffed into the bottom of it – someone was there.
Like I’d been run through with a trident of guilt, compassion and the urge to DO something, a great pain welled up in me and I stood, transfixed, before moving towards the bundled person. I could see a pair of battered, tough boots poking out from under one end of what turned out to be a filthy camping blanket. A fluffy hat at the top end gave no clue as to what sort of person lay beneath.
Drawing by Lizzi Rogers
I crouched down and hoped that none of the expensive-shop shopping bags were on display as I reached out and gently patted the crusted edge of the blanket “Hey – are you alright? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yeah”, came back an obstinate, female voice “You can fuck the hell off.”
The blanket shook and the hat bobbled upwards as the owner’s face came into view in a fury of movement “Who even asked you to…”
Her voice trailed off, and the retort I had been about to utter froze on my lips and disappeared as though dropped off a cliff.
Our eyes locked, and the thrall of horror at seeing a homeless person trying to survive the inclement weather turned to raging, devastating pain as I realised that this homeless person was known to me. I recoiled, my hand flying to my mouth in dismay and her name bursting out with the same lack of control as the time I’d first spoken to her:
“Bravo!”- it had exploded, unbidden from my lips as the echoes of her last crescendo faded and the bar seemed to shimmer in delighted silence in recognition that a masterpiece had just been played within its walls. She had sworn at me then, too, and our eyes had met, sparkling with delight at the soul-thrilling music she’d been able to coax from the old piano. We’d talked and worked together, and later she had played again.
I had returned to that bar many times to hear her play – turning up near closing time as she volunteered to stay behind again and wipe the place down once the drunks and revelers had all been kicked out. We spent several glorious months in this way – her playing and me clearing the glasses and sweeping the floors, our souls dancing with the notes as she gave them life with her magical, talented hands.
Suddenly, one day, she was gone. No explanation. Just gone. It had been five years, and I still missed our evenings of splendour; never since had I experienced such exquisite playing as that which she had wrought for me…
Her blonde hair, now freed from its cover in her thrashing, was lank and dull. Her skin was grey and marked with sores and scars, as though the moon had been stretched over her sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were still a gorgeous, clear hazel, though they looked like deep wells of pain, waiting to pour out in anger and shame at the slightest provocation.
The moment lengthened, eyes still holding, hundreds of unspoken, frantic conversations passing between us as my throat choked-up, and the weight of emotion made it hard to breathe.
Finally, sotto voce, I whispered, her name imbued with the hurt of every lost evening and all the unheard notes, mantled with grief at finding her this way: “Oh, Anitra…”
We crumbled together, oblivious to the slowly-gathering audience in the shadows. I pulled her stinking, bird-light frame into my arms and held tight, even as she clung to me, mumbling into my shoulder that it was so, SO good to see a friendly face.
We clambered to our feet and hugged properly then, smiles and tears mingling, when suddenly I felt her stiffen, and heard her intake of breath as she pulled back, her face a mask of revulsion.
A gravelly male voice from across the road struck at us through the air “Ohhhh Annie – look what you’ve pulled in. Good girl! She looks like a rich one. Make sure you give that posh bitch your best licking – she’s gotta be worth a few quid. Don’t take less than £50, will you? I’ll be back for mine later.”
Transformed once more into a hard-faced street-walker, Anitra’s chin jutted and her eyes blazed as she snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me around to face the man, whose oiled hair and dark, greedy eyes raked over us both. The two louts who stood behind him were nudging one another and grinning, one making lewd gestures at us, poking his lapping tongue between the V of his fingers, and rubbing together the fingertips of the other hand in the universal sign for money.
“Oh Dominic”, she trilled, her voice light and dripping with false honey “sweetheart, I’m going up in the world, and with that, my prices. If you want this” – she grabbed her crotch and tilted her hips towards him aggressively – “you gotta pay me more. As of now.”
The oily man’s face registered a sneer of disgust as he turned, motioning for his cat-calling henchmen to follow him. By my side, the bravado gone, Anitra sagged against me and then pulled away roughly, her face burning red, unwilling to meet my gaze.
Hair curtained again around her, reminding me of our first meeting, her voice was equal parts ashamed and horrified as she blundered through an incoherent string of apologies, ending with a declaration to make herself scarce and never bother me again, and that she was sorry for everything, and for running away without telling me, and that life had been so harsh to her, and that she couldn’t, she just couldn’t…
I cut across her, mid-sentence “Can we just go for coffee or something? Somewhere warm? I’m freezing. And confused. So my treat, okay, but please let’s not stay here any more.”
She glanced at me then, and the wells of her eyes had been covered over – shuttered with a closed look she wore like armour.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Her voice shimmered down from frantic to automaton. Her joints tightened and the corners of her eyes looked pinched. She stared into the mid-distance for a moment before stooping to gather up her blankets from the floor, rolling them into a grimy ball, which she stuffed into a giant, tattered backpack.
