a big ol' wtf?

I saw an ad in my National Geographic magazine for a fancy shoe.  It's supposed to be awesome and great and the best thing since the internet.
One thing:  there's a logo on the side that looks like a sperm.  No joke.

So, instead of remembering the name of the shoe to look it up for reviews, I go online and do a google search for "spring shoes".
Unfortunately, this doesn't result in the shoe I'm looking for.  But it does give me lots of dandy links for the spring shoe collections.
Lovely.

Next search--and this is no joke--I type in "sperm shoe".  Lo and behold!  The very first link is for the shoe I'm looking for.  I was sure the sperm logo was supposed to be something else, but nooooope.  They use the sperm on purpose because it is the "seed of life".

Ok.  Weird.
The only other time I've seen a sperm logo on anything was on a hat of a guy who, seriously, inseminates cows for ranches.
I don't think his logo was meant to be anything but what it represents.
When did I see this?  At the Mother's Day Brunch in my hometown this year.  It's a ranching community.
I was facing the guy and commented on his hat to my family.  Dad, of course, knows the guy and had to mention it to him.  Ugh.

Anyway, I guess sperm on my shoes is better than sperm on my hat/head.
Just sayin'

wants and nots

I want to be happy
I don't want my happiness to be the cause of unhappiness to those I love
I want to be inspired
I don't need to be inspirational to anyone but myself
I want serenity to be something I can find every day
I don't want it to be something I take for granted
I want to do something with my life that I find fulfilling
I don't want it to become "a job"
I want to feel passionate about my work
I don't want to fear the changes I might have to make for it to happen
I want to make at least 3 positive changes to my life before my next birthday
I don't want to lose sight of my goals in the every day humdrum

When life hands you a gallon of lemon juice....

Or just when you buy it.

Make a lemon meringue pie.  Or 6.

That's what I did.

Because I could.

An exercise in cussing. A lot.

I decided to upgrade my PC and Virtual Machine software on my Mac recently.  Windows XP was running very slowly and so was the VM software.

When I installed Windows on my Mac, I used Boot Camp.  This is something that's supposed to be "seamless" and "easy".  When I did it 4 years ago, it was anything but.  I ended up deleting all the data I'd downloaded to my Mac, including irreplaceable files, because my PC laptop was about to die.

This time around, I was sure the bugs had been all worked out and installation wouldn't be so hard because, c'mon, it's been 4 years and surely things had been made "seamless" and "easy" for real.

I received my installation discs today for Windows 7 Home and Parallels Desktop 6.  Since I already had XP installed, I needed to uninstall it.  THAT part was easy.  I just unpartitioned the drive back to Mac and, voila! done!

After this, I had to fix the newly re-connected drive.  Which entailed re-installing Mac OS X Snow Leopard.  That only took 2 hours.  But at least I got a nap....

Then I re-partitioned for the new Windows.  And, following the on screen instructions, inserted the new installation disc and my Mac restarted.  To a black screen.  With an error message to which I couldn't make a command.  So I restarted, 7 times, waiting for a different response because this was supposed to be EASY and SEAMLESS.

Finally, I got online and searched and found out that my version of Windows 7 (64-bit) is extremely hard to install on Boot Camp because of some this-doesn't-work-well-with-that-part deal.

So I managed, amazingly, to boot back into Mac and do a couple more things that I'd read might help.  Surprisingly, they didn't.  gasp!

After more reading, I determined that I don't need to install Windows 7 through Boot Camp, I can just install it through Parallels.  Much easier (supposedly) and straightforward.

I insert the disc to the drive.  And noises are made by my disc drive that NO disc drive should ever make.  Like the disc is crooked and it's spinning against something.  It can't be read, obviously, so no disc appears on the desktop, which means I can't eject it that way.
I try restarting, and get an error message about not having a bootable disc.  Ya think!?

Finally, after restarting another 3 times and trying various buttons to get the disc out/make the computer read from the Mac drive, the disc pops out.  Apparently it hadn't been in the whole way, because I heard it shift and then start quietly spinning again.  Ugh.

Next attempt:  downloading the Parallels software instead of trying to use the disc, which obviously doesn't want to work.  New issue:  I have Parallels 6.  The only available version to download is Parallels 7.  I'm going to doubt the activation key for 6 doesn't work on 7, but I'm hoping that some computer entity will take mercy on my frazzled nerves and let something work easily.

The Big 6

No idea why this popped into my head, but...

I'm so thankful for my hands.  I know there's people out there who have terrible arthritis or have lost a finger or, horribly, have lost an entire hand.  I can't imagine the horror and feeling of uselessness it would cause me if any of those happened.

