My Favorite Things
Every year, Oprah does a show of her favorite things. It's such a popular show because everything that she picks is also given to each audience member. There is a local contest going on right now for tickets to the show and I'm working my butt off trying to get tickets because I know it will make my mom's life if she got to go.
Anyhoo...I was thinking of MY favorite things and I know you all care so here it goes. Just a few things...
See, unlike Oprah's Favorite Things, my things are affordable.
"My dear diary, it is Anais who is speaking to you, and not somebody who thinks as everybody should think. Dear diary, pity me, but listen to me." -- from the diaries of Anais Nin
My first memory of journaling started with a white, shiny vinyl book with a red rose next to the words "My Diary" on the cover.
I think my sister gave it to me; I was only about 6 or 7. I have no clue what I wrote in that diary or even where it is today, but that started me on the road to journaling.
That road, however, has been a little bumpy and sometimes forgotten over the years.
Within the last five years, I've begun to take my journaling seriously.
It never occurred to me that by writing down my feelings, experiences and ideas, I would get to know myself a little better.
Journaling has enabled me to see patterns of my behavior, watch how my feelings toward certain people have begun, changed and ended.
It also makes me see the world differently. When the weather is particularly nice, I often imagine how I would describe this day in my journal.
Anais Nin wrote that her diary was "the only steadfast friend I have, the only one which makes my life bearable, because my happiness with human beings is so precarious, my confiding moods, rare, and the least sign of non-interest is enough to silence me. In the journal, I am at ease."
That quote describes my feelings exactly.
It's not important to write in your journal everyday. I will go a week of writing everyday, and then miss a few days or even a few weeks.
There is no right or wrong way to journal.
Just start writing, even if it's about the weather or whom you talked to that day.
When Nin died, she had written 150 volumes of journals. That is a lot to aspire to but don’t let that deter you. She lived in a much less hectic day.
Sitting down with your journal once a day seems like a huge undertaking.
I journal only when it's comfortable for me. I don't want this to become a chore.
As juicy and as literally brilliant as I would want my journal to be, I am no Nin or Virginia Woolf.
One important step to getting started is finding the right tools.
You don't have to go out and buy a $70 leather black book. You can purchase a plain spiral notebook or a nice bound book at a bookstore.
Make it something personal, something you look forward to seeing when you're ready to write. Some people even make their own books, using blank covers, decorating them with pictures or artwork and inserting natural or antique-looking papers.
I love blank books and I have an abundance of them. There is something alluring about the potential of creativity in the blank pages all bound together.
I had my eye on a particularly beautiful leather journal for about a year. I continued to write in my old book, but I would sneak a peek at my dream journal in the bookstore and convince myself that I can write the same thoughts in my $10 book as I could in this $50 book.
It took me about a year to realize how much journaling had helped me, emotionally, and I DID deserve to splurge.
I also use an array of colored pens; a different color for my different moods.
Everyone, I think, would benefit from taking the time to record that running dialogue and commentary that we constantly have going in our minds.
Now, we have this newish media called blogs, online journaling or online diaries where we can record it all.
Although, I enjoy blogging, I tend to not get personal because well...I don't want the entire world knowing how completely screwed up I really am. Also, there is something about putting pen to paper that is so much more cathartic for me.
Besides, if I journaled online, how could I explain my addiction to blank books and pens?
Celebrities R Smrt
Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt have joined some other celebrities including Danny Devito and Jason Alexander in lending their support in a plan to make peace in the middle east.
Are these people kidding me? Frankly, I'm embarrassed for them.
These celebrities are so self involved that they think after everything EVERYONE has done to try to gain peace they can just come in with their capped-toothed, million-watt smiles and solve all the problems in the middle east.
I guarantee the majority of people in these countries have NO clue who Jennifer Aniston is. I bet they've never watched one episode of Friends if they even have a television.
This is just giving them another example of how some Americans are so self-important.
