Belle Princesse

Just a thought

Sun, 29 Apr 2007 04:30:40 GMT

When you go to your doctors office, please check to make sure your fly is up.

If you find it difficult to check this particular bit of clothing, make sure you have another article of clothing on: underwear. Be it boxers, be it briefs, be it thongs, even. Just wear them.

If you neglect to do both things I've mentioned, I will be forced to view a part of your anatomy that I never signed on to view. And, sir, honestly, of all the patients I have, yours is not high on my list to willingly see.

Yeah, this sums up how my life at work has been recently.

I'm a little bitchy like that.

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 21:56:59 GMT

I'm fortunate enough in my life to have a few super close friends who have enriched my life in numerous ways. By enriched I mean hair care tips, celebrity bashing and the general boosting of this Princesse's ego.

One of said friends just adores watching "who da baby's daddy" shows like Maury & Judge Hatchett. He revels in the absurdity and dramatic actions. He is, needless to say, slightly fucked up. That is proper medical terminology, please use with caution. :-)

In addition to this unusual addiction of his, he has taken co-dependent me down with him and even calls to update me on the status of these shows.

I say all this, to get to the point of my bitchy nature. I find it disturbing on more levels than I can explain that people embarrass themselves on national television because their sex life is not only discernment free, but also because they are lacking the common sense to take protective measures.

Judgmental? Yes, very. However, mixed in with my blatant disdain is also concern. It's just as easy to get a STD as it is to get pregnant when you are not using protection and having multiple partners in a short period of time. Speaking from a purely professional standpoint, there are serious concerns attached to this behavior. Even the so-called "mild" STDs deserve serious consideration because people who have certain autoimmune or immunocompromised diseases can have fatal results from what is typically a minor annoyance.

I've been off work a week, forgive my medical indulgences. My brain is going through withdrawal from not being in my normal environment for ten days.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

Wed, 11 Apr 2007 21:22:14 GMT

This is the time of year when those butterflies start swirling in my stomach. When nothing in the world could possibly upset me. When no matter what the thermometer says, the air feels like autumn.

The NFL Regular Season Schedule was released today.

It's almost pigskin time, baby.

Is there anything in the world that could upset me on this, most wondrous day?

Oh, and just because this day wasn't beautiful enough, my Duke boys got cleared. Don't get me started on what total bullshit the charges were to start with. It's all over now, fellas, congrats.

Is anyone really shocked by this?

Wed, 11 Apr 2007 00:26:50 GMT

You ARE the baby's father!

The good news for Stern? He didn't drug Anna Nicole and Daniel for no reason, he will still have 100% access to her money as executor of her estate regardless of DNA results. Oops, did I imply he murdered two people? Naughty me, I never meant to insinuate that.

I meant to say it plainly ;-)

The Doctor Is In (Five Cents Per Consultation)

Tue, 10 Apr 2007 20:25:04 GMT

Kudos to anyone to can accurately state the inspiration for the title of this post.

I have been getting hit up for my "expert advice" as of lately from the group of weirdos disguised as my friends. Really, what part of insane don't they understand? The mere fact they approach me for my counsel leads me into a long mental diatribe of what qualifies someone to give an opinion on personal matters. I, of course, mean qualifications outside that of professionals who have all the proper letters after their names. But that's another ramble for another time. :-)

The most recent plea came from a very sweet, innocent female friend of mine who asked, "How do I date?"

No, I am not exaggerating, those were her exact words.

Upon further prodding, I realized that she basically wanted to know how to play the game. Yes, dating is a game, I, however, don't play it. I detest people who play games and screw around. Be upfront and honest. If you want NSA sex, say so. If you want love, marriage and a baby carriage, say so. The majority of my friends are my age or older and, frankly, we are all above the maturity level of high school dating game players, so don't put on a show.

After that nice little tirade was done, said adorable friend came back with an immediate, "But! But! You've dated a ton more guys than I have! You're the experienced one here! I need more information!" Her voice was at shriek level by the end of this statement, so precious.