“It’s been good to see you again, babe. Sorry I turned out like this. I wish things were different. In another world, we’d go for coffee and everything would be made better and the music might come back into my life. But seeing you was like a symphony, and it’s just reminded me how much I miss it. So no, we can’t go.”
She twisted away from me, striding towards the end of the street, pausing as I cried her name out, anguished this time, and ran to her, emptying my purse of all its paper money and stuffing it into her hand, arguing that she didn’t need to leave; promising her things could be better, if only she’d let me help her – please, please let me help her…
She stuffed the notes into her pocket, but didn’t turn. And without further word or look, strode off, rapidly disappearing into the still-teeming currents of the main street.
As fresh tears fell, tracking warm runnels down my freezing face, I vowed to myself on that desolate street that I would find a way to somehow bring the music back to her.
Huz was watching something on the History channel or the National Geographic, something to which, I was paying no attention when he started asking me questions about my dad and his beliefs. For those who don’t know, my dad is a retired minister.
“Do you ever talk to your dad about this stuff?”
He started talking saying something about Genesis and creation versus evolution. I resumed ignoring him again. True story, I was reading iamthemilk but outwardly, I said the obligatory, “mmm hmmm. Oh?” and “Really?” nodding my head. I rock fake listening. I’m a preacher’s kid, remember?
“Do you know who said that?” I snapped out of my blog trance and wondered wtf he was talking about.
In my head, I tried to decide if I should even ask or if I could fake it. I thought back on the conversation. What did he ask me? Something about the bible. Oh that’s right…do I know who said that? Pfft. Easy.
“Jesus,” I said with conviction because “Jesus” is a pretty good guess when we’re talking bible, right? Just think about all of the red colored text.
“Dude, can you please put your computer away and listen to me?” Huz said, completely exasperated by my sore attempt at faking it.
I closed my laptop and rolled my eyes. “Fine. Who said what? I’m listening now.”
“’The bible tells us how to go to Heaven not how the Heavens go.’ That is a quote from Galileo.”
To which, I replied, “(Galileo) Galileo. (Galileo) Galileo. (Galileo) Figaro. Magnifico,” which made me laugh. But not my husband.
That’s just a typical conversation in our house. What’s it like in yours?
You are my Huckleberry. Let’s define that, shall we? According to the Urban Dictionary, (that’s a legit source, people) it means “I’m the man you’re looking for.” (That’s a direct quote. Anyone who knows me knows I would never end a sentence in a preposition, so there’s that.)
So in keeping true to my whole Friendship theme, I’m jumping onto the Ten Things of Thankful train, but I’m doing it my way. I’m going to give you a list, a version of what my best friend and I created years ago… (Hopefully she won’t kill me for sharing this.)
A Top Ten List
My Top Ten Thankfuls for This Weird Funky Week
(We work our way to #1, so let’s start at 10.)
#10: Lizzi because you are so full of love and light and encouragement and help, and you send me music (which speaks straight to my heart, my love language for sure.) And every time I see the little chat bubble with your smiley face, I smile back. I’m so glad I found you, Lizzi. Oozing thankfuls all over you.
#9. The rest of my blogger buddies: Don, Aussa, Phil, Dana, Sandy, Nicole, Kate, Mike (and Phoneix), and so many more. You are all so so so very awesome. I love peeking into your worlds and reading your stories which make me feel like I *know* you, like I’m a part of you. I’ve been in a funk this week, but your words were a step in the ladder that pulled me out of that funk, and today the sun shines bright in the sky, I’m well rested, and I’m no longer blue.
#8. Also in the running for pulling me out of my funk: my new cyber-besties, Hella Buzzed and Magpie. What in the world did I do with my day before I met you? I can somehow spend an entire day chatting away with you guys about anything and still be hungry for more. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my belly hurts from laughing, and my heart is so very grateful that Michelle ignited this flame.
My girls: you know who you are. (in no particular order)
#7. a) You coined the name “Mandicap” which still haunts me. You pushed me to class in my wheel chair. You introduced me to my forever. You stood by me when I married him. I’ll never forget the day we walked around Manhattan together and the walk through Central Park….sigh. That was one of my favorite days of all time. Soon you’ll become a mom and welcome your baby girl, and I hope she has even a spark of your humor, your love, and your beauty.
b) You’ve been my mommy go to, the one who always tells me that I’m not crazy. You wait for me in Carl’s Corner with a scented candle and a smile. You can sell me anything just by saying, “You love it. You do.” Even if it’s tofu. And when I hear Dave Matthews Band or Sublime, I imagine your little red eclipse and spending hours driving around our college town in it. Without our talks, I’m not sure I’d still be sane. Oh wait – I’m not.
#6. We didn’t hit it off right off that bat, which had nothing to do with who your ex-boyfriend is. Very few people get me on the level that you do. You are almost as funny as I. Ok, ok. You’re as funny. I will always admire your eyebrows, and when you asked me to stand up next to you as your matron of honor because I “represented a happy marriage,” you stole more of my heart than you know. You’re a great mom, a great friend, and a trivia wiz. I’m so glad I met you, even if you hated me that day.