Links Links Bo Binks Banana Fana Fo Finks
Here is the mother of all links: Kelley's cul de sac!
Don Watkins killed a muppet! You bastard!
Venomous Kate has been hunting for the Snark.
Frank J has posted the first four chapters of his new novel for your perusal.
Dammit. When Sheila describes a book, it makes me want to run right out and buy it!
Here's a new find. This guy Chuck has an...uhh....interesting life.
Disco Inferno
The blaze, which has charred about 12,600 acres since starting Tuesday, forced thousands of people to leave their homes in the hilly residential area near the San Bernardino National Forest
I was watching footage of this story on tv. People were rushing around filling their cars with belongings, loading pets into the back, basically looking panicked knowing their house is about to be engulfed in flames.
I couldn't imagine their terror. It got me thinking...(dangerous, yes I know)...
If I had only minutes to grab as many things as possible to save from destruction, what would I save?
Well, besides the dogs and cat and a few of their toys, I'd definitely grab my finished journals and the blank ones because most of them are special. I'd take my favorite books (all of my books), pictures of my family, my grandmother's antiques, the original William Slaughter painting that was my inheritance from her, my laptop, the box where I keep all the cards, notes, ticket stubs, wine corks and other memorabilia from my relationship with Lovely Boyfriend, as many CDs as I can grab and my most expensive purses. Oh and probably a few clothes and toiletries if I had time.
So many things I own are special to me in one way or another. I can't imagine what it's like to lose everything. I don't want to EVER find out.
So, what would YOU take with you to safety if you only had a few minutes to evacuate?
Rub a dub dub
I admit it...I missed All My Children because the plumbers were here to install a new bathtub.
Modern day plumbers are sure different from the overweight dudes with severe buttcrack issues. Both of these guys were pretty young and one of them belonged on a poster in some preteen's bedroom.
He was soooooo pretty.
Ok, back to AMC...
This new girl, Babe...what the hell is up with her name? What were the writer's thinking? Have they run out of character names? She was asked by another character if she was named after the baseball player or the candy bar. I wanted to ask if she was named after the ox or the pig.
You KNOW soap relationships get confusing when the characters can't keep up with them. JR introduced Colby to Babe as his stepsister. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Colby his half-sister? They have the same father (Adam) but different mothers, right?
I can't stand to look at Kendall. It's not the character but the actress. I'm waiting for her to fall over or snap in half. Her head is HUGE compared to her teeny tiny waist. She and sex on a stick Aiden are boring me.
Oh, and I don't give a shit who killed Michael Cambias but I wish Bianca and Maggie would just finally get it on. Yeah, I know, Maggie's straight. SUUUURE.
Ok Angela...there's your AMC blog entry.
I would blog about OLTL and GH but I don't know if anyone keeps up with those as well.
I know you're soooo disappointed...
I was going to blog about All My Children and some other equally important things but I've decided to just sink into bed with my Flannery O'Connor book and read until I can't keep my eyes open.
I was one sick puppy last night and this morning so I have some sleep to make up for.
More on Greenlee and Juan "Sexyman" Pablo later...
No One Here But Us Chickens
Acidman's story about his chickens reminded me of my own chicken story.
When I was a little girl, for some ungodly reason, my parents decided to move to the middle of nowhere, aka: Mississippi.
We lived in a house that was at the end of a short dirt road. We were surrounded by lush green fields with big fat cows dotting the horizon. There was a small fishing pond under large oak trees to one side that I loved to fish from.
On that short dirt road that led to our small house, there were three large chicken houses.
They were long buildings, built like horse stables. You could go through the front doors and it was a straight shot all the way to the back doors. The chickens were in stalls along the walls.
I'm not sure how often this would occur but during the night, trucks would pull up to the chicken houses and load all the chickens up to be taken to "chicken heaven".