Girls, being this desperate to find out how to "play" a guy correctly translates into your behavior and eventually, your relationship. Unless a girl is looking for a stalker-esque "dream guy", he isn't going to get hot and bothered by the distinct odor of clock (the biological one, not the adorable pewter one on my bookcase).

My best advice on how to play the game is to not play the game. Have a life. Go on a cruise with your girlfriends, take a Yoga class, hell, take a belly dancing class, you will look hot and provide a future lover with hours upon hours of entertainment. As I have said before, you can't give someone your life if you don't have a life. When you are eighty, you can be sitting beside that guy you've been married to for fifty years, and tell him about some of the fun you've had, instead of lamenting to your cats about the love that never was.

Oh, and don't stress about being thirty and still single. It will lower your self esteem and be an immediate turn off to any prospective suitors.

In other news: Can someone please alert the atmosphere it is April? I think it's confused with November and this Princesse is freezing her booty off.

The bitch known as a literary snob

Sun, 08 Apr 2007 04:19:44 GMT

A lot of times when I tell people that I am a self-proclaimed "literary snob" I get one of two reactions:

"Ohmigawd so am I!" Darling, using the phrase 'ohmigawd' will immediately negate any possibility of you being a literary snob
"Whaaa?" Usually followed by a very confused expression

I can't fully explain it, but good writing is something you know when you read it. There are many "rules" when it comes to writing, both creatively and grammatically speaking. Yes the "rules" are important, but the flow of the story and the imagination involved, the voice of the author, if you will, are very important as well. See, I am not a total "stick up her ass" bitch.

While I allow leeway for voice, I am still strict about some rules. Sloppy writing irritates me. Laziness irritates me. And choppy sentences like the two previous ones I wrote irritate me.

Most of all, a common error I come across in books, movies and television is the readers'/viewers' credibility being stretched. Soap operas are the epitome of this with their magically resurrected characters and alien abducted heroines. Don't make it hard for me to believe your storyline. And don't make me call your bullshit every ten minutes.

So when I say I am a literary snob, I am simply saying I set high standards for today's writers. And, unfortunately, I am frequently let down by many who are currently on the NYT bestsellers' list.

Not so cute anymore

Tue, 03 Apr 2007 18:33:40 GMT

You know how puppies and kittens are so adorable, precious and lovable when they are puppies and kittens, but then the aging process occurs and then... eh, not so much. Predictably, same deal with kids. Great as babies and toddlers, huge PITAs as teenagers (FTR, have been so ambivalent about the thought of having children because one day they will be teenagers. And then I will have to drown myself).

Things in our lives can follow a similar path.

The first time a friend called me at 3:00am sobbing, I thought, "How nice to be so needed!" As time wore on and more of my friends realized I actually do answer the middle of the night phone calls all the others in our group avoid like the plague, numerous drunk dials ensued.

I've always laughed them off as just another facet of the screwed up personalities of my friends... until recently.

Thursday, Saturday and Sunday nights all included drunk dials from various friends. Last night entailed a sobbing plea for advice from a friend in a bad relationship. My advice giving abilities are not really at their prime at 2:37am.

My iron has been running low lately, adding a disruption to my sleep pattern into that really screws me up. I have been so lethargic and unmotivated today. My primary goal has been to sleep, very much unlike me.

How does a girl who displays tendencies that are remarkably doormat like, tell them that drunk dials and emotionally fueled sob-fests have lost their cuteness?

Kissing 115 away

Sun, 01 Apr 2007 23:44:24 GMT

At least I will be if I keep this up!

My current weight is 115lbs. Wait, wait, let me rephrase that, before this weekend began, my weight was 115. I haven't weighed myself since Thursday... with good reason.

After a hellish Friday at work, I went out with some friends for alcohol and appetizers. Guess which one I consumed more of?

