When I get bored, instead of doing something productive like clean...or spend time with the kids animals...or work on magazine submissions/queries, I like to waste time by aimlessly searching the internet. Last night's search was Ways-To-Make-Fun-Of-Oklahoma.  Not that it's a daunting task.

So I stumbled upon a site about our famed, insane evangelist, Oral Roberts.  Now, I may be a mature 30-year-old woman *giggle* and an upstanding member of society *snort*, but in situations like these, my mentality goes straight to 12-year-old boy.  Here was my thought process while reading the article:

Ooooh, something to poke fun of Oklahoma.

Heh. They said Oral.

Blah blah blah...healing the sick....yadda yadda yadda.

His son's name is Richard, I never knew that.

Heh. Richard's nickname would be Dick.

Dick Roberts. Heh.  I'm funny.

Wah wah wah....had to close the hospital....blab blab blab.

Heh. Roberts nickname would be Bob.

Dick Bob. Heh. Heh. Heh. 

A man named Oral has a son named Dick Bob.  Oooh, the irony.

Heh heh heh heh.

So, being the upstanding citizen *bwaahahaha* and genteel soul I am *snortdroolguffaw*, I did the next logical thing.  I kept that information to myself because that's just silly blogged about it for you fine folks. You're very welcome.

I was looking at the Oklahoma Lottery website and found a list of all the big winners, complete with pictures of them holding their checks. These people just won a buttload of money and look at their expressions :

So it got me thinkin. What would I look like in my 'holding the big check' picture? I tend to think I'd be just a tad more excited about it than they were. And I'd try not to look so...Oklahoman.  I wonder if they'd let me work it?

(Please notice : I'd totally be sporting Dave2's shirt whilst working it.)

Shellie (breating heavily) : I'm weezy.

Me : And I'm George Jefferson.

Shellie : Huh?

Me : You said you were weezy...I said I was George Jefferson. You know. The Jeffersons? He called his wife weezy? You KNOW...(singing) mooovin on uu-up!

Shellie (shrugging) : Oh. I thought you were talking about the Jeffersons. You know, from the cartoon.

Me : The Jetsons?

Shellie : Oh.

Me : Her name was Jane.                            

Shellie (singing) : Their son Leroy!

Me : Elroy. Boy, you DO suck.

Shellie : Whatever.

It was day like any other.

I, Detective Chase, was sitting at my desk, having a nice cup of joe. The handyman I'd hired had just finished putting the final coat of drywall mud on and had left the area to wash up.  I leaned back in my chair and wondered what I would be blogging about today. A detective's work is never done.

Suddenly, I heard it : snorting like a mad boar in the vicinity of the new sheetrock mud. I knew right away there was trouble and dashed to the scene.  And that's when I saw it.

It was a massacre.  Sheetrock mud was missing, there were dents in a normally-smooth area.  Clearly someone was sent to sabotage my progress!  But who could it be?  I mentally ran through the list of usual suspects.

Could it be Malachi, aka Misser B, the baby-faced but michevious older beagle? His eyes said no, but the smirk said maaaaaaybe. It also said 'stop taking pictures of me, you deranged monkey' but that's another story. I wasn't about to count him out quite yet.

Or what about the feline called Sadie? She's cunning enough to pull off a hit like this. But what would be her motive?  Sure, like any cat, she wants to murder all humans and take over the world, but she also knows she can't open the cat food container by herself. Yet. I have a feeling there are future plans for this little criminal. Just look at that expression. Clearly, she's planning something sinister.

What about the new kid on the block, Bo (or as they call him in the yards, BoBo-Poopy-Eater)? Maybe he was trying to earn respect from the elders? He may not be the smartest criminal, but he's a sneaky little bastard. I thought maybe I had my culprit.  Then I remembered he was in the slammer for an earlier prison (backyard) break.  It couldn't have been him.

That left me with one other suspect, Moxie, otherwise known as "Momma's Fat Wittle Piggy Wiggy Cutie Patootie". When I showed up to investigate, she protested and swore her innocence, but there was evidence everywhere. It was obvious the mud was on her hands.  Well, her face, anyway. I had her. She was going downtown with me.

Once again I solved a crime with my cunning PI skills and my superior investigation techniques. They don't call me...uh....Chase...for nothin.

I started my day off so very wrong just now. I accidentally watched a man get his arm ripped off by an alligator. Well, a video of such, anyway.

I saw the video on someone's blog and thought I'd play it, assuming the man would just get a close call, much like I'm used to with America's Funniest Home Videos or that one show on Spike TV. Yeah, this wasn't like that - it showed the whole thing, up-close, full-on terrifying.  Thank GOD my speakers weren't plugged in. And I didn't get the chance to stop it because it was so short my brain didn't register the holy shit factor until it was over and I was left staring at a black screen.

I used to watch Faces of Death videos when I was a teen. I didn't care - it garnered "ewww" and "oh my god" but it was still watchable.  Not anymore. Not even close.  I refuse to watch even the Spike show where there are painful close calls because ouch! and that so could have been me!  I can't visit websites that show dead or injured people. I can't watch any 'extreme' shows. I can't even watch the emergency room dramas. I simply can't handle that anymore.  Honestly, even when someone gets hurt on Funniest Home Videos, I cringe and feel like someone is stabbing me in the stomach.

What is that? Is that age? Maturity? Conscience? Fear of mortality? Sissy-itis?

With the video I just watched, my stomach turned sour and I haven't stopped shaking. My palms are sweaty. I can't get that last scene out of my mind. I'll spare you the details. I seriously need to go watch My Little Pony or something now. Someone hold me.  (Not you, Pappy.)

A couple of reminders. First of all, don't forget to check out my renter, Henry the Adequate. Funny guy - check out his samples area!

Also, a deadline that's fast-approaching : the grassroots blogger book marketing campaign. (See the banner under my bio to the left.) If you're creative at all, or if you want to pretend to be because you desperately crave the attention (like me), I ask that you give this assignment a look. The list of participants is now up to 30!  I imagine the results will be amazing.

A recap : between April 10 & April 14, the listed bloggers will be posting on their blogs as the historical figure of their choice (with a few rules tossed in there). To see further explanation, purpose, rules, and the list of participants thus far, check out Kevin's site (Kevin being the superman mastermind behind this whole thing). I would love to see my readers in on this one too! (Chanakin, I'm looking at you, pal.)

Lastly, I was wondering if any of you had ever participated in blog carnivals. I have been doing the monthly blog exchange put on by Kristen and now the grassroots campaign (both of which thrill and terrify me), so I figured the next progression would be carnivals.  However, beyond a very basic idea, I don't know anything about them.  So I ask you...have any of you ever participated in any? Ideas/thoughts/experiences? Good sites to find good carnivals? Have you hosted any?

I got my ass smacked today. Thrice!

I submitted my site to IT2M about 2 weeks ago and today, after seeing about 40 extra visits on my site meter, realized that my site had been reviewed.  I gritted my teeth, held my breath, and got ready to read a horrid review, complete with the words "fuck" and "moron"...or, at the very least, "twit".

When I got there, instead of "ooooh shit" I was more like "oooh....uhh."  The bitches are usually brutal. I've seen some reviews that could make Jesus weep. Charred reviewed Taste the World and it was kind of...uneventful. No cursing. No name calling (though the pixellated demon-spawn thing was kinda cool). Not even a mention of the Google ads, which I just KNEW would get me punched in the ovaries. Alas.

I got three smacks...that works for me. I take what smackin' I can get, thankyouverymuch.