They would leave the doors open (to air out, I suppose) until they filled the houses up again with more chickens. On those mornings, I would ride my bike through the houses, in and out, zig-zagging through all three. One day, after my chicken house ride, I was on my way back up the dirt road headed home when I saw something moving in a bush. I rode closer to inspect and caught a glimpse of something white. What could it be? Now, most intelligent people would automatically assume that the white thing in the bush outside of a newly emptied chicken house was, in fact, a chicken. However, I apparently was not that intelligent and only 5 or 6 years old because I just KNEW it was a fluffy white BUNNY.
I sped up to the house, laid my bike down without even bothering with the kickstand and ran inside to get my dad.
"There's a bunny in the bushes, Dad!" I screamed breathlessly. "Please catch him for me! I want him!"
Surprisingly enough, he got up and went outside with me. I say surprisingly because I remember my dad being pretty damn lazy and always made my mother do everything for him. My mother probably wasn't home at the time. Actually, that explains a lot.
He walked down the road with me and bravely put his hand in the bush to retrieve the white creature. I was so excited, picturing coming home from school everyday to feed and play with my cute little white bunny rabbit.
Instead of pulling out a rabbit from the bush like an outdoor magician, he pulled out a.....say it with me folks....a chicken.
Strangely, I wasn't that disappointed. I had worked myself into such a frenzy of excitement, I probably would have been overjoyed if he pulled out a white sock.
My dad was holding this renegade chicken. This brave fowl who broke free from it's captors and hid in the bushes was going to be mine! All mine!
Dad built a small area in the backyard to house my new pet. I named him Lincoln, God only knows why. I had a habit of giving strange names to pets. I particularly remember a puppy I wanted to name Suitcase. A family friend suggested Satchel. I agreed.
Anyway, my childhood memory is hazy and what seemed like a year could have been a month or vice versa but I know that I did have Lincoln for a while and I hope that I made a good life for him since he narrowly missed "chicken heaven". A chicken that wants to live that bad deserves a good life.
His good life didn't last. However hazy my childhood memories may be, I do remember this day in amazing detail.
I had just gotten home from school and I remembered that we had chocolate ice cream and cones from the night before. I couldn't wait to get in there and make myself an ice cream cone.
While eating my precious ice cream, I decided to go see Lincoln. Oh, life was good for this 6 year old. I had chocolate ice cream, school was out and I was going to go see my special pet chicken. I was actually skipping across the backyard, ice cream cone in hand when I stopped dead in my tracks. There was something white stuck to the fence. I moved closer and saw there were blood and feathers all over the fence as well. I realized that the white something was actually Lincoln, sans head.
I let out a blood-curdling scream, dropped my cone and ran into the house.
We'll never know what exactly happened to poor old Lincoln, but it is believed an animal of some sort, like a fox or weasel, decided that Lincoln's head would make a good dinner. Stupid weasels. Don't they know that chicken breasts and legs are the best pieces??
Where Is Waldo?
What the hell is wrong with me? I've got NOTHING to say.
I guess I do have stuff to say but it's not fit for public blogging. Just lots of stupid personal shit.
Short Attention Span Blogging
The Hardy Boys In: The Case of the Penis-Snatchers
via Amish Tech Support. Suspected Penis Snatcher Beaten to Death
A 28-year-old man accused of stealing a man's penis through sorcery was beaten to death in the West African country of Gambia on Thursday, police said.
You know, I think I dated a victim of penis-snatching a few years ago.
Morning Of the Living Dead
I knew it. I never slept a wink last night. I got sleepy at about 3 am but going to bed wasn't an option then. I got dressed and left my house at 4:30 am, picked my parents up and drove to the medical center in the dark.
After Mom got my dad settled in and waiting to be taken to surgery we went for breakfast. We found a Kolache Factory nearby. Let me just say....OH MY GOD. I have never eaten anything so delicious!
You must RUN, don't walk to one or go to their website and order some because...DAMN, they rock!
I got a polish sausage and a pesto chicken kolache. The rest of the day I kept saying to my mom, "Damn! That was good!"