#5. Mi amor, you will always be….esta es siempre en mi corazon. You bring me wine and other stuff and sit outside with me until our lips are stained purple while we talk through every inappropriate topic and piece of gossip until the wee hours of the morning. Squelched laughter, rule-breaking chat sessions, and Freaks of the Industry will always remind me of mi amor.
#4. You are my wingman (you can totally have a vagina and be a wingman). You helped me make the rules to Drunk Around the World. You’re my Dust in the Wind, my synchronized swimming partner. Our friendship began as a seed planted by our husbands to get to spend more time together, but it’s taken root and bloomed into something so much more. I adore you, but this you know, and the friendship between our children makes my heart swell.
#3. Beth…where do I begin? I still can’t believe how many play-dates we wasted being polite. I love the weird bond our sons share and the fact that they brought us together. I don’t know where it finally happened, but we sparked, and I’m so very grateful that we did. I truly cherish this friendship. I love our Big Truck Tuesdays, that we share a sick dirty mind, and the pictures we send back and forth…le’ sigh. I love your humor and your brain, and I cannot even comprehend your talent. I believe in your book, and I sit on the edge of my seat and wait for the rest of the world to get to read it. #threechapterthursday is my favorite day of the week. How lucky am I that you trusted me with it first? And now I love beards, and trees, and tattoos, and tattoos of trees. (But I love you even more than all of that.) What have you done to me?
#2. Nikki, my kindred, my soul mate, my fellow lover of books. You are beautiful and funny and smart, and so very talented. (She’s published two books. Rebound & Resilient) The fact that you’re about to publish a third book amazes me to no end, and I squeal with delight every time you post a new teaser. You have become so much more to me than a friend. I look forward to our Thursdays and relish the memories of sitting for hours in a bookstore on the floor talking about these fictional characters as if they’re real people. You win best hugs ever, which says a lot since you know I’m not a hugger. You are so dear to me, so very special. You make my heart smile.
And the Number One Friend for whom I say thanks each and every day:
Kimberly (yes I’m using your name. Suck it.) 30 years ago as I sat outside in my backyard literally eating mudpies, my mom called for me and made me come inside, wash up and change out of my mismatched “boy” clothes and go introduce myself to the three little girls who moved in next door. I huffed and argued, but she urged and insisted and finally shooed me out the door. She had no idea what an impact that introduction would be to her little girl’s life and the inseparable friendship that would result from her insistence. Kimberly, words cannot describe you. You’re brilliant and brave and funny and weird like me and so opinionated and full of red headed stubbornness. You’re a wonderful mom, an amazing principal, a devoted wife, and the absolute “dearest” friend, my full moon. I have to stop, or I’ll cry, and you know. I. Never. Cry.
So there – my weird attempt at TToT. You can join, too. Just grab the button and follow the rules. We’ll see if I get kicked off of this one, too.
Someone get me some meds, I’m having a complete Blogxiety attack.
First of all, let’s start with my new addiction: Blogoshere…or at least that’s what I think it’s called. I wrote this little story about a girl who peed in the driveway…true story, by the way, because well, I was bored, and I’m slightly narcissistic, and I thought…sure people will want to read this, and by people, I meant my one blogger friend, and she read it, and then she shared it, and then she opened the doors to “a whole new world”.
Birds flew from my computer (you think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I saw macaws people, real ones. They’re on a photographer’s blog, and they’re mother freaking beautiful, oh and I found her blog through another blog who was “guest hosting”, which I don’t quite understand, but totally support, and if someone wants to be my guest on my blog, please do so. How does that work anyway?).
I found myself in a winter wonderland fighting stuffed elves, falling in love with crazy aunts, reading about chuck’s terriblemind…, reading thousands, I mean, thousands of book reviews (and books are my crack, so I practically licked my lap top as I ferociously added books to my “to read” category), and then there’s this girl who’s a hacker ninja, and she’s hilarious, and I read about 20 of her posts because…she’s just that good. And then my husband said, “Hey, what are you doing?” and I said, “Shhh.” (but under my breath I used explicits) because he interrupted my blog hit, and you just can’t interrupt an addict when she’s getting her fix, right?
I guess what I’m trying to say is….
I’m not worthy. I bow to your Blogness.
You all are fabulous, and talented, and hilarious, and beautiful, and please keep posting because I really don’t want to pay any attention to my husband or my kids, or clean my house, or pay my bills, or do anything but read your blogs.
Thanks for the welcoming me into this world where I’m completely overwhelmed but totally humbled to be in your presence.
Please, introduce me to the blogs you follow, so I can continue to get my fix. Although, I don’t see myself building up a tolerance to any of these I already follow. What do you like? Did you have Blogxiety when you started, too? What inspires your posts?