Within a few hours, I had bids from four equally wonderful blogs. I checked out all the blogs (one I read already) and made the tough decision. I chose Henry the Adequate because he made me laugh out loud - and because his blog is totally the type I'd have in my bloglines (and he is. now. and stuff.)

His tagline explains it all : "My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero"

The blog is told in the voice of a flame-throwing yet unfortunate comic book character who is someone you want to both pat on the head and fear at the same time. He's also an Aussie, which always seems to make us American girls want to jump his bones as well. 

So, everyone, please go check out Ben's blog : Henry the Adequate. If you don't laugh, well, then you're dead to me.

My other renter bids this week, since I loved them all so much:

Dramedy of Life : Go read her recent story about her grandmother and the orgy. It's great!

Tricia's Musings : I read this blog already and I was her renter before, so I felt bad denying her bid this week. Tricia, please bid again!! Everyone, go check her out, too. She's having a blogmad contest right now if you're a member...go see!

My Life in Italy : I envy this woman SO very much. I want nothing more than to live in Italy - if only for a month or two. *sigh*

There's been a little progress at the ol' Chase palace lately. (And when I say palace I mean ghetto shack.)  Shellie and I bought this 1930s fixer-upper in October 2004, and have been remodeling it one little pain in the damn ass project at a time. We pretty much live paycheck to paycheck, so the projects are slow-going, to say the least. No room is actually 100% complete yet, but all the rooms are close if that counts.

Here's our latest project:

These windows were added in the 60s sometime, when they changed the porch area into a family room. It's a great space, with a built-in liquor/coffee bar, french doors, and lots of square footage. Only problem? They didn't know what the hell they were doing when they built on - no insulation, crap windows, and did I mention no insulation?

My computer desk sits up next to this wall and I could feel a breeze on my feet. I had to put plastic on the windows like true Oklahoma trash. Plastic. Stuck up there with Priority Mail tape from the post office. Seriously stylin'. The windows were so drafty, anytime the wind blew, the plastic moved. If the mailman farted as he walked by, the blinds would quiver.

So we decided to rip out the whole thing and put an insulated wall there. We have 2 sets of french doors on the other side of the room, so the lack of light wasn't an issue anyway. See the insulation up there above the windows?  Liar.  Because that's not insulation - it's just a thin layer of paper stapled to the studs.  Yeeeeeaaah, that helped a whole helluva lot.

NO MORE WINDOW!!  Unfortunately, I happened to schedule the job on the Coldest.Day.Of.The.Year.  This was taken right before it snowed. I'm so freaking awsome it hurts. Note to self : watch the damn Weather Channel.  I spent the day on the couch in the den in a coat, wrapped in a blanket, two heaters blowing directly on me, and three beagles curled up on the couch next to me.

Looky! Plywood! There were like three large gaps in the plywood with the wind shrieking through, but it was still warmer than those windows. Plus I can walk naked in front of this without the neighbors calling the cops again. Not that I did. Or. Whatever. Anyway.

Here she is today! It's a real wall! With real insulation inside! Of course, now I have to paint the damn thing and then there are three other walls to go in this room, but we take it one thing at a time. We'll just sit really close to this complete, windowless, warm wall until that time comes.

Last night I went to a concert. I've never felt more old or dorky in my life.

Now, I used to be a wild concert girl. I quit my job and went on tour across the country with a band once, even (but that's another series of blogs altogether), so I'm no stranger to the scene. But last night was just...different. I've become that lady.

It was my favorite band, Blue October.  The radio station and their label did a free all-ages show, and though I can't stand that crowd, they rarely play near me, so I go any chance I can. Since it was all-ages, since we're on spring break right now and since they've been playing their new single on the radio lately, I knew the crowd would be massive. So a friend and I got there 2 hours before doors opened and stood, with an assload of 12-year-olds in the 40-degree weather (remember how I said we got 3 inches of snow yesterday? Yeah). Friend and I laughed the whole time because we, both in our early 30s, were probably the only ones old enough to be out past curfew. The kids were loud and annoying and it was all we could do not to flee the scene.  A girl behind us called us "ladies." Lady. Yeah, if you only knew, youngster.

Once our nuts were officially frozen off, we got inside and headed straight for the bar. I guess I don't have to mention there was hardly anyone in there, what, with the only legal-aged people in the place being creepy roadies or pissed off security guys. 

I reveled at how I used to be those kids - and wimpered to myself at the same thought. Was I really that damn obnoxious?! Did I actually wear clothes that looked like that?  Hell yeah I did - but I sure felt cooler than they looked. At one point between the opener and the headliner, the dj got up and said "Jesse Hill, please go to the front. Your parents are here for you."  WOOOOOOOOBOY! Somebody got grounded!  We experienced great joy at poor Jesse's expense.

As I was standing in the bathroom line, I watched as a drunk girl showed her boobs to a couple of guys and then demonstrated her deep-throating abilities with two beer bottles at once. Wow. Impressive. I later saw that same girl dirty dancing with three other guys all at once. Then I saw that she brought her son.  Mmmhmmm.  Mommy Of The Universe right there in front of me.

I enjoyed the band of course, minus the people throwing bottles and random clothes, and the people crowd-surfing and attempting to start a mosh pit. I came home before the encore smelling like smoke and tired from the jumping around (I do still jump...I'm not that old). I also came home with a notepad full of observations from the night. Yes, I took notes at a rock concert.

So yeah, I like my music. I even like good music. I'm hip, I'm hot, I'm rockin.  But I'm also, apparently, a big fat nerd.

Rock out with your cock notebook out. 

That has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but I was flipping channels and that was the title of today's Jerry Springer (do people still watch this shit?!). It's just been one of those days, so the idiocy of it is quite fitting.

I dropped the f-bomb five times before 9am today :

• I'm allergic to citrus fruits and ate pasta with lemon sauce yesterday. There's a sore on the tip of my tongue bigger than Minnesota. It's so painful, I can't even say Minnesota.
  
• The zit on my cheek is just as big. As if I could feel less sexy lately.
• Last week, it was mid-80s in Oklahoma.  Today I woke up to 3 inches of snow.  I. Hate. Snow. And I have to go stand in line for a concert tonight. I'm too old for this crap.
  
• I left my keys in Shellie's coat.  Shellie wore Shellie's coat to work today. My day of freedom turned into cleaning day way too quickly.
• I made scrambled eggs. One egg had two yolks in it. My first thought was "cool!" - my second was "ahh, fuck, I'm eating twins."

There's something oddly wrong with today.

Ooooh, WAIT! They're playing Depeche Mode's "People Are People" on VH1 right now. Maybe the world is trying to right itself.  Whew.

I'm in a random mood so you're getting a heap of random junk.  I think there might be a very thin thread of common theme in there somewhere...but let's not get our hopes up, ok?

First of all, you people need to freaking STOP with the interesting and funny blog-writing. I added another five blogs to my bloglines within the last 2 days. Enough already! That makes 52 blogs I suscribe to and I have another 6 in my favorites folder that don't have feeds.  Fifty-eight.  Fifty-eight of you clowns (sorry Dave2) making me late for work. A girl's gotta eat, ya know.

Another thing, also mentioned here by Kristen. Are any of you guys going to Blogher '06? I really considered going to SXSW this month, but decided against it because, more than anything, I was scared to go.  I would have been going by myself to meet a bunch of bloggers that had never heard of and who couldn't care less about Taste the World or me. Blogher will be even more intimidating, I think, because it's a bunch of nearly superhuman blogger women who know everything and everyone.  And before you say it, I don't really know why I want to go either, other than I know it'll be a killer experience (and you know how I'm all about that).  I'm not a big player. I don't make a living off of Gooogle ads (unless $3 a month is 'a living'). And though it'd be the most kickass thing in the universe to make a living off blogging, I just don't think I have the material to do all that. I'm not a mommy, I don't do anything interesting or profound, and I'm not all that funny (though I do get laughed at quite a bit). 