Saturday I was very irate with a friend (couldn't tell by the bitchy post, could ya?) and so I took my aggressions out in the two most logical formats: cooking and cleaning. I had done some serious cleaning on Thursday, so outside of a few minor things, I couldn't clean much. Which leaves me with cooking. Two dozen mini Boston creme pies, two dozen chocolate-hazelnut raviolis, a batch of corn tortellini, french onion soup, a loaf of Italian herb bread and thirty mini chicken pitas later, I am thinking I need to find a new outlet for my anger and frustration or I will wind up weighing 5,000lbs.

Just an aside: I wound up "gifting" most of the food to various friends. Yes, I bribe people into being my friends by feeding them copious amounts of comfort food

Riddle me this, Batman

Sun, 01 Apr 2007 02:08:20 GMT

When men achieve various sexual exploits, they are congratulated, slapped on the ass by their peers and high-fived. When women do so in any fashion other than complete discretion, when they voice that they like, nay, love having sex, they are sluts, whores, wanton trash.

How does that figure?

Let's just be real here, I'm no virgin. I've had a one night stand (yes, singular, and it was not the best move on my part. Did somebody say psycho?). I have been in long term and short term sexual relationships. Granted, I know many people who have higher numbers than I, but I can hold my own for my age. I wasn't twelve when I lost my virginity, but I wasn't twenty either. I love sex, have a high sex drive (far outdistancing that of some of my previous partners) and make no apologies about either.

Of course, I am a nurse. I am not stupid. I take multiple precautions: condoms with spermicide, birth control pills and testing with partners before going into a long term relationship with them. I have two unmarried, financially irresponsible, very young, very immature family members currently knocked up, I know better.

After an in depth discussion with a friend, I found myself irate at the fact that when I voice said desires, or lust openly after certain celebrities, I am cursed with labels. When a man does the exact same thing, he is given accolades.

Exactly how does a penis change that?

A glimpse into my sense of humor

Thu, 29 Mar 2007 21:20:03 GMT

Or lack thereof, you decide.

Today, despite the fact it was a horrible, awful, no good, very bad day, I had the chance to really talk to some of my patients, which is something I love to do. It helps their ire if I can charm them or make them laugh. As I was looking over a patient's chart, seeing what the orders from the big guy were for her current visit and chatting amicably with her, this is the conversation that ensued.

Patient: "How can you read that? It looks like a bunch of scribbles!"

Belle: "Because I minored in archeology."

Patient: "Excuse me? I thought you were a nurse..."

Belle: "I am, but knowing I work for Dr. McDreamy I chose archeology as a minor so I could decipher his hieroglyphics."

See, my patient's love me if only for my dorky sense of humor.

Sign my petition, pwetty, pwetty, pwease?

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 18:01:11 GMT

Since we live in a nation, apparently, that has even it's time dictated to it by it's government (read: how in the fuck do they think they have the right to tell us what time it is! Thank God I'm not the only one who thinks this is absurd), I plan to petition the government to make yet another time change. And I need your support.

I have found that days and weeks are too short. I propose we add another four hours to each day. There doesn't seem to be enough time for me to get my professional work, house work, personal work, run my errands and still be able to read all the books I bought and watch the shows to which I am emotionally attached.

When you have this many balls in the air, something's gotta give, right? What's the easiest thing to sacrifice? I can't neglect my professional work, I have patients relying on me. I can't neglect my house work. Hello, OCD! Personal work and errands include paying bills and shopping, both of which are pretty much necessities. My books and my shows are my way to unwind. I would go stir crazy without those outlets, though I admit to cutting back on the time I spend doing each.

Nope, friends, the easiest thing to sacrifice is sleep. I function best when I have no more than five hours of sleep. If I sleep longer than that I am very tired the next day. "But you're a medical professional," I can hear you saying now, "surely you know better than to get less than eight hours of sleep."

The issue is that lately I've been getting approximately 3-4hrs of sleep. This has led to numerous weird dreams and said dreams have been haunting me the day after.

So, don't you think my petition has merit? Four extra hours a day would be so helpful!

It's an illness, be nice

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 04:29:13 GMT

As for most people, Saturdays are my catch-up day. The day where I can do all the errands I am too busy to accomplish during the week.

