02.26.09
white out
Winter in my little corner of Canada is not like winter in other places. Our first snow usually falls in October and it continues to descend on us like flying monkeys in heat, humping the shit out of us until March, we get a few flakes in April and occasionally a freak snowfall in May. One year when we lived in Cowtown it snowed every month except August. Now that is not to say that it bombards us endlessly over that period but we do get a lot of it. Most places get a dump of the white crap and then it warms up enough to melt it and then it snows some more and melts again and so on but here it stays cold enough through the whole season that we don’t get any real melting until spring which means what is left on the ground sometimes hangs around until well into May. Some years we suffocate under the big white blanket for up to eight months depending on the year and it’s been up to seven feet deep on our roof.
As if the snow and cold were not bad enough (and trust me they are) the long winters are usually cloudy and gloomy in this area because we are between mountain ranges and thanks to what they call an “inversion” the clouds settle in the valley and block out the sun. I can deal with cold weather but benny needs some sunshine once in a while lest she become a stark raving looney. Let’s just say it’s a good thing I don’t own a gun… or a flamethrower… or magic mushrooms.
Many people love the winters here for the extended ski, snowboard and sledding season. Tourists and adventurers come from all over the world to frolic in our winter wonderland but for those of us who are not outdoorsy winter-folk it gets pretty fucking depressing. The only thing I am grateful for about living in this area in the winter is that at least we don’t get wind. I’m a summer girl, I love to be outside (without eighteen layers of clothing on, thank you very much) gardening and camping and I can’t do either in the winter… though I just bought some dirt so I can at least start some seedlings indoors hoping to spring into spring with a few early starters. It’s called denial, or Cabin Fever.
So I am left plowing (literally) through the long cold months, counting down the days from Thanksgiving to May long weekend until I can be doing the things that make me happy rather than just getting through the days. February tends to be the longest of those waiting months for me, there are two main reasons for this; first of all it is the darkest month since typically this is when the inversion is at its worst. We literally do not see the sun for weeks at a time and the endless cloudy days make me feel trapped and claustrophobic under the depressing looming gloom. The second reason February sucks sweaty wrestler anus is because we’ve already had plenty of winter already and the warmer temps of spring are just over the horizon and the anticipation of March only serves to drag the days out. I desperately yearn to see the thermometer rise above zero hoping that the worst is over but inevitably when it does so in February it is always followed by a big drop back into the negatives and yes, more fucking snow.
This February has been a welcome anomaly. We’ve had blue skies and sunshine for the better part of the month and we’ve even had a little tease of above zero days. It’s made all the difference for me… that and the vitamin D I take daily to ward off the winter psycho within. Usually by this time of year I’m thinking about going postal atop a tower with something that shoots far and fast. I find myself in a constant state of angst and losing the will to hold on. It’s like I’m on the edge of a meltdown precipice with one foot hanging off the ledge and the other on a cat shit covered linoleum floor.
It had been almost a month since the last snowfall. The sun shone almost every day, the roads were bare enough for me to take long walks plugged into mipod and my mood was as clear and bright as the big blue sky. We even took a drive out to the lake last weekend. We weren’t sure if we’d be able to make it the mile across the dyke without snowshoes but someone had ridden a snow machine across so the road was pretty compact. Once we got to the island we had to slog through close to 4 feet of deep powder to get up the driveway and to the deck of the cabin. It was a bit of an effort but well worth the energy spent. Even in winter my home away from home feels like home. If there is any way we can get it finished this year I fully intend to do some winter camping next year. I’ll freeze my ass off I know it but it’ll be worth it… at least I hope it will. Maybe winter camping would suck and I am just in denial because I miss summer and the lake so much.
Yesterday I looked around my yard and marveled that soon the sun would pack enough heat to melt the white shit and it wouldn’t be long before I could at least see my gardens. This morning I woke to eight inches of new snow and it feels like we’re starting all over in January again. We’re supposed to get up to another 18 inches in the next two days. I’m done, over it, I’ve had enough! Jack Frost you can go snowblow and then snowball Old Man Winter and I hope you both choke on it!
Well, that hardly made me feel better at all. Maybe a glass (or six) of wine would help.
Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go shovel the fucking driveway… again.