Holy shit, that was a long tangent. Back to the original question - anyone else going to Blogher?  Kristen is, I hear. Maybe she'll speak to me and I can get her to autograph my boobs or something.

Before I forget, and since I've flooded this post with links anyway, if you haven't checked out Pupsickle, please do so.  If you have and it was old material, it was Blogger's fault...she is up and running again.  Go say hi.  Tell her Chase sent you.   

That's all I'll torture you with today. I promise I'll attempt less bullshit better content with my next post. 

We've had 2 houseguests from Wisconsin here since Saturday.  They're leaving tomorrow afternoon.

Five things that will change when they leave:

• Ten bottles of random stuff will be missing from my shower
  
• No more cheesehead jokes
• I regain control of the remote
  
• Fresh Prince of Bel-Air will NOT be an option
  
• I won't get to hear things like "hey der, dontcha know?" and "where's the TYME machine?"

Because, apparently, that's where my ass is heading.

We're doing a little remodeling in our bathroom right now, so the mirror is off the wall and just kinda sitting on the back of the sink.  That means it's lower than usual - low enough that I have to lean down to see my face.  Unfortunately, this also means when I step out of the shower, I see the area directly between my naked chest and my naked thighs.

I did the whole look-over-my-shoulder-at-my-butt thing. It's not quite where I remember it being. Then I did the turn-to-the-side-and-pat-my-belly thing. There's a tad more there than I remember having before. I'm starting to look like a damn kewpie doll. The view made me want to find Isaac Newton and kick him square in the nuts.

I stared at the mirror for several minutes, turning around and around, trying to convince myself the angle of the mirror was out of whack or the steam from the shower distorted the reflection. Whatever makes ya sleep at night, right?

I decided right then and there that I needed to start doing squats and doing my workout tapes again.  I decided I would eat a little better and maybe start jogging again. I decided I might even start doing weight watchers more strictly again.

Then I decided to say fuck that, I'll just move the mirror.

About an hour later, I decided to go have some sushi and a big plate of creme brulée. Thankyouverymuch.

Here's, like, a hypothetical situation.

If you go to see V For Vendetta a hypothetical movie with someone you don't know very well, and you're watching the previews for Fast and the Furious 3 a hypothetical movie that looks really retarded, don't tell that person "I can't fathom anyone wanting to watch that movie. No, seriously, I just can't imagine anyone with half a brain watching shit like that", hypothetically making sure to roll your eyes and shake your head, because that person might hypothetically say "I own the first 2 on DVD" and make you feel like a total asshat.

I'm just saying.

I usually don't do memes, but was tagged by Tricia over at Tricia's Musings. She's been pimping me out a lot lately, so I thought I'd share the love.  Hi, Tricia!  Besides, not only am I answering the tag, I get to spread the word on some of my favorite artists.  Check 'em out.  If you don't know them now, you soon will.  So says me.

This meme is fairly simple : list 7 songs you're into right now.  Old, new, whatever...just whatever is ticklin' your picklin' at the moment:

She Wants Revenge - These Things

Blue October - X Amount of Words

Hero Factor - Rooftop

Wideawake - Not So Far Away

Radiant - Way You Make Me Feel

The Cure - Why Can't I Be You

Ministry - N.W.O.

What are you listening to right now?  I don't wanna tag anyone specifically, but if you put it in your blog, let me know.  If you don't do the meme thing, just comment here.  What's your 7?

I just got home from seeing V For Vendetta and am ready to watch it again.

I'm not a movie critic. I can't say anything intelligent about cinematic hooplah or describe the thematic thingamajig. But I can say this movie was plain ol' fan-fucking-tastic.

It's about government and oppression and media and how the sheep just follow along. It's about losing civil rights and revolution and civilians taking back the country.  The tagline is "People should not fear their government - government should fear their people."  I can't imagine anyone seeing this film and not thinking about our present government (democrats and republicans alike).

My favorite line in the movie is when the government-run news station was about to report their own explanation of what terrorists had done and a woman behind the scenes said, "the people are never going to buy this."  A man with a clipboard said, "Why wouldn't they? We're BNC news, we don't lie about what happens - it's the government who does that."  The movie talks about how the government runs the country with the power of fear.  This idea is the reason I ranted about the news (and tv in general) the other day - it's all about drama and fear and bullshit.

I'm certainly NOT a political person. I don't hold up protest signs. I try not to bring politics into my blog. Honestly, I couldn't win a political argument if my life depended on it.  But I certainly cheer when people say it like it really is. I highly suggest this movie. It's great.  And, besides, my girl Natalie Portman (#1 on my laminated list!) shaves her head and kicks ass.  Yessir.

Remember, remember the 5th of November.

Everyone, please give a warm welcome to my lovely new renter, Erin, from Pupsickle.  I picked her because she's a new find of mine and I just adore her.  She has an unruly but sweet-faced dog, Bobby, who likes to dismember his stuffed animals much like my little monsters do.  Go see the recent pics of the now-blind duck to see what I mean. 

Her and her hubby are such a CUTE couple, and guess what?  They live in Alaska!  How freaking awsome is that??   A little cold for my taste, but it's ALWAYS been on my list of things to do.  I'd love to see it.  Maybe she'll invite me up there?  Huh?  Erin?  Whatcha say??  She has some amazing pictures of the ice sculpture competition up right now...WOW.  I wish I could have seen that!

Anyway, please go check out her blog and tell her I sent you.

I never rant - really.  But today, things are just rubbing me the wrong way.  (If you want to rub me the right way, please fill out an application at the front desk.) 

Something that has been getting on my nerves lately : those damn bluetooth earpieces.  Men, if you wear one, you look quite gaybo. No, I don't care that you're a business man and you don't have time to answer a real phone, you still look idiotic with that Britney Spears microphone sticking out of the side of your head. Because I sleep in the same bed as another woman, I get to freely say YOU LOOK LIKE A FAG.

Something else that's pissing me off lately? Television. I try not to watch tv anymore because everything is just total crap. I hate the drama of everything; it's either someone being an asshole, someone is crying, or someone is getting hurt/killed.  The people in charge either want you to be pissed off, sad or scared about EVERYTHING.  Even the news has turned into "let's see how much drama we can cause".  It's just plain ol' stupid.  Pretty soon everyone will be so desensitized, they'll have to start having tv shows with titles like "LIVE : Execution of Furry Puppies" and "People Are Dying All Around You And You're Next" and "George Bush is President".   Oooh, the horror.

Ok, so maybe the PMS hits a little on the cranky side with me, too.  But if you mention it, I might stab you.  So it might be best if you just don't mention it. 

I know everyone talks about PMS like it's the #1 killer of married men, but I've yet to meet a woman who goes all Lizzy Borden every month.  If anything, most women I know turn into a cranky, slightly bloated version of Cookie Monster.

I, however, turn into a hungry, poopy, 2-year-old who has lost her favorite blankey and needs nappy time.

Last night I found myself throwing one of those random fits that kids in the spawn of satan terrible two phase throw - you know, the ones that make no sense and who annoy anyone within earshot?  Yeah, that was totally me.  I was whining, literally like a fussy baby, and telling Shellie that I needed attention.  I also found myself with a desparate need to sleep on the other side of the bed (which I've only done one other time in my whole life).  I whined because I was hot...then whined because I was cold...then whined becuase my insides felt like I was about to crap a porcupine. I did finally get a "you.have.GOT.to.go.to.sleep" from Shellie - I'm surprised she didn't just suffocate me with a pillow.

