Da Goddess

He wasn’t. I did this. Last summer. In a very Richardson-esque manner.

Really enjoying my time here in San Diego. I’ve seen Mad Mikey and the whole MM Family, a photographer or two, our dear, dear friends C&R…and have plans to catch up with others before I have to hit the road again.

Got a freaky story to tell, but that’s for later when I have a better internet connection.

It occurs to me that I’m not that good a blogger anymore. I mean, I know I’ve been slacking off because of the back thing for the last six years, but don’t you think the addition of a laptop would actually IMPROVE my blogability? Yeah, you’d think that, however, it hasn’t really helped much, has it?

And then it dawned on me that I could actually increase my blogability if I were to invest in a nice, sturdy shelf or some such thing for the bathroom. I could blog during those uncomfortable moments when I’m stuck in the bathroom for far longer than I would like. (I could also watch my shows on Hulu in there, but that’s beside the point…kinda.) I wouldn’t need to tell you I’m blogging from the throne; all you’d know is that suddenly the site would be filled with magnificent content that always seems to pop into my head while I’m…in the head! (I’d add a rim shot here, but that’s just wrong.)

So what do you think?

P.S. I’m trying desperately to finish packing, shower, and get in the car and head to SD. I have stuff to do! Now, get out of my bathroom and let me get on with my bidniz.

Dave. Been a while since I did one, so here I go again.

1) Go to Wikipedia. Hit Random Search. That’s your topic and band name.

2) Go to any quote database. Get a page of quotes. Last quote on the page, take the last 4 or 5 words and they serve as the album name.

3) Go to Flickr. Click on the explore last 7 days option. THIRD photo, no matter what, is your image. Save it.

Now, compile all these fun bits and pieces and present to us your new album.*

Bringing to you, my friends: Colombia Township and “Get Into the Office”! Perfect for Thursday night viewing and alternate soundtrack in case Michael, Jim, Dwight, Pam, Andy, Angela, and the rest of the gang start to get boring.

* While it would be really nice for you to link back to the flickr user, it’s not required. I do, however, strongly urge you to do so because it IS nice.

…because I was doing the Hustle earlier tonight (okay, okay…last night).

Seriously. I was.

MOBD and I returned from scouting the winery and walked in on “Rock the Boat” by Hues Corporation. My feet got away from me and that was all she wrote.

Except it wasn’t. I remembered how to do the Hustle. Muscle memory, baby. Of course, two and a half hours later, they actually played “The Hustle” by Van McCoy and the Soul City Symphony. I did not, however, dance when it came on. I was dead dog tired by that point. The only thing I could do was write about it.

And that, for real this time, is all she wrote.

“Now is the time on Sprockets vhen ve dance!”

Hugo the Abominable Snowman [holding Daffy, whose shirt makes him look like a rabbit] Oh, what a cute little pink bunny rabbit!
Hugo the Abominable Snowman: Just what I always wanted. My own little bunny rabbit. I will name him George, and I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him…
Daffy Duck: I’m not a bunny rabbit…
Hugo the Abominable Snowman: …and pat him and pet him and…
Daffy Duck: You’re hurting me. Put me down, please.
Hugo the Abominable Snowman: …and rub him and caress him and…
Daffy Duck: I ain’t no bunny rabbit!

The only one that, in my opinion, comes even close is Bugs and Gossamer.

I love love love Gossamer! And Bugs has some of best lines ever in that toon.

Hai! This is PJ. PJ is minding the store while human mom in Phoenix, I don’t have oooopposable thumbs, but I do pretty well for a cat, Don’t you think?

I stealed her camera when she wasn’t looking and took a picture of myself. It looked like something from that stupid can I has Cheezburger website. Silly cats. Most of them can’t spell. Not me. I have superrerior cat spelling skillz.

And I’m a good model. Check me out. It’s just me and “The situation” hanging out. The situation being my amazing coat of fur. The longer and fluffier, the better. Dig me. I’m handsome.

As a special kitteh treat, you get to choose which saying you like best.

Choice Meow

Choice Mew

Please register your votes in the comments section. You see, I want to prove that a cat can get more comments than a human can. I want to prove it’s time for a really COOL cat to formally declare himself an official candidate for the office of presidency. It starts here though, people. You must love me. You must believe in me. You must vote! See, this first time around, I can’t lose. You gotta vote for one of those pictures. They’re both of me. No matter what, I win! This is how I intend to run my entire campaign. It’s a brilliant plan.

So whaddya waitin’ for? VOTE! Choice Meow or Choice Mew?

Imagine rhythm
Ricocheting like matter
Time remembers us

As written on the refrigerator by me at 4am (we play the magnet haiku game a lot around here). I’m a firm believer that exhaustion and happiness can produce interesting results. Individual mileage may vary.

LD and I were playing with our food. It was playing with us, so we played back. We had fun.

Do you ever have a situation in which someone mistakes you for someone else, assumes you’re married/attached to someone, or perhaps they’re convinced you know more than you do and therefore consider you a resident expert on something?