One of those errands entailed me making a quick trip to Lowe's for another little home decorating project I have in mind. The trouble with making a "quick trip" to Lowe's, other than the fact that I am addicted to home improvement stores, is that in order to get to Lowe's, I have to drive past Barnes & Noble. I think we can all see where this is going.

Here is how this just puts an exclamation point on the explanation of my life: Between this week's purchases and those from a couple of weeks ago, I now need to make another trip to Lowe's to get another bookcase. And what do I need to drive past in order to get to Lowe's?

See, a vicious circle.

How to break my heart in one easy step

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 17:43:41 GMT

There are many facets of my job that I adore, but there is also the ho-hum routine involved in patient care. I follow a pretty much cookie-cutter pattern with each of my dozens of patients every day. I attempt to "connect" with my patients on some level while taking their history and performing the necessary testing, but, let's face it, when I am ten deep and running twenty minutes behind already... all my good intentions are naught.

Don't get me wrong, I make myself very available to my patients, am on call for their every need 24/7 and have done my share of hand-holding both literally and figuratively. I am fanatic about medical ethics and am a staunch believer that our job is not only to heal the sick physically, but help them cope with their diseases and treatments emotionally and mentally. But when things are crazy, I can't spend the time with each patient discussing different areas of life other than the problem at hand. Yes, I love hearing about their children/grandchildren/pets and I mourn with them when they've suffered a deep loss of a family member or friend, but it's not always possible to take the time to talk.

Yesterday was one of those days. The weather outside was just plain crappy all day and the mood in the office wasn't much better. We were incredibly busy, our patients were cranky and it was just a Murphy-esque kind of day. By 3:30 that afternoon, I was completely drained. One of my favorite patients was there, a little old man who probably weighs 75 lbs soaking wet. He's absolutely adorable with a full head of silver hair and salt-and-pepper mustache. He's very quiet, reserved and just has a sweet aura about him. I enjoy seeing him and usually am drawn into some sort of intriguing conversation with him about his life when he was younger or "how things were in my day..." But it was such an insane day, that I didn't have the time to spend with him I wanted.

Until I took his blood pressure.

I deflate the cuff and cheerfully announce, "122/70, best blood pressure I've taken all day!"

"How did my life become this?" He stares at me with blue eyes that suddenly strike me as tired. "Doctors visits, medication, staring at the same four walls everyday and feeling more alone than I've ever been in my life. I don't even cook for myself anymore, Meals On Wheels delivers it to me. I worked for forty years for the same company and now... I barely have the energy to sweep my kitchen floor. How did this happen to me?"

I'm friendly, open and perpetually optimistic, but as I've said before, I'm also a bit of a hardass. I don't cry often and I especially don't cry in front of people. But as I sat in my office with this patient, struggling to find some words that could possibly comfort him, the tears started to come down my cheeks. My heart ached with the knowledge that this person I see once every three months, this man I care about was hurting so deeply inside and not speaking a word of it to anyone.

And I never did find the appropriate words. I just sat there for several minutes, my hand resting on his, not really caring that I was falling farther behind in my work.

The girl, she has branched out

Mon, 19 Mar 2007 01:43:31 GMT

There is an awesome blog I read on a basis that borders on obsessive (Moi? Obsessive? Perish the thought!) by a writer I admire greatly, Steve.

Besides the fantastic writing and... intriguing story lines, one of the best parts of Steve's blog is the "He Says, She Says" advice column. Brief rundown: People email in dating/sex/whatever questions and the team of Steve & Ari answers with brilliant witticism and tons of experience. Much to the dismay of the blogging community, Ari has been swamped with a little thing called life lately and can't keep up.

But, you may be wondering, why are you enlightening us to the sad turn of events? Because, my dears, as with most events in life, sad and happy go hand-in-hand. Check out Steve's new Q&A column, may have a familiar pronoun involved ;-)

He Says, She Says

On an unrelated front, anyone interested in decoding my dreams? I've had some odd ones lately.