Today, except the fact that I had cookies, toast and Diet Coke for breakfast, I feel just fine.  What is that?? Do you ladies turn into crazy bitches (assuming you're not one anyway)?  What do you crave?  Is anyone else a big fat baby like I am??

My school loan refund check came in yesterday, so the first person I called was my hair stylist, M.  She'd moved salons again, sonofabitch, and this one was all the way across town.  But, since she's cooler than Jesus (see post below), I will always follow her.  I drove my happy ass to hell that area of town and pranced in, excited to get my nappy roots covered. 

Well, apparently, Miss M was sick, and didn't bother to call me.  I fumed a little bit and said I wanted it done anyway because I had just driven 82,734 miles to get there and I wasn't about to do it tomorrow, too.  After chatting with a couple of the other girls, receptionist lady said, "Well, I guess I can do it real quick."   First of all, "real quick" should never be in the same conversation as "I'm going to put scissors near your head."  Secondly, she talked like a hillbilly, so she kinda scared me.  I went ahead and agreed because 1) I wanted a damn color job, 2) her hair was pretty cute and 3) the hick thing is common in Oklahoma, so I can forgive someone if they are at least decent-looking (yes, I'm in a catty place today).

I almost got up and walked away, though, when she asked me, "I know you want your roots done, but...what color?  Like....beige?"  Uhhhh.  I said, "how's about the same color it is now?"  She said ok and went to mix the stuff.  I looked at myself in the mirror and shook my head.  This was going to be a long day.

I'm an observer by nature, so I'm pretty good at eavesdropping.  I listened as one lady talked about her hubby buying a car without telling her first and then having the car blow up the very next day, only to have the hillbilly dealership say 'too bad for you.' Another lady was talking about her fun trip to Walmart.  A man said, "I had some choice words for him" which got a woman's drawled response of, "now, you be nice...that ain't Christian-like."  Fine choice for a new salon, M, my tattoo'd, pierced, gothy M. Jeezy Creezy.

The lady started asking how I wanted my hair done.  "Chunky? Like mine?"  I said, "No, I think I'll stick to how it is now."  She said, "ok, then, how about the back?  Do you want the back done too? Because I think it would be really cute if you left the back all brown and did color in the front.  Ya know, like mine is."  She might as well have said, "my hair is cuter than yours, how's about we do it MY way?"  Gah. I once again told her no, that I would like to just do the roots.  Nothing special.

She continued to play receptionist throughout my hairstyling.  While she was rinsing my hair, she answered the phone, chatted for a few seconds, and hung up saying, "That was my gynecologist. That's never good news."  I didn't ask.  I just closed my eyes and let the water rinse away how itchy I suddenly felt.

When she finished, she turned me around to see the back, guess what?  Yep, she'd shaped it like the back of her hair.   But, I was ok with that - hers was cute anyway.  I liked the end result a lot. And, lucky for her, I never have a "style"...I always tell M to do something different each time anyway.  So it worked out. 

When I was about to leave, she said, "so what does M usually charge you? Because we like to keep things about the same price so we don't steal each other's clients."   I said, "I really don't remember."  (Of course I remembered : $110 every time)  She gave me a price of $75 and I was on my way.

So thank you, M, for being sick and letting me have this experience.  You just saved me $35 and provided me with fodder.  But now? Now everytime I see my cute new hair, I'll think of the receptionist with twat issues.  I think I need a shower. It's going to take quite a few rinses to get that one out of my mind.

*update* People are asking for pictures.  Here ya go. Nosey parkers.

QUESTION : What do all these things have in common? The answer is below. Don't cheat.

• salsa
• a dead ant
• oatmeal
• half of a popcorn kernel
• dirt
• a chunk of half-melted chocolate
• diet coke
• what could possibly have been an entire kitten

 Eh?  Any idea?  No, it's not what I had for breakfast.

ANSWER : Things that came out of my keyboard when I cleaned it today.  Seriously, dude.  It was that disgusting.

My father always wanted to fly airplanes when he was a kid.  When he grew up, he decided that, since he thought he was too old, he wanted me to fly airplanes.  He asked me out of the blue one day, "so...what do you think about taking flying lessons? You know, in a real plane?"  Being the unadventurous, homebody, sit-in-my-room-and-read type of 14-year-old, my answer was, "ehh...I don't know."   He must have heard woohoooo I'd love that shit! because within a couple of weeks, I found myself in the pilot's seat of a high-wing Cessna, looking at guages and knobs and levers that meant absolutely nothing to me.

I started taking weekly lessons, learning how to fly this shakey little junk heap in the sky, being taught by german brothers Ian and Hans.  I could understand about 60% of what they told me (which probably isn't a good ratio since I was manning an airplane).  I was so tiny at the time, I had to sit on a special pillow so I could see over the dashboard.  This made me the most famous little girl at the airport, walking around with my pre-flight checklist and seat cushion. 

I did actually learn.  I could take off by myself, fly around, call in to the airport, and I could almost land the thing by myself.  That part was freaking scary though, so my instructor's hands were never far away from the gears.  I started studying to get my solo license, which I had to wait to get until I was 16.  It was still ALL my father, though, because it wasn't something I necessarily liked and the pressure in small craft like that about killed my sinuses.  I always had a throbbing headache and was the most miserable little pilot in the air.

While I was studying to become a real pilot, my father decided it was time to start also taking helicopter lessons.  I must admit, that was pretty damn cool.  I loved it.  My favorite thing would be to have my parents drop me off at the airport and leave.  After the lesson, the instructor and myself would fly to my hometown and land in the church parking lot.  Of course, all the neighborhood kids would ride their bikes to the church to see what was going on, and I would step out of the craft.  I got quite a bit of attention those days - I was queen of the neighborhood.  Of course, it goes without saying that, even though kids were ooh-ing and ahh-ing, I got out, put my head down, didn't talk to anyone, walked home by myself and went and locked myself in my room with my books. I'm sure I at least had a little grin and a spring in my step, though.

Before I was old enough to get my solo, I had enough with the airplanes and got the courage to tell my father I couldn't stand it anymore.  We yelled at each other for quite awhile and I finally made him mad enough that he didn't make me do it anymore.  Unfortunately, with the airplane lessons went the helicopter lessons.  I was a little sad about that, but the trade-off was worth it.  No more eye-bleeding headaches in exchange for lack of helicopters?  Hell yeah.

My father ended up taking helicopter lessons for himself and got his solo license, so he wasn't so upset that I didn't do it.  Of course, we were all standing on the ground watching as he took his first test by himself, lost control, and started spinning like a huge metal top 30-feet in the air.  They have a video of me crying about it.  (Don't worry, he got it under control and landed shaken but in one piece.)

So yeah, if you ever doubt my coolness, go back to those days when I landed my own helicopter in the neighborhood church parking lot.  Those kids on the bikes?  They might not remember my name, but they sure thought I was cool shit on those days.  I was the most popular girl in the universe.

At least until I got back to my book shelf - then I turned into the geek you all know and love now.

After 6 years, next month I will finally see the inside of a courtroom for a case I'm involved in.  (BOY, are my attorneys making their money!)  The events of those two days were the most frightening of my life.  I probably shouldn't be telling the story on the internet, but I'll keep away from specifics and will do so anyway. Heh.