02.20.09
fur better or fur worse
People always ask me if it skeeves me out a bit to spend so much time in other women’s private places. I always reply with a sincere “Not at all.” For the record there is a fine line with my inflection there, if I am too exuberant it will appear that I actually enjoy it but if I hesitate or don’t sound genuine enough then I’m afraid people will think I’m lying. Now let me be clear about something before I continue, I am not a lesbian despite the fact that I have had curiosities in that area. This is not to say that all women make me all “sex nuts and retard strong” (I watched Clerks 2 for the bazillionth time the other day), it is just to say that I have met a woman or two with whom I could possibly have pursued a little experimentation.
I remove public hairs for several bikini and brazilian clients each week. For anyone who is unclear about the difference between “bikini” and “brazilian” let me explain. A bikini sugaring (wax-ish hair removal) means that I rip out the hair from around the outside of the panty line. This includes the insides of the thighs and the “treasure trail” or tummy area. A brazilian on the other hand is the extraction of hair from belly button all the way down and around to the backbone. It’s like a closing out sale, everything must go!
Those who dare to go bare love it. I personally (file this under TMI) can’t imagine having hair there anymore, it’s so smooth, clean and stubble and razor rash free. I have heard the “I don’t want to look like a ten year old.” argument against brazilians but nobody is going to mistake me for a pre-teen with or without a shrubbery between my legs. Many woman get the full monty because their men prefer them hairless but it is surprising how many single women get it done just because they prefer it. I even have one client whose husband would rather she had the bushy seventies muff but she gets it all removed because bald is better for HER.
These are some tails from the dark side.
I get a lot of offers from men who’d like to be my assistant but I think this might be a case of the idea of something being better than the reality. My cousin Jess asked if he could come in and watch while I did his wife’s brazilian and I told him that was entirely up to her. She had no problem with it so he sat at the end of the bed and perused my work.
“This is not the turn-on I thought it’d be.” he remarked sounding a little disappointed.
“I’m pretty relieved by that.” I told him.
“Yeah me too.” his wife added.
“I guess I figured it’d be hot to see another chick touching my wife there but she’s not really enjoying it and you are my cousin so that kind of ruins the whole thing.”
“You are one twisted sonofabitch you know that right?!” I laughed.
“You know it sister, and you missed a patch right there.”
I find it always helps to have a sense of humour in my business. It can be awkward for women and if I can make them laugh I find they are more comfortable it lessens the pain and embarrassment… usually
Wacky Jackie lives just own the street in the place we refer to as “The Hippy House.” Jackie holds the lease but she has a steady stream of seasonal workers who rent rooms from her. These people are too young to be real hippies but they are all hippy-ish from their unkept hair to their vegetable oil powered cars to walking their dogs on rope to wearing a toque year-round. This bunch also only works in the summer so they can collect unemployment insurance while they ski and smoke the devil weed in the winter. This is not to say they don’t enjoy the herb in the summer because they do… not that there’s anything wrong with that… unless you’re Michael Phelps apparently. But I digress.
Wack tabacky Jackie is hippy-ish in all ways except one, she prefers to have hairless pits and hoo hoo. I was going to say she likes to have them clean but the first time she came to see me her BO was so bad it made my eyes water and no amount of Fabreeze or air freshener would take the stench out of the salon. I had to gently ask her to please shower before coming in to see me after that. We were kind of surprised that she wasn’t offended.
WTJ (wack tabacky Jackie) is one of the few clients with whom I have some trouble making conversation. Most folks are easy small-talkers but she’s a one word, monosyllabic kinda girl so I try to keep the chatter light and get her out as quickly as possible… not that I linger in anyone else’s bits. One day while I was de-furring her box I pulled a strip of hair from a more sensitive area and winced in sympathy for her.
“Ouch,” I empathized “You felt that one.”
“I don’t mind pain.” she replied unflinching.
“Well If you like it I’ll have to charge you extra.” I joked and waited for a laugh.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Uncomfortable silence.
Fuck.
Weird hippy pot smoking chick is into pain and I am delivering. Gross.
WTF is that?
When I do a face or bikini treatment I always follow it with a Hungarian wellness mud treatment. It soothes the skin and helps prevent ingrowns. I apply the mud to the area and let it sit a few minutes before wiping it off with a warm, damp cloth. Since it’s kind of chilly in my little <strike>torture</strike> treatment room I try to give my clients a little added comfort by putting a blanket down on the table so the cold vinyl against their skin doesn’t compound their discomfort. The other day after my client’s treatment she got off the table and began to put her panties and pants on when she noticed a dark colored smear on the blanket.