May the road rise up to meet you...

Thu, 15 Mar 2007 13:23:26 GMT

It's coming.

It may be corny of me, but I am damn near giddy today! Why, pray tell, am I so overly joyful? Why is my heart at burstible (my own personal made-up word for the day) levels? Because, children, my favorite holiday draweth nigh.

It's not even considered a real holiday, a blasphemous and egregious offense. All post offices and banks are open on this holiday year after year, forcing those of us with jobs to celebrate this most beloved event on another day. This particular day embodies everything I love: my favorite color, my favorite foods (some of them anyway) and a culture I adore. It also gives me an excuse to pull out "The Quiet Man" and have a little John Wayne drool-fest. Don't ask.

St. Patrick's Day is this weekend, folks. Put on a little green, eat some corned beef and look for that little leprechaun dude.

And since I am making my usual St. Pat's feast, there will be plenty available at my house, so stop by. Bring some good luck with ya though, this girl could use some.

Defining the word "ready"

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 03:26:35 GMT

With each passing birthday, especially since the end of my engagement, softly-spoken words of encouragement to "settle down". Most of those comments are followed by, "You're such a sweet, beautiful, lovely girl. You will be an excellent wife and wonderful mother."

When you've known these people your entire life and have been taken under their collective wing so to speak, you get used to the meddling. But the thoughts these particular remarks have inspired recently are quite new. And, frankly, quite shocking.

Today, specifically, the mother of one of my high school best friend called me. She often refers to me as her adopted daughter, the good child she never had. After she spent a giddy twenty minutes catching me up on all the latest gossip, a comment similar to those previously mentioned escaped her lips. Although she is one to normally not make observations on my relationships or reproductive future, I was more intrigued by my response than her sudden interest.

I didn't immediately bristle at the suggestion I need to get married a pop out 2.5 kids while repairing my white picket fence. I didn't put on the cool exterior and nonchalantly try to redirect the conversation. I did, however, actually say to myself "That it is a nice thought."

All jaws must be picked up from the floor immediately. This doesn't mean I am going to go get myself knocked up tomorrow. While I love babysitting the children of family and friends, I also love giving them back. I enjoy my freedom and the fact if I want to run to the store at midnight, no big thing. I can come and go as I please. No coordinating around naptime, school schedules or bedtimes.

But I'm actually considering it as something more than a vague future possibility. And it is scary as hell.

A Quandry

Sat, 10 Mar 2007 07:13:09 GMT

The few people I personally know who read this have already been privy to my inner debate, so the void of cyberspace gets the joy of being posed this question: What do you do with the dress?

As previously mentioned, I have been close, very, very, very close to the good ole matrimonial altar. For some crazy reason, the prospect of being his punching bag for the rest of my life suddenly lost its appeal. So. Yeah.

But this epiphany of my need for physical well-being came after reservations had been made, deposits had been made and, yes, the dress had been bought.

I clearly remember walking into this small bridal boutique near my mom's house while I was visiting her and having The Moment. Prior to this period in time, I had been a scoffer of The Moment. There was no way I was going to see a dress and suddenly experience clouds parting and angels singing. Nope, not going to happen. I'm cute when I'm full of shit, aren't I? And yes, it even was a near perfect fit. Some slight alterations by my brilliant seamstress of a mother and voila. The Dress, she's complete.

But now, I have a dress. And I don't know what to do with it. After the engagement ended, I stopped referring to it in capital letters and some of the magic was gone.

So what's a girl to do now?

Grumble. Grumble, I say!

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 05:47:18 GMT

Not much to add to unending void of cyberspace, except one observation:

"American Idol" voters are, at this point, fucked up.

I watched tonight's installment with a blend of disbelief and irritation. After a string of expletives, I believe the phrase, "Doth mine ears deceive me?" escaped my lips.

Please explain to me how Jared was voted off while Branden and Sanjaya (who should never have even made it into the top twenty-four) are still in the competition. Come on, does anyone in this great country honestly believe that Sanjaya should be the next American Idol?