Since moving, despite offering clarifications to people (“we’re just friends”, “we’re roommates”), Buster and I have often been coupled up by others. Last night was the best one yet. “Your wife wanted to send something to me…can you pass this email along?” Times like these, it’s convenient to let people think what they will. For one thing, if you correct them, they feel awkward and very aware of the mistake and I’ve actually seen people avoid others after such a misunderstanding. For another thing, sometimes that assumed partnership works to your advantage and it’s just better to let them keep believing. I’m all about having the advantage whenever possible, you know? One minute I’m the photographer, the next I’m the blues lady, and other times — the situations are always interesting and limitless. It cracks me up when it happens.

At the moment, I’m a wife of convenience. I will likely never marry again, but for a mistake, I get to be a wife briefly.

Now if only I could figure out how to be a millionaire, too. I’d totally embrace that. Wouldn’t that be cool?

“I woke up this mornin’…”

Such are the lyrics of “The Short Blues” by Neil Innes. That’s it. The entire song. Seriously.

I shouldn’t know that, but I do. Now you do, too.

Just sayin’. I’m so going to stop saying that. Sigh.

And how appropriate that I should post something so brief. My blogging has been entirely too lax, but I’ve been busy getting ready for Little Dude’s arrival on Sunday. For some reason, I thought he was getting in earlier in the day and it turns out he’s getting in after 8pm. Argh! Why did I do that? Oh well. I suppose I could change the flight.

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Also, for some reason, I thought Christmas was on Thursday next week. Uh, nope. Not this year. D’oh! My blonde runs much deeper than previously thought.

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At the post office yesterday, I noticed a sign on one of the bulletin boards (behind glass) touting Angels. I thought it quite wonderful to see the folks at the post office supporting such an awesome group. Go USPS! Go Angels!

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I’m apparently living in a time warp (and yes, I, too, am thinking Rocky Horror — which I just watched this weekend, twice — as I type that). Blame it all on my roots…I showed up in boots and I’m listening to a lot of country music lately. Actually, I’m listening to a very wide range of music, but country’s featured prominently. Yesterday was Dan Seals. Today it’s Garth. I’ll return to Dan again though because there are just to many good songs to pass up. Not to worry, the blues is still king around here. Country is just blues with a twang.

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While I’m on the subject of music, go do yourself and your loved ones a big favor and buy Patti’s daughter’s CD — Pleasures of Hope. This is seriously one of the loveliest CDs I’ve heard in a long time. Alex may have been 17 when she recorded this, but there’s a great deal of maturity in her playing. I gave a copy to Buster for Christmas (early) and awoke to beautiful Celtic music the other morning. We listened to the CD several times through as we cleaned and decorated the house (with instruments, not Christmas stuff…we’re weird around here). I actually danced about as I swept the floor, imagining myself at an old fashioned dance (kind of like when I go to the Rendezvous dances). There’s not a bad song in the bunch and I dare even the most hardened of you to not fall in love with the music. That’s right, I’m daring you! I should note that we had the CD blasting (that’s Buster’s thing) and the recording holds up very well.

So, go pay Patti a visit or you can order the CD directly from CD Baby. Go on. I’ll wait. (You can thank me later.)

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While you’re in the shopping mood, you may buy me the Canon 7D. Yep. Still at the top of my Christmas list. Again, I’ll wait for you to do that and then come back.

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As I mentioned earlier, LD gets in town on Sunday, so blogging will be sporadic and I will NOT be taking the computer with me when I go to San Diego for Christmas. I’ll try my best to do a little creative publishing and to have something of substance to share. No guarantees though.

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Computing just got personal.

Gotta run. The computer is wanting to update and I have to close all applications to do so.

Aren’t you glad you stopped in to read my blather?

P.S. For some reason, old school gmail has decided to not show chat anymore. What’s up with that?

P.P.S. Is there anyone interested in last year’s Christmas blues?

Or is it kind of funny that there’s a Meetup group for anarchists?

Any guesses as to who this guy is?

You’ve seen him. I know you have. Even if you only watch the TV for news, I can guarantee you’ve seen him.

Yep. He’s on television.

C’mon, you know you want to take a guess.

I’ll even let you take multiple guesses.

(And thanks to the source of this photo, who must remain nameless lest we give away the big secret.)

P.S. I’m still entrenched in editing. Getting closer to the finish line. Haven’t been able to take on anything new until these are finished up because I have so much on my plate right now. Sis and bro-in-law just came by yesterday to pick up a huge, heavy piece of furniture as I attempt to reduce the amount of stuff I have to put in storage. Yep, still moving. Traction is at a minimum though. Thanks for all the encouraging emails, comments, and phone calls. Y’all rock!

and Ethel. That was us. We took turns concocting hairbrained schemes so our roles were interchangeable. The important thing was that we were in it together and if there was trouble coming, we’d each accept punishment as if we were the full-fledged ringleader, regardless. None of that turning on one another crap. That didn’t come until later.