I love my hands.  I love being able to type, fast.  I love being able to pet my dogs.  I love being able to hold the Mister's hand.  And all the other daily activities, from cooking to folding laundry to opening the mail.  Holding a book open is another big one.  And driving.  Oh boy, if I couldn't steer with my hands...put me out of my misery.
I love being able to feel the texture of blankets and walls and leather.  The sense of touch is an awesome thing.  It's good for kissing, too.  :o)

I'm also thankful for my ears.  Because I can listen to music and my mother's voice.  Music has always been, and always will be, incredibly important to me.  I love all kinds of music and usually make time pass more quickly by listening to it while I clean or cook or read.
My sense of sound, more than once, has allowed me to locate my mom in a store--by her sniff.  She has a very distinctive sniff.  It's not obnoxious, and probably nothing anyone else would notice, but it's helped me track her down when we've gotten separated.
I love the sound of rain and birds and listening to friends.

My eyes allow me to see the world.  I can see color and distance and my lovely Mister's face.  I can view the verdant green of spring grass and watch birds gliding through the air.  I can read and read and read until my eyes are as dry as sand, but at least I can get there by reading.
I can see people when they think I'm not looking.  I notice things when others don't.
Have I mentioned I can read a lot?

Smell is probably the one sense I'm usually not aware of using.  But it smacks me in the face every now and then--like when I go home.  It always smells like home.  Or when I get a whiff of the cologne the Mister was wearing the first time we met.  The smell of old books.  Or stargazer lilies.

I love taste.  I absolutely love trying a new food and having flavor take over my world for a bite.  Raspberries are tart and sweet and juicy awesomesauce.  Caramel rolls.  Soup from the co-op (best ever!).  Pasta in a cheese sauce.
Ok, I'm making myself hungry....

Tying all those things together is my most favorite thing--my brain.  I'm SO thankful for my brain, that my mind is capable (when I've had enough sleep) and continues to learn new things every day thanks to my five senses.  I love intelligent conversation and reading a new book, or an old one, remembering something because of something I saw or tasted or smelled.  I love that I can find my mom by her smell.  How many other people can say that?

Anyway, that's my grateful list for the day.

Bits & Pieces

I've been up for almost 9 hours.  That's right, I got up at 4 AM today, although I've been awake since a little after 3.  And I didn't get to sleep until almost 1.  Needless to say, I highly doubt my post will be coherent.

I know I mentioned once before that Smudge & Lily remind me of Garfield & Odie.
Yet more evidence that Smudge is like Garfield....

Smudge cuddling w/Pookie

Yes, I have a Pookie.  I went to Garfield Elementary School, and the cartoon cat was our "mascot".  I later discovered, much to my disappointment, that the school was named after a president, not a fat orange cat.
In any case, I loved Garfield growing up, and I still have a soft spot for him.  And so when I saw Pookie, I had to get it.  I'm happy now that Smudge has a cuddle buddy when she's not cuddling with me.

In other news....

I decided to paint a wall in the bedroom.  An accent wall, like the one in our kitchen, but more complicated.  First I considered just painting it purple, or blue, or a mix of the two.  Then I settled on something different....

Gradient painting is more time consuming, but the results don't suck.

Painting a textured wall, however, does suck.

Thoughts?  Comments?  You can pretend to be impressed.

This guy I know...

He's in pain a lot.  His back/leg/shoulder/stomach/head always hurts.
He eats Cocoa Puffs and Sour Patch Kids.  Drinks nothing but Coca-Cola.  Takes Advil like it's candy.
He stresses about work a lot.  Doesn't do anything relaxing.  On a day off, he likes to lay on the couch.
There's no exercise, no hobbies, no relaxing habits.
So...he stresses, eats junk food, and has a general malaise.
But he won't change his habits, because he doesn't think they affect him physically.
How the hell can I knock some sense into the Mister?  He's driving me crazy!

Why I love romance books.

I'm a romance reader.  I know we get mocked and poked fun at, but I also know I'm not in a minority.  There are millions of people who read romance books.  Even some men (and I know one of them!).
I started reading romance the summer I was in California.  Prior to it, I was something of a voracious reader.  I read spooky RL Stine books as an adolescent.  I always filled my Book-It card for free pizzas at Pizza Hut.  I never got into the girly-ish books like Sweet Valley High, I didn't read classics like Jane Eyre and I've never read any of the Harry Potter books.

I read romance.  I love to read romance.  I started with Elizabeth Lowell which was, as a teenager, an eye-opener since some of her books are pretty steamy.  I moved on to a Harlequin series--every month, I received 4 books.  I devoured them.  They definitely weren't long enough for me to really get caught up in a story.
Then I discovered Nora Roberts.  She's a master storyteller.  I've since collected almost every book she's ever written, including the never-to-be-republished Promise Me Tomorrow.
From Nora, my horizons continued to expand.  And I'm an addict.