And, really, Sabrina? She is talented, has a fantastic voice and, in a feat unaccomplished by many contestants over the past several seasons, she actually knows music.

I was, however, tickled beyond belief to see the bitchy and UNattractive Antonella disappear. Yes, I said unattractive. After having an argument with my boss for nearly ninety minutes about her, nothing could have inspired the sly upturning of my mouth other than hearing Ryan Seacrest wish her a fond adieu.

I haven't been this disappointed since the 2000 elections.

When did humor become optional?

Wed, 07 Mar 2007 05:06:34 GMT

As previously mentioned, Tuesdays are the home of the best line-ups ever created in the history of television programming. However, my routine of joyous entertainment was slightly off-kilter tonight as "Veronica Mars" was preempted in order to debut the new PCD reality show/competition. Seemed boring and common place to me, obviously did not tune in. I am sure, though, that this particular new show will provide many lonely/pathetic men and teenage boys with hours of primo monkey spank fuel. Enjoy boys!

Luckily for me, I am still able to wrap up my day with my beloved Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. Just typing about them makes me smile. I'm easily pleased.

During the satirical beauty that defines these two programs, commercials for Sara Silverman's new show were overly abundant. Several clips were shown highlighting what I can only assume are a few of the best bits from the next episode. All I could think was, if these are the parts the execs deemed worthy of citation to draw new viewers, this show is a useless waste of airspace. There was nothing even remotely humorous about anything that left her mouth in the thirty second spot.

Some shows and movies are so stupid they are funny, some are insulting, but funny and a select few reach the pinnacle of comical genius achieved by "Monty Python and The Holy Grail".

So, station leaders, I post this question to you: When did Comedy Central become unconcerned with comedy? And when will you be changing the station's call sign?

It's a good thing you have Jon & Stephen, otherwise the boycott would be on ;-)

I can't sleep, something's all over me Insomnia please release me

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 08:04:43 GMT

What does your obsessive compulsive, over active girl do when it is past 2am and she can't fall asleep? She does an absurd number of workout reps. When that fails to bring the much longed after sleep, she proceeds to troll the internet for oval picture frames in a brushed nickel metal that can hang on her wall to complete a project she has begun.

After finding that exercising and internet surfing aren't the answer, she then will veg out in front of a mini marathon of Law & Order. TV can put even the most restless mind at ease and bring on the Sandman, right? Perhaps not.

Back to her trusty laptop she goes and begins to scour for ideas for a new haircut. Yeah, I am thinking of changing my hairstyle once again. Not much luck there. Oh yeah, and still wide awake.

So after posting about said insomnia, I will take advantage of E!'s next few hours of Saturday Night Live and pray to various deities for something resembling sleep.

The wind. It blows. It is cold. Brr.

Mon, 05 Mar 2007 04:33:15 GMT

The weather here today has been, in a word, insane. Cold, yet sunny at times, five minutes later very dark, cloudy and snowing like mad. As soon as you step outside a blast of icy wind cuts right through you. When I went for my brief jaunt out in this ridiculous weather, I was immediately put in mind of my favorite author, James Frey and just had to create the parodical ode to him that is my title. [Insert maniacal laughter here at my usage of the words favorite, author and James Frey in the same sentence minus that ever important adjective "least"]

One of my friends from "back home", aka where I grew up, sends email forwards on a basis bordering extreme. I am polite, I view them, make the obligatory replies of gratitude for the thinking of me, etc, etc. Most of them are your typical boring/annoying forwards with words of encouragement or warnings to beware of people offering perfume samples. Um, yeah. Sorry, it takes more than an animated graphic to amuse me.

In today's batch of forwardability (you think I jest when I speak of daily batches? Ha! I laugh at your naivete!), there was one begging for five little known or interesting facts about the recipient. If you listed said five facts in an email, then sent it to at least seven people including the person who sent it to you, a little gnome would bring you a unicorn filled with Lucky Charms or some similarly outlandish promise.

Since I refuse to bombard my loved ones with these atrocities disguised as email correspondence, I'll just share those five facts on here. I can almost hear the excitement brewing amongst the chosen few who read this. You've been waiting for this moment your entire lives, haven't you? God, I am interesting.

1.     I have a voicemail compulsion. I change it about two or three times a month. Unique, funny, odd voicemails. Did so today actually, and not a half hour later had a message filled with very little other than the laughter of my beloved Toad and the phrase, "You have lost your fucking mind." LB, if only you weren't gay, we would so be a couple.

2.     Sometimes I think I am overly creative. My mind very rarely settles, always thinking of new pieces of decor to add to my home, new storylines to write, new impossible life scenarios that can never play out anywhere but my brain.

3.     When I was younger, I wanted to be a lawyer. I let the lawyers I had the unfortunate pleasure to encounter as an adolescent affect my career path. I often think I made the wrong choice. I often wish I would have gone to the law school of my dreams.

4.     My biggest fear is being fat again. Vain, I know, but terrifying to me.

5.     I have no less than a dozen nicknames, each one unique depending on which friend or family member it is coming from. Consequently, I answer to pretty much anything.

Okay, that was absurd and boring. Enjoy! :-)

No one has ever become poor by giving ~ Anne Frank

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 21:15:10 GMT

One of my very dearest friends is celebrating her *mumble, mumble*th birthday this week. For once, I am on top of things and purchased her present quite a bit in advance of the actual date and even have it wrapped, packaged and addressed, ready to be mailed. Impressive for one like me. No, babe, I am not divulging what the gift(s) are. I prefer the mystery and torture of it all.

Her gift is actually comprised of a few items because, dammit, several of the stores I went into contained things that made me think of her. As I was playing with wrapping paper, ribbons and bows, I was reminded of a comment made by another friend. One I have actually heard from a few people before upon receipt of their presents, "You've done too much!"

I am of quite the unique gift-giving nature.

When I go shopping, even just window shopping, I spy more things that I either want to or actually do purchase for others rather than myself. My mother collects stars, lighthouses and angels, anytime I see any of these in a style I know she'd like, I immediately buy them. My brother is an avid, borderline obsessive fisherman. Yep, you got it, all fishy items are put in my basket.

So even in a Secret Santa setting, if I know the person collects turtles, she can be assured to have a nice arrangement of unique, funky and cute turtle related pieces. I am a full believer in the thought counting. So even if what I buy doesn't cost $100, that person instantly came to my mind when I saw it. Hopefully, they know this and understand why they have a basket overflowing with gifts.

Apparently, some take this as doing too much, going overboard, trying too hard. But, in all honesty, it's pure selfishness. I love the feeling, the nearly euphoric high that comes following the opening of a gift much loved by the recipient.

The moral of the story, folks, it is better to give than to receive. Even when people critique my method of gift-giving ;-)

Vain, Arrogant, Conceited

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 03:58:26 GMT

Have you ever had a classic cartoon light bulb moment? A specific time where you have an earth-shattering revelation? A quintessential "A-Ha!"? That happened to me tonight during, of all possible mind numbing programming, "American Idol".

[Hasty disclaimer: I love "American Idol". I am tickled beyond belief that it is currently on three times a week. Hell, it has me emotionally involved to the point of jumping up and down on my couch at the great performances of 'my' AI players. But, with that said, it isn't exactly the most intelligent television fare available. I'm just sayin'...]

Unfortunately, it wasn't a very charming self discovery.

Tonight, Kellie Pickler made a great return to the AI stage. Frankly, her overall performance was 'okay'. If she were being judged tonight I can just hear Randy calling her pitchy, Paula telling her to loosen up and Simon telling her she was forgettable. All would be on target. She stood practically stick still the entire time and it wasn't the best performance she's ever given.

However, it was an emotional and, clearly, very personal song that she co-wrote. I must give her props for being strong enough to not completely decompensate on stage while singing the incredibly moving lyrics. The words were very touching and I am sure that writing and performing the song was empowering and therapeutic for her.