“Oh my god!” she freaked. “I showered before I came here, I thought I was clean!!”
I laughed and assured her that I always wash the linens after each use and that the streak on the blanket was from the mud not her ass.
Pullouts
My favorite brazilian story is one that I often share with clients because it always makes them laugh and thusly more relaxed. This may be another file for the TMI folder but I am surprised at how many women come in for the whole shebang when they have their periods. First of all the body in general is more sensitive when in menstruation mode but secondly it’s not really the time of the month when you want anyone else in your junk. Still, many girls have called me up before their appointments to ask me if I minded ripping out their hair while they were passing their eggs. The whole idea doesn’t exactly appeal to me but I like to think I am a professional and nothing should bother me. I do after all sugar the place where I entered the world via my mother so I figure if I can deal with that I can handle anything.
The first girl who showed up with a tampon was the first one to get the warning.
“I have no problem doing this while you have your period, but if I accidentally catch that string and fling it across the room, I don’t know who’ll be more mortified, you or me.”
Why do I do it? You might ask.
I do it because I make 60$ in about half an hour and that is worth a little mud, sweat and tears… on my part and theirs.
02.14.09
it’s VD, get a heart on
I call it VD because technically it is a social disease. I have a theory that VD was invented by men who were tired of hearing their wives bitch about how they‘d lost that lovin’ feelin’… or at least stopped expressing it in a romantical manner. I figure that these sly fellows decided that if they could condense all of that heartsy flowery crap into one day it would take some of the pressure off of them for the other 364 days a year. Then, I figure, Hallmark, Purdy’s and Teleflora hopped on the bandwagon (since they are probably owned by men as well and there’s no business like shamed neglectful husband business) and VD bloomed into the consumer brouhaha (I’ve waited forever to use “brouhaha” in a blog post!) that it is today.
I’m not the kind of girl who gets all caught up in VD, I think it’s pure silliness. It’s not the thought that counts with VD, there is no thought to it. Retailers have taken all of the romance and thought out of the ‘holiday’ by adorning the packaging with pretty pink hearts and bright red ribbon to dummy-proof the whole process. Even the cards that kids give each other already have “To” and “From” on them so anyone who can scrawl an “X” can send a VD card. Stores are laden with grand bunches of flowers (that they mark up to triple the price for the occasion of course) and aisles are littered with reminders to buy something for your special someone. Buy! Buy! Buy! Or she won’t know you love her!
I think VD should be about single people hooking up with random strangers for a night of fun and frolic. I can even see the commercialism in it… little heart-shaped condoms (for those hard-to-fit heart-shaped penises…peni?) and maybe strawberry lube and chocolate flavored anal beads. On second thought, nothing that is edible and looks like chocolate should be in that area. My point (if I really have one) is that the whole jour de l’amour (day of love) should be for those who need it most.
Now I’m not saying that people who are committed (and maybe we should be committed) don’t need romance, in fact we might need it more, but it’s different for us. After twenty years with the same man it takes more than a bouquet of flowers to light my fire. I love flowers (gerbera daisies in particular) but they are a copout for VD. If he bought me flowers on any other (non celebratory) day of the year he’d earn himself huge brownie points but a plant would earn him more and a load of manure for my garden would probably get him laid. Now I’m not saying I am high maintenance (though apparently it has been uttered, quietly) but when a couple has been together as long as we have they should know each other and celebrating the love should be personal. The cutesy teddy bears and jewelry are pretty generic as far as VD gifts are concerned and surely they serve their purpose in some circumstances but how many stuffed animals does one woman need (he’s bought me a bunny every year for Easter… I have 21 stuffed rabbits… that’s enough already!) and he knows better than to buy me jewelry. He bought me an expensive pair of earrings a few years ago (that at this point are worth more than his car) and I’ve worn them once. I like my cheap hoops from Wal-Mart (if I lose or break them I won’t feel bad or be out more than about ten bucks… which technically is probably more than his car is worth too at this point) and when I dress up I’ll put on my wedding ring and occasionally a necklace. See, I am totally low maintenance!