Before I started my own company, a friend (R) and I worked for a commercial painter.  We were working in a machine shop area painting doors and all of a sudden we heard people screaming.  I looked up and all the workers were running toward us, waving their arms.  They were screaming for us to "go go go!"  So we, unsure of what the hell was going on, sat down our paint and ran with the other lemmings.  The entire plant was mulling around outside in the grass, buzzing about the details.  From what we gathered, the chemical plant behind their building had an explosion.  R and I decided that since we had co-workers doing a job at the chemical plant, we would go see what the fuss was. So, against orders, we hopped in our truck and booked it to find our friend.

He was outside when we pulled up, as was the entire plant staff.  We noticed two people in hazmat suits walking into the building.  No one seemed phased, probably glad they got a paid smoke break.  He saw us and walked over.  We asked what was going on and he whispered "you.need.to.leave.now."   We started to ask more questions and he said, "Seriously.  They don't know how bad this really is, so, it would be best if you.leave.right.now."   So we did.  We got in the truck and zoomed away, just in time to see a swarm of flashing lights heading toward the plant area.

We were terrified at this point and started calling everyone in the biz we knew to find out if we were going to die or not.  No one knew anything.  We headed for our boss' house, about 20 minutes away.  By the time we got there, he was on his porch telling us not to go into the house because the gas we were exposed to was a close relative of arsenic and they weren't sure how 'exposed' we were. Or how contagious. We sat on his lawn, away from everyone, until he was told to send us to the hospital.  R and I were in near tears by then, and we clung to each other, physically shaking and laughing with quivering voices.

On the way to the hospital, we heard the sirens on the radio.  You know, the Emergency Broadcast System thing that annoys everyone?  Yeah, this is the only time in my life I've heard "this is NOT a test."  They were evacuating the area of the plants and telling anyone in a certain radius to seek medical attention.  Our stomachs sank and we drove faster toward the ER. 

We arrived at the hospital and tried to explain what happened.  They thought it was a drill and had no idea what to do with us.  Once they started receiving the calls, their eyes got big and they wisked us to the back of the building (being sure to stay away from us), showed us an unmarked door to enter, and told us to remove our clothes, put all our belongings in a hazardous material bag, take a shower, and put on hospital robes.  After a quick shower, and before we could put on our robes, two men in hazmat suits came in and started asking us questions.  I was so frazzled by then, I didn't know what was going on.  I don't remember them taking R or myself to our rooms, but the next thing I remember, I was laying in bed, wearing a 'hazardous' dog tag, breathing supplied oxygen, answering the doctor's questions.  He admitted he didn't know what to tell me because he had never even heard of this chemical.  He did say he did some reasearch and found out that it hadn't been used since WWII.  Greeeeeeeat.  Doesn't that sound fun?

More patients came in later, having been brought by bus from the plant area.  Apparently, as soon as we left, they shut down the entire area, quarantined everyone, and hosed people off in portable showers, later shipping them like lepers to area hospitals.  After hours in the ER and after bloodwork and pee tests with unclear results, they sent us home, telling us they were sorry, but had no idea what else to say.  They said to stay awake as long as we could just in case something started happening, but for now, we seemed ok. 

The next day, after realizing we were both alive, we started with our lives again.  Until the phone call from the hospital came.  "Hi, Miss Chase?  This is Ruth from XYZ Hospital.  You need to come back in as soon as you can."  *gasp*   R came and picked me up, and we once again clung to each other, not knowing what to think.

The next thing I know, we were on beds, hooked up to both oxygen and an IV.  They made sure to tell us it was standard proceedure, but it didn't make us feel any better.  After another several hours, they told us to go home again.  Again with the unclear results.

Through the years, we all got attorneys, the hospital mysteriously lost all our test result records, the chemical plant was found to be illegally making the stuff involved, R and I received a bribe from said company to drop charges, and at least one person had to get a kidney transplant from the ordeal. Good news?  I'm alive after 6 years!  I probably shouldn't talk about symptoms online or what my attorneys have said, but we have a feeling it will work out for the best, all around.  And, FINALLY, we get to see a judge about it.  Maybe he'll give me a bazillion, gatillioin, mapillion dollars and I won't have to paint anymore.  Eh?  Ya think?

Eh, either way. Keep your fingers crossed for us. 

My dear, sweet hosting service,

When we were first introduced, I wasn't sure what to do.  I was a little shy and submissive because it was my first blind date with a host - I always stuck with safe (though a tad unreliable) Mr. Blogger.  But I was a new woman with a new domain and I was going to grow as a blogger and get a REAL host.  I heard you were nice and thought you were handsome enough, so I gave it a shot.

The first week was a little rough, sure, but I shyly assumed it was my ignorance because, honestly dear, you were my first.  I was too scared to admit I didn't know what I was doing with you.  You, afterall, had done it before.  So I just layed there and let you do your thing.

The more I learned about what this kind of relationship is supposed to be, the more I realized you were kinda a jerk.  I learned by reading detailed websites and from talking to professionals, and you know what?  You're not only a jerk - you're a PAIN IN MY ASS.

I tried to use protection yesterday - protection from those nasty little comment bugs, and what did you do?  You laughed at me and shut down the system entirely!  Now I'm without protection again and will probably get some sort of disease before it's all over with.  You selfish pig.  I knew I shouldn't have hooked up with you - you're no good for me.

And that's why I'm leaving you.  I would say "it's not you, it's me", but...seriously...it's ALL you.  I'm finding someone else to open my site to. Someone who loves me and who will PROTECT me without making me feel guilty about it.  Goodbye, Yahoo.  This was the worst month of my blogging life. I'm sure you understand.

Love, Chase

p.s. Please don't call me.  It'll only make things harder for us both.

In the last 48 hours, I've deleted about 928,374,298,342,350 spam comments.  Give or take a couple.  So, unfortunately, I'll be moderating comments from now on.  Bastards.  If you're going to spam, do so with something cool - like sock monkeys.

Secondly, don't forget to check out my twin-carrying ho, Chelle.  She just gets bigger everyday (she just posted a new picture to prove it!).  She also is a self-proclaimed lover of being plugged.  So, I'm plugging her.  Heh. Heh.

Since I'm all about the travel stories lately (and since it fits the whole "Taste the World" thing), I'm going to continue today with another stop on my roadtrip : Lafayette, Louisiana.

The first night of the trip, I stayed at a friend's house in Shreveport.  From that point on, I wasn't sure where I would go, and made sure not to have any real plans or driving directions - just an atlas.  So I left his house and headed in the direction of New Orleans.  Looking at the map, I saw that Lafayette was in the general area, so I called a woman (who I'll call N) I'd known online/on phone for about 10 years, whom I had never met.  I told her the story, said I would be in the area, and she basically screamed that I MUST come see her.  So I put my compass at SSE and drove all day.

I got to Lafayette, snagged a cute hotel at the edge of town, and sunk in to my new surroundings.  N was busy all night, but suggested I eat at Blue Dog Cafe and take in their small downtown atmosphere.  I put on the new shirt I bought in Shreveport, went to the restaurant and sat at the bar by myself, garnering quite a few "wtf" looks.  A two-piece live band was draping the air with sad, throaty music, and the smell of southern cooking warmed me and made me smile.  I ordered a beer and something else suggested by the barkeep, something I'd not normally order - cajun bass something-or-another.  It was delicous - and indeed cajun.  Whew!  I talked with some locals about what to do and see and found out I needed to visit a tiny cafe, Dwyers, in the morning for their famous sweet potato cakes.

Early the next morning, I did just what I was told.  And fell head-over-heels in love.  I actually enjoyed it so much, I issued myself another night's stay in Lafayette so I could have them again the next morning.

That afternoon, after browsing through the sidewalk art festival, I met up with N at her house.  It was as if we'd known each other as neighbors instead of online buddies.  She was just like I imagined and her daughter was just plain adorable.  I confessed that I was trying new things on my trip and wanted, at some point, to try some crawfish.  She clapped her hands and said she knew where we were going for dinner.  I was nervous - but ready for just about anything.