During her brief interview and performance, though, the thoughts running through my head were not as encouraging. All I kept thinking was that her hairstyle looked awful, her ankles looked particularly bad in those shoes and that she had gained at least fifteen pounds since she competed on AI.

Sheesh, I am cattier than the guys on "Queer Eye". And now, I have been wondering how I became this appearance oriented bitch.

But ain't too much sadder than the tears of a clown

Thu, 01 Mar 2007 03:26:32 GMT

For the most part, I'm not a quintessential girl. I don't throw hysterical fits. I don't have wild mood swings. I don't slap, bite, pinch or throw things.

More than anything, though, I don't cry. At least not in front of people. Especially not in front of the one who caused the tears. My typical M.O. is to pretend I have brushed the matter from my shoulder, easily accomplished by flashing a smile and moving on. If anyone suspects (and I am a master of hiding my true emotions, so suspicion is only aroused in a handful of people who know me well) and asks if I'm okay, the smile resurfaces along with a cheerful, "Of course!" or "I'm always okay!" Yep, I can be nauseatingly perky.

But tonight, I was in tears. Unabashedly sobbing, dialing the phone calling my mother, my brother and hiccuping violently, speaking in impossible to decipher whines and whimpers. Yeah, it was that bad.

What, I am sure you are asking yourself, could possibly drive an emotionally ambiguous person such as her into an almost Victorian era-esque hysteria?

A commercial of course.

My brother was a Marine. Served four years during George Sr's Gulf War. It was a scary, tumultuous time for our family. My brother and I are very close. There was one occasion where I needed him. Desperately. I called, requested his presence and assistance as soon as he was able to clear his work schedule and take care of familial issues. Four hours later, there was a knock on my door. The normal travel time from my brother's house to mine at that time was five hours. So, yeah, we are tight. And when I see a USMC commercial come on. When I see the oh-so-familiar dress blue uniforms. When I see the frighteningly young GIs depicted therein, the tears flow freely.

And it was immediately followed by that damn Pedigree commercial which chokes me up every freaking time I see it. Come on, you have to have a heart of stone to not be moved by an adorable pooch staring sadly into the camera saying, "I don't know why I don't have a home."

So tonight I dissolved into a heaping pile of mush. For those who like this side of me, enjoy it while you can. The hardass returns tomorrow.

(P.S. ~ 150 sit-ups is for whimps. Email me for the correct number ;-)

Twenty-five or six to four

Tue, 27 Feb 2007 20:39:07 GMT

No, not talking about acid here, just love the song and it has an interesting meaning for me today. :-)

You know my "Get Shit Straight" plan aka the organization of crap I own? I have gotten a ton done lately and it has fed my obsessive compulsive like tendencies. Yes, friends, my most recent Home Depot receipt looks like a shopping list from "Mission Organization". It's actually quite sad.

The number twenty-five is special to me in many ways, but today it references the number of bags of sitting in my entryway. About half of those are clothes, shoes and purses that are going to be donated and the other half are things that I tearfully am throwing away. They have some sentimental meanings for me, but when owning said item will cause me stress because I am so anal-retentive that excess stuff drives me nuts, what emotional need is it fulfilling?

I know I am reading way too much into it. I am exploiting the minor amounts of psychological knowledge I have and over-analyzing silly possessions, but bear with me. It can be added to the seemingly infinite list of reasons I am cute, adorable and just plain lovable.

Can I just say that I feel lighter, my mind is clearer than it has been in months and I feel like I am able to focus better? It doesn't seem logical that things locked away in a back room can have such a hold on my mental clarity, but I crave, nay, need order to function correctly. I have to have every nook and cranny neat and tidy. Nothing can make me smile bigger than a clean home. I know, I know, I have issues.

So tell me, how's that list coming? ;-)

(P.S. ~ If you have no clue what I meant in the opening line about acid and song lyrics, email me and I will explain all.)