Love is not about one day a year and it’s not about spending a bunch of money on the heartsy fartsy things. Love is about not being too mad when you find his toenail clippings in the bed. Love is him not mentioning when you haven’t shaved your pits in a month (or two). Love is being able to not only leave the bathroom door open while you do your business but also having your partner come in and visit while you do. Love is pretending not to notice the skids in his underwear while he pretends not to notice you’ve put on a few pounds. Love is not just accepting but appreciating imperfections. Love is not sweating the petty stuff while you’re petting the sweaty stuff. Love is always having someone else to blame for the empty toilet paper roll. Love means never having to wonder if you’ll get a kiss goodnight. Love is not needing to be told when to sport a heart on because it’s always there.
All of that aside, VD is a good day to spend with people you care about. Trixie and Harry and the kids are coming out for cards, drinks and dinner (I’m making chicken neptune, roasted vegetables, bruschetta, salad and heart-shaped cupcakes filled with vanilla cream and topped with fudge icing) and while it might not be terribly romantic it makes me happy to feed people (and drink wine) and it’s a lot more fun than roses. So happy VD my friends and I hope you celebrate by spreading your legs love around in whatever way that makes you happy.
02.13.09
opiate
RULES:
1. Put your iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the “next” button to get your answer.
3. WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.
4. Do or do not. No tag, no pressure.
IF SOMEONE SAYS “ARE YOU OKAY?” YOU SAY?
“Rise Above This” (Seether)
Some days I rise above and some days I seethe.
HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
“Skin” (Collective Soul)
Scrabble loving skin to be accurate.
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Truth is a Whisper (Goo Goo Dolls)
It’s a good place to start, the truth, whispering and Johnny Rzeznik.
HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
“No Jesus Christ” (Seether)
I never really feel like Jesus unless I’m nailed to a cross with thorns on my head. I do have days when I feel a little Buddah-ish though.
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
I shit you not!
“Pour Some Sugar on Me” (Def Leppard)
WHAT’S YOUR MOTTO?
“Ain’t no Sunshine” (Lighthouse Family)
There certainly ‘ain’t’ enough but I wouldn’t call it a motto, it’s more of a mantra.
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
“Do You Remember” (Jack Johnson)
There are plenty of things about me that my friends are better off forgetting.
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
“I Stay Away” (Alice in Chains)
Nice one, how apropos.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
“Money Honey” (State of Shock)
We do think about money and we are in a state of shock at how shitty the situation is.
WHAT IS 2 + 2?
I Wanna be Sedated (Ramones)
It’s true, math makes me want to take drugs.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
“Damn Regret” (Red Jumpsuit Apparatus)
Hmm, I am certain we’d both regret wearing red jumpsuits.
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
“So Happy” (Theory of a Deadman)
Mostly happy anyway.
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
“Rehab” (Amy Winehouse)
I sure as hell hope not!
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
“Vasoline” (Stone Temple Pilots)
I don’t really, but that is frickin’ hilarious.
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
“Flagpole Sitta” (Harvey Danger)
“I’m not sick, but I’m not well, life is hard, I’m in hell.”
Aww how sweet, another sappy love song.
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Again, I shit you not
“Cumbersome” (Seven Mary Three)
That’s just cruel.
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
“I’ll Keep Your Memory Vague” (Finger Eleven)
It’s true, I hate scrapbooking.
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
“I Don’t Care” (Fall Out Boy)
At the moment I don’t care because there aren’t any of those things that scare me around at this time of year.
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
“Kiss You Off” (Scissor Sisters)
It’s such a big secret that even I don’t know what it is.
WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW?
“Can’t Stop Laughing” (The Trews)
I’d pee my pants for sure.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
“Wanted” (The Refreshments)
They certainly are wanted and some are quite refreshing.
WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
“Opiate” (Tool)
“Deaf and blind and dumb and born to follow, what you need is someone strong to guide you. Like me.”
Excellent meme theme song until the “we both want to rape you” part.
02.09.09
scandal eyes
Oh how we love to watch the mighty fall. What does it say about a society that builds people up to god-like status only to find great glee in seeing them crash and burn. We’re like hillbilly race car fans who fly to their feet as the top seated driver loses control of his car and smashes into the wall and bursts into flame. We love that shit. Why? I’ll tell you why, because we’re assholes that’s why. We don’t hit the track for the exhilaration of the speed, or the simple enjoyment of the race itself, we want wreckage, we want to smell the sizzling flesh. Humans are the other other white meat. We love carnage when it’s at someone else’s expense and it makes a wicked anecdote to say you were there and saw it first hand.
We are a world of fickle bitches, we vote our politicians into office and then spend the next four years looking for dirt on them and shredding their character secretly hoping they’ll do something impeachworthy. It sells news and makes for topical SNL skits. Why? Because we want to bring them down to our level, the level of the unwashed masses, we eat that dirt up and beg for more.
I have no interest in fame, if the price is the invasion and submission of all things personal and private that is already more than I’m willing to pay. I would never survive the media fishbowl without going postal either. Someone (it might have been on Oprah) recently asked Brad Pitt what he would do if he could spend a day in anonymity (ie. Without the steady strobe of flashbulbs and the incessant whir of helicopters that constantly accost him and his brood) and I was surprised and more than a little saddened for him and his family when he said he would take down his fences, let the kids play outside and have a barbeque with his neighbors. The shit we take for granted. Imagine that life for a second. Not being able to go to the grocery store (although I admit I’d like that part) or take your kids to the park or just go for a friggin’ walk without looking picture perfect, clad in high fashion, form, hair and makeup lest you end up on the cover of some magazine looking like a shlub while they accuse you of having put on a few pounds or that you’ve let yourself go because your marriage is falling apart. We perpetuate all of that invasion every time we read a gossip magazine or watch the likes of TMZ. The trash makes money, the stars get publicity (good or bad) and we get titillated and an opportunity to gloat that famous people are flawed just like we are.
When I gain a few pounds there are no paparazzi waiting to get a shot of my spare tire (fortu-fucking-nately for the sonofabitch whose camera would be wedged in his rectum) and that in itself is reason enough for me to avoid the limelight. I am not a fan of Jessica Simpson but the girl is far from fat and what’s it to anyone else if she is?! Hell we don’t even know if the pic was doctored or if it was just a bad angle or a bloat day for fuck sakes. What difference does it make? Jess is still a ding dong and her wailing still does nothing for me whether she weighs 90 lbs or 900. I don’t give a shit, it doesn’t change anything except her clothing size. So why is it so newsworthy? It’s not, but we like it when skinny chicks get fat, it boosts our own esteem to see someone else (especially when that someone appears to have it all) pork out.
I can’t imagine living my life on camera. I admit that on occasion I lose control of my emotions and spazz out and I am grateful as hell that nobody You-Tubes those moments when I am crying hysterically over something silly or yelling at my husband in a fit of premenstrual (or some inexplicable moment of) rage. I have said and done things in the irrational heat of the moment that I have regretted and apologized profusely and begged forgiveness for once my sanity returned. I think we all have those moments, where our words or actions fall out of character and we snap and lose control of our tongues. Shit happens. My mother used to say things to me that would make Alec Baldwin and Christian Bale cringe and I’ve seen my share of drunks crawling on the kitchen floor… with and without a burger. The difference is nobody ever recorded what my mom said to me and in most circles alcoholism is not funny. Yet we laugh at The Hoff and we vilify Baldwin and Bale. We tell them it is not OK for them to be human, they are not allowed to fuck up, we’re watching, we’re ever vigil and we’re unforgiving pricks.
We put our heroes up on pedestals and we tell them we’re holding them to a higher standard but we secretly hope they’ll topple. How dare they be so good at what they do, how dare they make us normal folk seem… normal. How dare they live in nicer houses and have more money than we do?! How dare they get laid more and drive fancy cars?! Who do these privileged fuckers think they are being all rich and living the life of the fabulous while I’m busting my ass in a dead end nine to fiver. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on! We are naught if not bitter.
The latest in this invasive and ridiculous assault on fame and the original reason for this post is Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps being caught on film smoking a bowl. This man (who is all of 23 years old by the way) was elevated to aqua-god status at last summer’s Olympics where he annihilated his competition leading to eight gold medals. Phelps has since apologized for his ‘inappropriate’ behavior. Michael doesn’t owe anyone an apology, nor was his behavior inappropriate, he’s just a 23 year old kid doing what 23 year olds do. He was having some fun, blowing off a little steam (and some smoke) and enjoying himself. He wasn’t shooting heroine, he wasn’t raping children, yet suddenly he must kiss eight kinds of ass, beg to keep his place on the US team and promise never to do it again. All Olympic athletes are drug tested before the games, he was obviously not high when he competed so why is it anyone’s business what he does when he’s not in the pool? Phelps has already proven himself, he is a damn fish, a gold medal wearing dolphin, and he brought great pride to the US yet how quickly you (they? we?) judge him and turn a cold shoulder. The poor kid has been suspended from competitive swimming and dropped by a sponsor but I am willing to bet that by the next Olympics they’ll have their star medal horse back in the water. Newsflash people, you don’t own him and he certainly doesn’t owe you accountability for every moment of his every day
Personally I don’t think it was his fault anyway, I think the Germans or the Koreans had something to do with it. I figure they supplied Phelps with the weed in hopes that Mary Jane would slow him down a bit. Dudes who are baked swim like they have sex, slow and sloppy. Plus with pot there is an added bonus of the munchies which could add up to some serious drag on Michael’s ass. There is also a possibility that Jessica hooked Phelps up with the bong to take some of the pressure off of her ass.
I won’t watch those dirt dishing TV shows anymore and I don’t buy the trash magazines. I know there will always be a market for them and I know that people will always want to see the stars fall… like fucking meteor showers. I however refuse to be a part of it. For me this shit is not relevant not entertainment, not newsworthy and certainly not necessary and it’s none of my business so I won’t be perpetuating it. I don’t need to see the carnage. I loved Bill Clinton and I don’t care who he slept with, I don’t care who blows Hugh Grant I like his movies anyway, Phelps is an incredible athlete on or off the pipe and I will always think that Bale made a great American Psycho but a terrible Batman whether he yells at people or not.
02.08.09
sunday randomness in lieu of a real post
Twenty-five random things about me, this was a meme but I’m not tagging anyone. Do or do not, no pressure.
1. I am a Mac and a PC and they are both on my desk. I prefer the Mac but I don’t have the motivation (rather I am too lazy) to move my files over.
2. Earrings (usually hoops) are the only jewelry I wear. I’m as low maintenance as a girl can be in that department.
3. I am most productive when the power is off.
4. I hate Brussels sprouts but I grow them because they look cool in my garden.
5. Gardening is cathartic for me and it makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something.
6. I could not be more proud of the man my son has become. I don’t care if he ends up being a brilliant scientist, a sandwich artist or a ditch digger, he has a beautiful, gentle spirit and a kind, generous demeanor and that means more to me than all of the financial success in the world.
7. I count the days until we can be back at the lake. 100 more to go!
8. I enjoy my work and it truly makes me happy when my clients are pleased with their service.
9. I have a huge crush on Sara Ramirez (Callie from Grey’s Anatomy).
10. I wish I had the discipline (and the attention span) to write. Maybe Ritalin would help.
11. I have one phobia and I won’t say what it is because it’s even scarier when people know because it could be used against me… ok, that’s two phobias.
12. My husband is entertaining and uncensored and nobody makes me laugh like he does. I think he should have his own (sur)reality show.
13. We’ll celebrate our 21st anniversary in July and I want a big party for our 25th… I deserve it after being with him so long.
14. I am a word freak. I can’t get enough of Scrabble (and every other word game) and I even bought a Wii game that builds vocabulary.
15. My Wii Fit age is between 24 and 28 and my husband’s is 48ish so I tell him he is way too old for a young chick like me.
16. I love to sing (and sound best in the car alone when nobody else can hear me), music feeds my soul and I listen to almost anything. Working at a music store for seven years made me a music geek. You can take the girl out of the music store but you can’t take the music store out of the girl.
17I am a great cook but my domesticity ends there. His Highness is the better housekeeper and laundry doer so I LET him do those things.
18. My brain is full of useless information so there is no room for anything important in there.
19. I watch way too much TV (I even watch all of the reality shows from Survivor to Top Chef) but if I had to give it all up for one program I’d watch LOST.
20. If I could afford to I would be a perpetual student and take random courses just to learn things and not necessarily to BE something. I’d love to take classes in psychology, medicine, cooking, theology, woodworking and political science. I would however want to avoid anything math and physics related.
21. I swear a lot. This is not news to most people.
22. Popcorn (with butter of course) is my weakness.
23. I have great ideas and lofty goals but no follow-through, proof of this is the seven unfinished afghans in my basement.
24. I’m on dial-up. No choice out here in the boonies. It keeps me away from internet porn though since I am too impatient to wait for it to load.
25. I never eat off a plate when I am at home. Most things I eat from a bowl except things that are usually eaten from bowls (soup, cereal, ice cream etc.) I eat from a cup. I am such a rebel.