We went to a place called Gator Cove, where they had tanks around the perimeter that you could look into steamy, tiny windows and see the future meals alligators.  Goats were running around freely, as well, but I didn't ask about the future of those guys.  They were just too cute.  I couldn't help but chase them, though - I mean, come on.

After N ordered my meal (and she'll have three pounds of 'bugs and a side of potatoes), I sat watching the other patrons slurp and slop the little things.  My stomach was in knots, but I was determined to at the very least, get one in my mouth without hurling.  I, much like the tourist I so obviously was, gawked at a large woman sucking out the heads.  Seeing my fear, N leaned over and assured me even she didn't do that and I shouldn't either.  Thank god for small favors, eh?

Our meal came and everyone's plate looked exactly like the picture I've shown - a big pile of dead sea creature (I see a theme emerging here).  I was shown, step-by-step how to hold the head, twist the body, pull the legs off, scrape off the fat, dip it in sauce, and slurp away.  I shuddered the whole time, but stuck with it.  Once I got it in my mouth, it was like...heaven.  Amazing.  I had animal juices dripping off my elbows and a pile of death in front of me, but I was grinning and licking my chops like a pro.   (And, when I say pro, I mean a pro that still sometimes squealed about having to rip apart an animal in order to eat it.)

After dinner, we sat in her living room and talked until we both almost passed out.  We said our goodbyes and hugged like family, and I went back to my hotel and fell into a blissful, food-bloated sleep.

Even with the nightmarish pictures I have in my head, I still sometimes crave a big plate of mudbugs.  You just can't get that stuff in Oklahoma.  And, I suppose, if I could, Lafayette wouldn't have meant as much to me as it now does.  Those were two days of my life I thoroughly enjoy recalling - even the yucky stuff was wonderful.

Technorati tags : Louisiana, crawfish, travel, Blue Dog

Without the orange poofy hat.  And the orange suit.  And, oh yeah, that hideous, pile-of-rocks-in-the-gutter necklace.   Ok, so don't call me Cindy Adams.  But I'm workin' the entertainment gossip today (which I really try SO hard not to do).

First of all, am I the only one utterly thrilled with the new HBO series, Big Love?  While I can't necessarily say I'm a huge fan of Bill Paxton, the wives (Jeanne Tripplehorn, Chloë Sevigny and Ginnifer Goodwin) are all on my list of people I say "oooh, I love her!"  The series is about a polygamist family trying to keep their lives intact but out of the public eye.  HBO is known for their brilliant series (Six Feet Under is my all-time favorite), so I'm excited to see where they go with this one.  The series starts this Sunday 10ET/PT.

If you caught SNL this past weekend, you couldn't have missed this fine piece of work.  In my opinion, Natalie Portman is the sweetheart of Hollywood (I have no problem admitting I have a crush on the lady), and this video just proves it, yo. 

Last night, Matthew McConaughey was on Conan.  In the interview, he started talking about his brother, Rooster.  Yeah, Rooster.  Apparently, Rooster's wife just had a baby boy.  Guess what they named him?  No...just guess.   Yep - Miller Lyte McConaughey.  MILLER LYTE.  I kept listening, hoping he was kidding, but the more I heard, the more I thought he was serious.  He said, "I guess since they spelled it L-Y-T-E, it's ok."   Errrrr, yeah.  Of course, dude is from Texas - that certainly explains a lot.  Yee-haw.

Lastly, as of yesterday, Project Runway is over.  The only show on tv that I watch (until Big Love starts!) is gone already.  And I'm kinda disappointed in the results.  I loved Daniel, but Chloe won.  Of course, if you're like most people with a brain, you have no clue what I just said or why I said it.  You feel a little confused and itchy because of it, right?  Good.  That's exactly how I like to leave my readers feeling.  Enjoy.

Only in Oklahoma, kids, only in Oklahoma.

Technorati tags : celebrity, gossip, McConaughey, Project Runway, entertainment, Big Love

Going to the aquarium the other day made me remember a lot of stories from the Cayman trip, so I thought I'd share with my readers.  One at a time, though, since there are so many.

Several years ago, I worked for a company that only had four employees.  We were all females and all good friends outside of work.  One of the employee's dad owned the company, so we were a pretty tight-knit bunch.  He decided, after we finished a hard job, that he would reward us with a full-paid trip to the Cayman Islands.  Yep - rental house, car, plane, food, scuba, everything.

The first day we were there, we lounged around and got used to being in paradise.  The second day, we went on a full-day boat trip, where we gathered with several other people, a French-talking, boob-staring captain, and more rum punch than we could possibly handle.  (Totuga rum + big waves = useless sea legs.)

Our first stop was out in the middle of a coral reef, where we all dove in and snorkeled for 30 minutes, feeding bread to whatever creatures would come to us.  And, believe me, if you have bread, nothing is scared of you.  It was gorgeous.  We then moved on, el capitan reminding us "next, we stop at ze Conch Beds and have lonch."   We stopped in the middle of seemingly nowhere, and the captain told us to dive down, look for a conch with pink on it, and bring it on board - everyone had to get one each.  By the way, in case you're wondering, the shell picture?  Yeah.  That's a conch.

We all dove down, gleefully grabbing our shells and handing them to the captain.  Little did we know, he was going to take a hammer to the shells, pull out the creature living inside, and cook them up with onions for our lunch.  Indeed.  Of course, it was the middle of the day and we were starving and a little tipsy from the punch, so we gobbled up the little guys with no problem. Yum.

Our next stop was Stingray City, which was in my opinion, the coolest part of the entire trip.  As we drifted toward the sand bar, we could see hundreds of little black dots, which, as we were told, were the singrays.  The closer we got, the more appeared.  Everyone got into the water and, being used to tourists coming to their neck of the woods (ocean) bringing food, they swarmed us like kittens who hadn't eaten in weeks.  They rubbed against our legs and we, squealing, did our best not to step on any.  (They may be fairly tame, but they're still STING rays, after all.)  We got bits of food to give them and they swam by, sucking it quickly off our open palms.

One of the girls in our group was none-too-happy about being in the water with them, and stayed away from the swarm.  When they realized she was over there, they charged her, making her scream and latch onto me, grabbing me around the neck and curling into a ball like a true damsel in distress.  I think I nearly choked on my snorkel I laughed so hard.

After we left Stingray City, we went to another stop where a few people got off the boat and snorkeled.  I, being full of rum and cute little sea creature, layed on the deck and passed out instead.  It was a hard day, all that being lazy on a yacht and drinking rum that the captain supplied to you by the bucket-full, and all that getting ON and OFF the boat to see beautiful fish close-up.  Whew!

If you're up for a challenge, though, I would highly suggest you give it a shot.  It's certainly worth the...uh...effort.

Technorati Tags : Cayman, scuba, diving, snorkeling, Stingray City, vacation, yacht

I have another dirty ho renter over there to your right that I'm so proudly displaying.  Everyone, meet Chelle-Belle.  Miss Chelle-Belle, meet everyone.  *points at all 3 of my readers*

This fine lady is the one who designed the site you're looking at!   Ya know, the one that Stella has a hard time reading (waa waa waa!)  *wink*   She is fantastic - and, as I well know, VERY patient.  If your blog needs a new design, I highly recommend her work.  She's fast and knows what she's doing (like the dirty ho professional she is).

Another reason you should click and then hire her to do your site?  Because she is SOOOO very pregnant (with TWINS!) and wants to quit her day job.  If you guys hire her, well, she can.  So DO IT.