It was the sort of friendship that tends to have an expiration date. You can’t expect to make it through childhood and into adulthood with a friend like that. Not when your world quickly expands and other influences take over.

We’ll call her Cindy. Yes, that’s a good name for her. Cindy and I met in 4th grade. I was brand new at school and she was quick to befriend me. Thank goodness for her. I was awkward and “advanced” for my age. You know, at that point I was already wearing a real bra. She wasn’t far behind. Was that part of our friendship attraction? Perhaps. It did make life a lot easier when you knew you weren’t the only girl sprouting real womanly features. Maybe it was the fact that she was the pretty, popular girl who saw me, the fat girl, as the perfect foil. I don’t think that was a conscious decision, but I do think it played a part. Whatever it was that drew us together, together we were. We were instant best friends and that was that.

Our parents endured weekends of endless giggling, odd hairdos, insane makeup sessions, and whispers late into the wee hours. They didn’t know (or turned a blind eye) to our sneaking the occasional cigarettes, or when we were “watering the neighbor’s plants” for hours at a time (read: we found a stack of Penthouse and Hustler magazines and were fascinated!), or even when we’d found a way to sneak out during our trip to Sacramento and San Francisco to meet the boys. (What were those chaperones doing, I wonder…) We found plenty of “adventures” and had a good run there for a while.

We did the whole Girl Scout thing together. Softball. Transitioned to middle school. She had boyfriends, I did not. But she encouraged my dreams of boyfriends, often walking past that guy’s house with me just so I wouldn’t have to do it alone. It didn’t hurt that the guy Cindy liked lived nearby.

We weren’t always very nice, though. Occasionally the urge to do something to get back at someone overwhelmed us and we’d strike out. As a team. Always as a team. If we got caught, we’d each swear it was “solely my idea”, even though the adults knew it was a team effort. Invariably, we’d end up sitting across from each other, pretending it was the first time we’d ever met. “Who? Her? Never saw her before in my life. I did it. Pure and simple. It was me.” Was it really any surprise that it made the two of us look even more suspect?

One time, and I do report this with the appropriate amount of hindsight being 20-20 regret, we teamed up to take down our Girl Scout leader. We’ll call her GSL. GSL’s daughter was cool with us, but GSL herself was often drawn as Elmira Gulch in our book. So there we were in camp one Spring, preparing part of our evening meal a bit ahead of time. We overheard GSL talking with the assistant leader about how she hated pepper and the rule was to be “no pepper in any meal”. Cindy and I looked at each other and silently went about plotting our pepper additions to what we were putting together (the approved Girl Scout version of minestrone, which really meant thirty large cans of various types of soup). And thus we began sneaking a pinch in here or there. About a half hour later, GSL gathered all of us around the fire. “Because I am allergic to pepper, I want to remind each of you in charge of meals to avoid pepper at all cost. It should only be used on your own food when I am not around.” Despite the fact that nearly an entire pepper container ended up in our minestrone, she never knew the difference. GSL’s daughter later told us she had added more pepper to soup when no one was looking.

Yeah, one of the few moments we managed to get away with a dastardly deed was one of those times we should have been punished. What if she really had been allergic? Forget the fact that most of the soups we used had pepper in them, it was just two little girls being mean-spirited. And yet, nothing.

As I mentioned earlier, these types of friendships are generally stamped with an expiration date and ours lasted for about five years before we broke out of the BFF category. In 8th grade, we were assigned to a different school. While we both attended, our classes were different and we made new friends. There was a brief period when things got rather nasty — right about the time I lost weight and boys found me attractive. Somehow by the time 9th grade came around, we were back to being friends. Not best friends, but friends. Even still, time and life took us different directions.

Over the years, we’ve run into each other. Usually at reunions and such. We live within 10 minutes of one another but other than a few emails and a single pizza party after our last reunion, not a thing. Oh, wait…there was that time I saw her at the one middle school meeting (the school I didn’t want LD to attend), but I didn’t approach. With our big 25th reunion coming up, we’ll meet again, exchange pleasantries, and generally go about our lives. I’m okay with that. Our days of troublemaking and girlish fun are clearly meant to remain in the past. If, however, we do get the opportunity to spike someone’s soup, who knows? Maybe the girls we used to be will show up again somehow, somewhere.

And thus we conclude this week’s episode of why I should avoid Debbie’s PROMPTuesdays. I get lost in the mists of time and really, it’s just plain sad to make you sit through them, isn’t it?

I told the boys they could create some monsters as others had done.

Little did I know I was creating my own.

Honestly, I just can’t take them anywhere!

* You may want to hold your mouse over the images.

My little California ghost.

Although my ghost looks friendly enough, it appears someone is trying to take him out. Makes me sad. FREE THE GHOST! FREE THE GHOST!

(Say it with me!)

FREE THE GHOST! FREE THE GHOST!

(Gotta try louder than that, folks, otherwise he’ll end up unhappy and track you down. I have no idea what he’ll do if you don’t help free him and give him a happy afterlife.)

FREE THE GHOST! FREE THE GHOST!

(That’s better. Keep up the good work.)