Romance always ends with a Happily Ever After.  Before that happens, it's been known to cause a few tears, a few laughs, and lots of sighs.  There's almost no subject that's been untouched by romance.  In the course of all my reading, I've learned about archeology, the music business, art, restaurant management and a plethora of other subjects.  There's always something new to learn.
The genre is constantly being stereotyped:  women who read it have their heads in the clouds, they have unrealistic views of relationships and sex and they don't have enough intellect to read real writing.
I'm sure I could hunt down study after study that breaks all those stereotypes.  Readers of romance have happier marriages, better sex lives, understand the difference between fiction and real life, etc.
Personally, I know my vocabulary has been expanded by some of the terminology I picked up from reading books.  I know what to expect from my relationship with the Mister.  After being married for 10 years, and reading romance for 15, I think I can say that what happens in books isn't what I'd like from him.
And every single time I pick up a new book from a favorite author, I know at least one guarantee is bound to be met--a happy ending.
When life is shitty, when work has you so stressed out you're smoking 3 cigarettes at once, when family and drama is making you want to run far, far away, and the news station is reporting this that and the other depressing news, you know without a doubt you can pick up a romance, escape for a bit, and know things will end up ok.  The characters may not be real, but if the writer has done his or her job, you believe they are, and you believe the ending they're left with--and that's at least one thing you can always look forward to, and find a bit of satisfaction from.
Not a bad deal.

Big Baby

When I was a kid, I was a big baby.  As I was in actuality my Mom's baby, my tendency was to be spoiled and get my way.  This is something I freely admit.
I've somehow managed to survive to adulthood in spite of that fact.

As a big baby who got her way, when I was sick, I was especially spoiled.
And when my tonsils were swollen and my throat was sore and the evil doctor talked about having my tonsils out and I cried to Mom that I didn't wanna have surgery, she relented.  Mom wasn't a sucker, I promise.  She just hated it when I cried.

So it is now, at the age of 30, that I still have my tonsils.  And they're infected.  Not just swollen, but infected.  And I regret being a big baby.  I'm beginning to believe that my suspicion of living the way that was portrayed in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is the best way to do it.  Or something like that.

Now, some pics of the Big Baby (and various other people who put up with her):

I have dimples.  It's a curse.

This is my first attempt at being a femme fatale.  I think I pulled it off pretty well, considering I still have baby fat.

My cousins, K & J.  I think K was considering drowning me?  Or just washing my hair.
BTW, why do people insist on taking pics of kids in the bathtub?

Confused what to do with my left hand.  Guess I settled on scratching my butt.

Cousin K.  Wish I could hug her like this right now.

Cousin J.  His son looks almost identical to him, minus the glasses.

He still makes these faces.

Prancing Princess.

Christmas present.  Gummy smile.

Me & one of my favorite people of all time--my granddad.  Still miss him.

The three stooges.  I think we were told to look silly.  "Silly" for me meant unenthused, apparently.

Who needs kids?

In yet another example of my "who needs kids when you've got dogs (& cats)?" philosophy....

Yesterday morning I was really tired.  After replacing all the switches, I guess I needed some extra sleep.  Or something like that.
So I'm clinging to sleep.  I'm thoroughly enjoying my sleep.  I'm relishing the comatose state.  When I become aware of somebody pawing me.  Or kneading me, to be more exact.  No idea why, but Smudge was on the bed with me.  Usually she's happy just to get on the bed and curl up on the covers.  But yesterday morning, she decided to try to make a bed of me under the covers.  She's using her front paws on me like I'm a pillow she's going to knead into submission. She must've seen me sleeping and decided the only way she could enjoy her sleep as much as I was enjoying mine was to make her bed on me.
This, of course, bothers Lily.  She still likes to chew on Smudge.  In fact now that I think about it, it's probably her fault Smudge was on the bed with me--she likely chased the cat there.  Since the bed is one place Lily is not allowed to be on, the wily cat took refuge there.
As I'm becoming aware of the cat pushing on me with her little, pinpoint paws, I'm also lucky enough to hear Lily woofing at the cat.  And putting her front paws up on the bed, then bouncing back off.  Then back up, woof, down.  She was basically bouncing off the side of the bed every few seconds, woofing intermittently, pacing from one side of the bed to the other, while the cat gleefully "neener neener'd" her from atop me.
How much I love my sleep can only be obvious from this example.  While all this is going on, I'm drowsing lightly enough to emphatically tell Lily to go away.  I don't bother bugging the cat because I know if I knock her off me, she'll get cranky and jump off the bed and then her and Lily will begin the chase again.
Somehow, Lily manages to calm herself enough or I'm simply tired enough that I manage to slide back into sleep.  At some point later when I wake up, the cat is sleeping on the dresser and Lily's sleeping on her bed.

A recap:  in the past week I've cleaned up poo, puke, and furry messes.  I've been jerked from sleep by a sick dog in the middle of the night.  I've had to stop one dog from picking on the other.  I've dispensed medicine and been pestered while sleeping in, as well as making chicken & rice for the sensitive baby.
They may not be bipedal, but they're kids nonetheless.