At least go check out her site.  See her VERY preggers belly.  It's cute. 

I stumbled onto someone's blog today who just happened to be from Savannah, GA.  Reading a few posts about the city and seeing a few pictures made the memories of that stunning city come back to me.  I imagine I blocked them out before because if I'm thinking of Savannah, I'm sad.  I'm sad because I'm not there.

For all my newer readers, I'll tell the story again.

I have a list of things I want to do before I die.  On that list was always "take a long roadtrip by myself", so last May I decided to do just that.  I rented a Chrysler 300, packed a couple of bags, warned my credit card companies, and headed out the door to discover people, places, foods and, ultimately, myself.  I had an atlas and a general direction, but not many other plans.  I knew I wanted to see New Orleans and Savannah - everywhere else was 'if I end up there, cool'.  I was a lone wolf on the prowl for life.

I ended up hitting New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Pensacola, Orlando, Savannah and Memphis (among other small towns).  I met a couple of people I knew from the internet, ate food I NEVER thought I'd eat (including three pounds of crawfish!), won $400 in New Orleans after putting 15 cents into a slot machine, fell asleep on a random beach in Florida, went on a ghost tour by myself at midnight...I did a million things I never would have done without that roadtrip.

Through the 2000+ miles I ended up driving, by far the best place for me was Savannah.  As soon as I got off the highway, I was IN LOVE.  The moss in the trees, the sound of horse-drawn carriages on the cobblestone, the smell of home-cooked meals and sweet flowers, the stately manors, the perfect breeze - it called to my every sense and nudged my soul, saying, 'you're home.'

I got a hotel room right outside the main squares, so I was able to walk the whole 5 days I was there.  And I did - I walked all over the place, stopping in every shop I could handle and eating all the food I could stuff into my mouth.  Ok, so I didn't eat at Paula Deen's place because the line was INSANELY long, but I walked by it and stared in the windows quite often.

I drove to Tybee Island and hung out on the beach.  I went up in the lighthouse, took pictures and got dizzy from the unsecured lookout SO far up.

I asked everyone I talked to about living there, moving there, working there, anything I could to get a better idea of how it would be when I moved there.  I was determined.  Even a guy who worked at the hotel I stayed in was from Tulsa and he said moving to Savannah was the best decision he'd ever made.

I had to make myself finally leave Savannah.  It was the hardest thing to do.  I nearly cried on my way out.  I had one more stop to make, visiting another internet friend in SC, but Savannah was the only thing on my mind.

For months after I made it home, all I could do was think of the little place I called home for less than a week.  I thought about how I could get back there.

Shellie said she wanted to finish school first (still another 2 years away!), but that she would go there with me.  I've even cried because I wasn't there, where I felt I belonged.  It has a pull for me that I just can't explain.  Maybe it's just that it was a neat place on my trip.  Maybe it's because I was discovering myself while there.  Maybe I just liked horses on the streets.  I don't know about all that though - I kinda doubt it.

I'll be back one day.  One day very soon, I hope. 

John Mayer - Why Georgia?

I am driving up 85
In the kind of morning
That lasts all afternoon
I'm just stuck inside the gloom

Four more exits to my apartment
But I am tempted to keep the car in drive
And leave my fears behind

Because I wonder sometimes
About the outcome
Of a still verdictless life

Am i living it right? Why, Georgia, why?

I rent a room and I fill the spaces
With wood in places to make it feel like home
But all I feel's alone

It might be a quarter-life crisis
Just stirring in my soul

Either way
I wonder sometimes about the outcome
Of a still verdictless life

Am i living it right? Why why, Georgia, why?

So what? So I've got a smile on
But its hiding the quiet superstitions in my head
Dont believe me
When I say I've got it down

Everybody's just a stranger
But that's the danger in going my own way
I guess it's a price I have to pay
Still, 'everything happens for a reason'
Is no reason not to ask myself
If I'm living it right

Technorati tags : Georgia, Savannah, travel, roadtrip, ghost tours, vacation

I, like the rest of the blog universe, want to put my two cents in on the Oscars.  I actually missed the entire broadcast because I was out doing the things I did in my last post. Regardless, I want to talk about the 'Crash' upset that everyone is buzzing about this morning.

I didn't see any of the movies nominated for Best Picture, except 'Brokeback Mountain' and 'Crash'. And they were both excellent, heart-grabbing movies.  While I'm going to regurgitate what I said on Chase's blog this morning with this, here's how I feel about it: 'Crash' 100% deserved to win over Brokeback, in my opinion. 

Brokeback was a gorgeous film.  It was a phenomenal, tragic love story.  The acting was great (I wasn't too fond of Heath's dip-in-mouth-sounding accent though).  The cinematography was stunning.  The directing was brilliant.

But it was just another love story.  A gay couple fall in love, but because of time and/or place, can't come out of the closet, and then, the big shocker, one of them gets killed for being gay?  Yeah, it's not that surprising of a story.  I do think it's an important film - finally they showed true love and heartache between men.  But still, in my opinion, it wasn't that oustanding of a movie.  Especially when compared to 'Crash', which I just am absolutely gaga over. 

Everyone is up in arms because they think picking Crash was playing it safe.  It's Hollywood for fuck's sake - is this really an issue?  If you've ever been anywhere within a city mile of West Hollywood, you'll know the answer is a resounding, net-shirt-wearing NO.   From where I sit (in this non-film-critic chair), I say they just picked the better choice.

In an article on ABC News, director Ang Lee said about the Oscar outcome, "Why they didn't go for it, I don't know."    Why they didn't 'go for' it?  Dude, the movie won 3 out of the 5 awards it was nominated for.  Sounds like they went for it...at least a little bit!

In honor of the upset, I'm buying the 'Crash' DVD.  If you haven't seen it, I beg you do.  It deserved the Best Picture.  So speaketh me.

Technorati Tags : Oscars, Brokeback Mountain, Best Picture, Crash, Ang Lee, Academy Awards

After my last blog, I showered, got dressed, grabbed my money and my camera, and left.  After filling up the tank, I started driving, unsure of where I'd stop first.  Shellie was spending the day doing homework, so I was on my own.

My first stop was the Philbrook Museum.  What a stunning place.  A stunning place I should visit more often than I do; it never fails to inspire me.  I'm far from an art critic and I don't pretend to know anything about form or technique, but I stand enthralled in front of some works.  I'm a sucker for Renaissance paintings, and I'm one of those people that just can't get close enough to each piece.  I become immersed in the detail, the blending of colors, the stroke of the brush, and imagine the artist as he sat admiring his work.

I walked through the gardens, enjoying the perfect weather we had today.  True to form, I didn't pay attention to where I was walking and got lost trying to find the door back in.  I did happen to find three very locked doors, if that makes me look any better.  Nah, didn't think so either.

As I was leaving, I saw another wing that I'd passed up before.  There was an exhibit called CUT : Film As Found Object.  I decided 'what the heck' and walked in.  I ended up staying for about another 2 hours, stuck in a gaped-mouth stupor, completely amazed by the pieces there.  It is manipulations of film: sight and sound.  I won't explain it all - I couldn't if I tried.  Just know I sat in front of a few pieces with my eyes wide and my arms covered with goose-bumps.  I nearly cried one was so lovely.   Please find out if it's touring near you.

After the museum, I called a dear friend of mine who I also should visit more often than I do, and asked him to lunch.  We had 100% fattening coneys and talked for almost 2 hours about work and kids and life.  I had a great time catching up and we promised to do it again soon.