When dad was done with his eye surgery, he was hungry so I suggested we get him something at Kolache Factory. Mom and I were still full but we bought a bunch more for lunch.
I ended up eating mine for dinner because I slept through lunch. (I came home and slept for nearly 6 hours).
Anyway, I had an italian chicken, a philly cheese steak (which I can't seem to say. I keep saying chilly feese steak), pepperoni and mushroom and creamed spinach kolache.
All of which were fucking DELISH!
I have to take my dad back tomorrow at 7:30am. Guess where I'm eating breakfast?
In the waiting room, I got to watch a lot of the coverage of Arnold's win.
The receptionist walked by at one point, glanced at the tv, then did a double take. "He WON???" she asked, incredulously. I nodded my head and she kept saying, "Oh my God! I don't believe it."
I laughed at her bizarre reaction.
A few minutes later, I heard her telling a coworker. "Arnold Schwarzenegger won. Isn't he from Australia?"
God help us.
Ummm....
I've got blogger's block.
Complete and total block.
I can only think of some tidbits...
Linkies Schminkies
I don't want to gush all over this guy because everyone else does.
I don't want to tell this guy how amazingly funny his blog is because everyone else does.
I don't want to tell this guy that I have a teeny tiny cyber crush on him because he's so awesome because well...my boyfriend reads my blog (I'm only kidding, Sweetie!)....
But Anger Management is a spit your coffee/water/soda/beer on the keyboard, laugh til you wheeze, snort through your nose, slap your mother hilarious blog. Go read it!
I LOVE to cook and recently I found a great food blog via Electric Venom. Introducing Deus Ex Culina.
There is also a Food Blog Ring full of great blogs about the joys of food and the cooking of said food. Ahh, what a great life!
Venomous Kate is going to light blogging duty as she works on her life's dream (besides her children, I'm assuming). Good luck to her!
And...that's all I got.
Damn...Maybe the 100th time will be the charm
Courtney Love OD'd....... again.
This nasty skankwhore must have 9 lives.
Can you say "Fuck"? I knew you could!
I was given a suggestion for work today. I was told I should head on down to my local school administration building and put in my application to be a *gasp* substitute teacher.
Could you imagine ME teaching CHILDREN??
I have a hard time not cursing in a normal situation. How could I possibly not scream obscenities at bratty little kids?
You know, things like "Shut the fuck up!!" or "Fucking SIT DOWN already!" or "Stop it or I'm going to call your crack whore mother!" or "Timmy, THIS behavior is why your daddy stopped loving you and moved out!"
Seriously though, I've heard horror stories from friends who use to teach or were teachers aides. I've heard about the little kids who come to school hungry and/or dirty. I wouldn't be able to stand it.
I just know that I'd spend my morning making peanut butter sandwiches to take to school for those kids who didn't get breakfast.
Marilyn Manson seems pretty tame...
compared to these guys.
The leader of the rock band Hell on Earth said Monday that an onstage suicide will be conducted during a private St. Petersburg concert this weekend in defiance of a new city law designed to stop the act.
And to think, my parents were worried that going to see Bon Jovi in concert when I was 16 would be a bad influence.
File This Under: What the FUCK were they thinking?
Nazi flag at halftime of football game angers fans
When the Paris High School band's halftime performance at a Dallas school included a student running across the field with a Nazi flag and a Franz Joseph Haydn composition that later became "Deutschland Uber Alles," the crowd reacted angrily.
Hell yes, they reacted angrily! Why would you think otherwise?
I was in the my highschool's marching band and it takes weeks and weeks of practice to learn a new song and marching routine. So, it wasn't like this was all spontaneous and they didn't have time to figure out how people would respond to Hitler's anthem and the Nazi flag.
The FREAKING Nazi flag!
The fact that not ONE person came forward before they performed this atrocity and said, "Hey, guys, this might be a little insensitive." is astounding!
What a bunch of fucktards.