I then took my camera and headed for the Oklahoma Aquarium, which I'd never been to before.  It was pretty, though as a certified SCUBA diver, I can't say it's something I hadn't seen before a hundred times more brilliant.  I'll have to blog one day about a group of us daring each other to touch a wild sleeping shark in the Cayman Islands.  We all touched him.  He didn't think it was nearly as funny as we did. 

Today was, in a word, perfect.  I got to spend time with myself, doing things I love to do, driving around with the windows down and enjoying every second of the wonderful day. 

Continue reading to see pictures from the aquarium.

Technorati tags : aquarium, fish, diving, scuba, life, travel, photography, museums, art

I named this blog "Taste the World" based off a poem I wrote several years ago with the same title.  I won't bore anyone with the whole thing, but the last line was :

touchsmelltaste the world - rush

The poem was about getting out there and living while you were still alive because, quicker than you realize, your life will be over.  I've always been all about doing and seeing and being truly alive in this life; I've always tried to do the things I really want, like the 15-day roadtrip through the south by myself, going to Hollywood alone and eating in THE restuarant (which had a one-month waiting list) and laughing about how the waiter kept coming over every 15 seconds to clean up my breadcrumbs, and taking swingdance lessons just to say I did it.  I'm thrilled I've done all these things and I have these colorful memories of this life.

Lately, though, I haven't been tasting too much of my life.  I'm a homebody who rolls on the floor with her dogs and watches endless re-runs of Friends.  While this is all perfect and I love every second of my life, I think it's time for me to take another bite - a big, honkin' mouthful of living.

So, today I'm going to go explore.  Where, what and how, I have no idea.  It might even end up being nothing too special. But I'm going outside, away from my computer (farewell, my love!), and am going to touchsmelltaste the world. 

(And then, of course, I'll come back and blog about it.  Because, honestly, I really do love this computer stuff.)

I consider myself a fairly good writer, though the array of crap you've seen here lately surely doesn't attest to this statement. When the words are there, writing is the most enjoyable and empowering part of my life.  Unfortunately, the more I sit around on my ass procrastinating on my brilliant book idea, the more those words tell me to give up and just watch my Friends DVDs (which I do a lot more than I care to admit).

Sometimes I need a little creative nudge - something that speaks to my core.  I found something today that might just be one of those things.  The positive potential is twofold: promote a book that's brilliantly done and allow myself to do some writing with thought behind it (something my mind has been begging me for).

The marketing campaign is explained here.  The book is for pre-sale here.  The author's awsome blog is here.  I found out about this contest from her.  And, to show you what kind of brilliant minds will be participating in the campaign, look who else is doing it.  I will link to all the participants when the time comes.

The short and sweet of it is that, between April 10 and April 14, I will be blogging as a historical figure.  I won't be telling you who it is - you will have to wait and see.  Don't get confuzzled, it won't be me blogging about this person, it will be me blogging as this person.  Now, if this will be any good, I have no idea...I'm leaning toward "eh, prolly not" but we'll just have to see.  Prepare for an onslaught of crap, just in case.   And, just to be clear, everyone is calling it a contest because the readers are supposed to guess what figure the writers are.   Well, there's no prize (I'm not shilling out any mulah for you damn freaks lovely people  ), so I'm not calling it a contest.  Though you can still guess all you want. 

Please feel free to join in the fun on your blog.  I'd love to read your responses!

A couple more things?  A new web design is coming very soon, thanks to her.  And don't forget to read my renter who is she/her/it. 

Technorati tags : writing, blogging, history, literature, books

Yeh, the three-column thing isn't very pretty right now.  I'm hopefully gonna have a new design shortly, so you'll just have to deal with the skinny middle column for now.

In honor of all things skinny:  organic meals

Yeaaah baby. 

When Shellie and I go grocery shopping, it's known that I have to be the one who unloads the cart onto the conveyor belt.  I've given a few dirty looks and deep sighs if she tries to help.

Kristen recently wrote a post about the "just-so gene".  Here is a bit of her explanation:

I'm convinced that everyone is born with the just-so gene. You know what I mean. The "That picture needs to be hung, just-so," or "my towels need to be folded, just-so" gene.

I'm thinking my need for utter control of how the cart is unloaded borders on this just-so gene.  Well, one side borders that - the other side is ass-deep in the freaking-nutjob-OCD gene.  When I first read Kristen's theory, my humble contribution was that my only just-so thing was my list-making, particularly my grocery lists.  But I was wrong - it spreads throughout the whole shopping experience.

First of all, there is the perfectly-written grocery list that I spoke of here, where I have a blueprint-like map of the entire store.  Secondly, and almost more disturbingly, is the checkout issue.  When I unload the cart, I have to place the items on the conveyor belt according to size and shape of the items.  Boxes have to sit next to boxes, frozen items must be with frozen items...you get the picture.  Yeah, I know.  Most times, the labels are even all facing outward, god help me.

I went shopping yesterday.  I had all grocery items except for a package of razor refills.  It was almost painful sitting it next to my milk.  I switched its position about 5 times before just giving up on making it fit. 

Despite how it sounds, I really am a fairly normal person.  Really.  I just have a thing about my list stuffs and my shopping stuffs.  It's certainly gotta be just-so.   To the readers who didn't participate in Kristen's question : what is your just-so?

(There ya go, Kristen, payback for all your stolen inspired ideas lately!)

Technorati tags : shopping, groceries, OCD

We really need an intervention.  Do rehab places take beagles?

Bo just can't. stop. eating. shit.  We've done all we can do.  We pick up the poo we see, but he follows the other dogs around, waiting for them to drop a warm loaf.  We get those pill things and they work, but as soon as they run out, he starts up again.  We re-start pills and what does he do?  He digs under the fence so he can go eat the neighbor dog's poop.

He tells me he doesn't want to but he can't stop.  He says the piles call him over and beg to be eaten.  He says he wants help but doesn't know where to turn. 

We have a beagle on the edge, here, people.  Can't you see the desperation in his beady little eyes?

Technorati tags : beagles, dogs, behavior problems

Maybe it's all the yoga and meditation I've been doing lately.  Or maybe it's the fact I knew I shouldn't have left it in the back of my truck overnight, so I know I kinda deserve it.  Either way, I'm not the least bit mad at you for taking it.

Sure, I was annoyed and disappointed when I walked outside and saw the tailgate down with no pressure washer around.  I was also a little creeped out when I saw your handprints on the dirty truck and your footprints in the dirt.  I even saw how you sat down the washer in my flowerbed while you rummaged around, grabbing the brand new gun and extra hoses from the truck as well.  I think about what your face looked like while you were trying to be oh-so quiet with my squeaky tailgate, seeing as you were standing just a few feet from my back door. 

Still - I can't find a single ounce of anger toward you.  If anything, I feel immensely sorry for you.  When I was on drugs and poor as dirt, I never once thought it was ok to steal from others.  Grocery stores, ok, but people at their homes?  God, no.  You may just have thought it would be cool to have a pressure washer, but more likely is that you pawned it for whatever little money they gave you (I'll guess about $60).  Regardless of if it was used for drugs or drink or dinner...how sad for you.   I honestly hope you find something more in this life.  (Though I hope you don't find it out of the back of my truck anymore.)

So, I have to go buy another pressure washer now.  And, sure, I may be out an extra $200, but I have a feeling you're out a whole lot more.  Karma doesn't run cheap.

However, I kinda (just a little bit) hope you at least strained your back while you were unloading it.  That sucker was pretty heavy.

In honor of March being Women's History Month, several bloggers (myself included) partook in a Blog Exchange, where each member wrote about what it means to be a woman.  My exchange victim...uh...partner was Mel from the hilarious Mama!Mama!   Here is her blog: