I honestly don't even know where to begin.  I won't recap the entire weekend because about 700 other women are blogging the same thing.  And, honestly, I'm still too exhausted to remember it all.  (ok, and MAYBE the endless supply of alcohol had something to do with that.)

I met so many people that I read everyday and love...and so many more that I am adding to that list now.  Every single woman I met was beautiful and smart and made me want to change the world one word at a time. 

People talked about the palpable tension between the mommybloggers and the 'other' bloggers, but I didn't see that at all.  Maybe it was me being naive. Maybe it was me just being so utterly thrilled to be surrounded by such dynamic people.  Whatever the case, I thought it was a perfect mixture of women who all could have just held hands and danced and drank in the energy.  I heard many people call it a love-in.  That's exactly how I felt it. 

Well, a love-in with Yahootinis and a whole shitload of laptops, that is.

To everyone I met this weekend, it was SUCH a pleasure to finally meet you all.  As much as I respected everyone as writers and as women before, I was still constantly surprised by your wit, your voice, and your grace.  All I can say is wow.  And I can't wait until next year.

(Which, by the way, I just saw on the BlogHer site that there's "only 361 days left!")  Lord help me.

I took over 100 pictures this weekend, and here is a handful.  I'll put more up soon.

*UPDATE :  Here are pictures of the SanFrancisco trip, too.

Everyone should start their mornings off like I did today.

*alarm going off*

Deb : *yawn* what time is it?

Me : Time for you to stop being a whore.

Life is good. 

Happy 200th post to Taste The World!  Can I get a woot!woot!  ?

So, in honor of the big 2-oh-oh, I won't mention a few things.

• That I'm in the most gorgeous weather on the planet at this moment in California and you're totally not (loser).
• That I'm at BlogHer meeting SO very many awesome people, some of whom make me want to stroke their hair and lick their faces, all of whom make me want to be a better writer.
• That when Karl and I got off the airplane, we got onto the Hyatt shuttle and, pointing at the lovely tiny blonde getting on the same shuttle, I was all, "oh my god, dude...that's Amalah. Is that Amalah?? I totally think that's Amalah"  and Karl so very cooly said, "so...you here for the blogger thing?" and tiny blonde said, "yeah, hi, I'm Amy...Amalah." and I pointed and squealed in her face all banshee-like "I KNEW THAT WAS YOUUUUUUUUUUU!" and then Amalah tried to jump out of the moving vehicle to get away from the screeching freak in the tank top.
• That we have been drinking since 5pm.  (It's now nearing 1am)
• That I'm having the time of my life with such truly beautiful, amazing people.
• That I ended up standing right next to Amalah like 14 times TOTALLY on accident today and that by now she probably thinks I'm stalking her (I am) and has a restraining order on me (it won't do any good).
  
• That I have to be awake in 6 1/2 hours and at MochaMomma's hotel room for coffee...that she brought for me...because she loves me.
  
• Also that you're not here and nanny nanny booboo. 

I'll have to think of things to talk about...because I know you all don't wanna hear about that other junk that I'm not mentioning.

So, hypothetically...how would one most safely and securely pack 1 bottle of Bacardi Limon rum, 1 2-liter of club soda, 2 limes and a package of mint leaves to travel on an airplane from Oklahoma to California?

Remember : hypothetically.

In honor of Deb's BlogHer artwork, Shellie drew this picture of my hotel room in San Jose this weekend.  Feast your eyes on this masterpiece.

Shellie : Oh man, I farted.

Chase : Ack! I smell it!!

Shellie : No you don't.

Chase : I DO TOO!  *sticks head under my shirt*

Shellie : Whatever.  Tell me what it smells like and I'll tell you if it's mine.

Chase : Um. It smells like shit.

Shellie : Oh.  Then that could be mine.

I can eat me some food. Sometimes it's scary.  If I didn't have a physically-demanding job and didn't have a fairly high metabolism, I think I'd probably be in the 400lb to 500lb range about now. 

I. Love. Food. MUCH.

As a matter of fact, Shellie gave me a dirty look the other day because as I was eating a pastry thing, I said, "MMMMMMMMMM!!!! If I could hump this thing, I would."

I mean...I wouldn't have really.  What kind of girl do you take me for?

(But I can't promise that I wouldn't have humped it. It was totally that good.)

(Not that I'd do that or anything.)

So. Yeah. What if you could have one meal consisting of anything you wanted...as much as you wanted...and you wouldn't damage your body in any way (no weight gain, no cholesterol, no upset stomach problems, etc)?  What would be on your menu?

(I would go into the whole prison last meal thing, but I'm assuming that you folks wouldn't slay entire families and stuff.  Assuming.  And hoping.)

My menu would look something like this :

• tempura shrimp sushi rolls w/ wasabi and soy
• fried pork chops (4, please)
• lots of good, warm, fresh bread and (real) butter
• a nice, big, steak (cooked medium) (with caramelized onions and mushrooms on top)
• corn on the cob with lots of butter
• endless chips and salsa
• 3 huge slices of cheese, mushroom and onion pizza (New York style!)
• a stack of crabcakes
• A whole plate of onion rings - and not those thick sanitary Burger Street ones, either...I want the thinner, greasy ones you find at dirty hole-in-the-wall places!

And, to finish it off,

• an entire cheesecake with a little caramel topping

Dammit. Now I'm hungry. 

What about yous?  What's the best food ever?  What's your dessert of choice?

---------------------------------------------

Speaking of food stuff, have you guys met Janet?? I think everyone already knows her, but if you don't...hop to it.  I read her a lot and actually think I may have been channelling her when I had my blog designed because just look at how similar we think!  About The Chef. Pay The Tab. Oooh!

Along with having a great blog design, Janet is a tv junkie to the core!!  (Kevin, you might want to read her. Dammit.)  She also recently talks about what goes on at Bachelor/Bachelorette parties...so go have a look!

Besides, she links to my girl Deb...so anyone that brave is a-ok in my book.  (Deb is a whore.)

Seriously.

I know this has been blogged about before, but I have to say it here too, since it's stuck in my craw tonight.

I don't understand the big hooplah with men coming to BlogHer.  Why all the outrage, ladies?  BlogHer is about women bloggers, sure, but it's also about everyone who supports women bloggers, and that includes men.  Husbands, boyfriends, family, friends. 

The BlogHer site even says right here that men are more than welcome to join BlogHer (wait, wait...it actually sounds a lot like they are encouraging men to join in). 

It's not like when a man shows up this weekend, we're all going to turn into 50s housewives and throw on aprons, dashing madly around the hotel in search of an oven to bake the menfolk a cake.  They aren't coming to the conference for spite...they aren't trying to one-up us by being there. They don't think they're smarter or more special or have to check up on us.

Why would the presence of a man change the fact that we are a group of women bloggers out to make a splash in the internet world (and doing a mighty fine job of it, by the way)? 

So far I've seen men who are attending this conference being called meddlers, perverts, jerks, and 'probably just gay'.  Why can't they just be men who support women bloggers?  Why do they have to have this seedy agenda? What about the husbands that are coming along to support their wives?  Are they any different because they have a wedding band or are they just trying to keep their wives on a short leash?

Could I use more question marks in one paragraph?

I have male friends who will be at the conference. I'll proudly sit by them.  (Unless one of 'em farts...then I'll probably move over a seat or two.)  I also tried to beg a couple other male blogger friends to come along, but they said no for fear of being treated like this.  That's real positive.  Way to play out the stereotypes.

I seriously just don't understand this rage. 

I just read this by Lisa Stone, the founder of BlogHer.  She quotes Chris Nolan:

"And I think you'll be very surprised to see that this is NOT a convention about "why it's unfair that men run the world." Nor is it a "sisterhood-only event." It's for EVERYONE."

And then she sums it up perfectly by saying, simply, "Amen."  Amen is right, people.  FREAKIN' GET OVER IT.   *sheepish grin* 

(Don't hurt me, ok? And, um, please come back and read my blog because I totally love you and you can hate men if you wanna and I won't judge you.)

And, also?

Dear Karl who will be at BlogHer,

If you want, I'll still bake you a cake like a 50s housewife. With an apron on and everything.  With...ONLY....an apron on, that is. 

Love, Chaseypoo

Ok. I'm done. Continue as you were.

After about 4 hours of screaming at my computer, my printer, and Avery.com, I gave up on making my own business cards.  Let's just say I wasted a LOT of ink trying to get the template to match up (which it never did, fuckyouverymuch).

So I raged until Shellie stepped up and said, "umm...just let me take it to work and do it" so I spit on my Avery packages and told her to give it a shot.  Seriously.  I was FUMING.

She called me today after about 30 minutes and chirpped, "They're all done!"

I just went and picked them up.  YAY!  Looky!

(The big mess under my name is my real name marked out...I didn't want that on the net quite yet)

I love them!!

Of course, in true Chase style, as soon as I walked to the front door with them, I saw a bee buzzing around my face, so I screamed and raced inside, slamming the door and throwing both the package of biz cards and my full Diet Coke can onto the floor in an OH MY GOD THEY'RE ATTACKING MY EYES!!!!! panic.

So, forgive me if the card you get is sticky.  I swear it's not what you think it is.

3 DAYS UNTIL ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE IN SAN JOSE

I met my first bloggin' ladies tonight!  In real life! 

I met both the So-Famous-I-Wanted-An-Autograph Shannon from Rocks In My Dryer and the Way-Too-Cute-And-I-Freaking-Love-Her Chilihead from Don't Try This At Home.  I was all cool and calm and only giggled enough that they wouldn't throw me out and lock the door behind me.  And I didn't tinkle.  Much.

At least until I got back in my car and said "SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" and then raced home to tell Shellie about 30 times that I FINALLY MET CHILI AND OH MY GOD I MET CHILI CHILI CHILI BECAUSE I TOTALLY HAVE BEEN READING HER FOREVER AND GUESS WHAT ELSE? I MET CHILI!!!!!

To which Shellie nodded and said several "that's nice"s.  But, um?  Hi, I met Chili.  And she's just this itty little redhead (who wasn't wearing her fake nose/glasses get-up this time) you just wanna squeeze.  But I didn't.  Because 9-1-1 is an easy number to call and I think Shannon had her hand on the phone just in case.

It was a very tiny taste of things to come at BlogHer (which Shannon and Chili are NOT attending, dammit!!), and I just simply can't wait. 

By the way, when we were all ever-so-enthusiastically chatting about SiteMeter and Movable Type and Bloglines, I wish you could have seen the look on Chili's hubby's face.  He was so bored with our yammering that I think he almost drooled onto his shirt.  Really. 

It was awesome.

It was SO nice to meet you ladies today.  We will do it again. 

I watched a spider dropping from the ceiling today and the voice in my head suddenly said : boy, if the web would have shot out of Spiderman's butt like that, it would have been a much different movie.

I need to have a drink with those voices sometime...methinks they're my kind of people.

Have you guys read Kevin yet?  If not, you really need to.  He's a book, movie, and (much to my dismay) television junkie. Until the tv catches up to him, at least, he's a highly intelligent and thought-provoking writer...it's rare that his posts don't elicit a response from all who read. 

Despite my not putting him on my list of blogs I read religiously, I do...I read him religiously.  And he knows it.  And that's why he guilted me for not putting him on the list.  That's just the kind of friend he is.  So go check him out over at Kapgar if you haven't.  If you have, do it again.  Because if you don't, he'll guilt me again, and I just can't take anymore.

With that said, his post today inspired me to write this one.  So if it's great, you can thank him.  (He, who is my hero)   If it sucks, well, that's just my fault.  Because Kevin is pretty darn close to being a God.  And you can't mess with that perfection.

So yeah. I had a massive orgasm when I read Kevin's site today because he mentioned one of my very favorite things in the world.   This:

Well, not exactly that...he mentioned an F-22 and these are F-15s...but whatever.

If there's anything in this world that turns me on just by sight (besides a big hunk of cheesecake) it's fighter jets.  I have no clue why, but MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!  DAMN, MOMMA!

When I was about 12, we went to an air show.  I've been to many, but this is the first I remember.  We were walking around, looking at random planes, sitting in random cockpits, buying random memorabilia...when I saw Her.

She was beautiful and made me feel...something I'd never felt before.  She was big and shiney and...powerful.  I asked Her name.  She told me it was Harrier.

Then She took off.  Loudly.  Powerfully.  And straight up.  And it made me quiver.  And I wanted to be inside Her.

(heh. heh.)

*snort*

So I decided right then I was going to join the Air Force so I could fly her.

Then, of course, as I got older, I realized I was a big sissy and in NO way cut out for the armed forces because if I was in there, I'd just sit and cry, so instead I just admired the jets from afar.  And I still do.  Anytime I hear one unzipping the sky, I frantically search for it.  I. Love. That. Sound.  It seriously makes me weak.

Ok. I'm gonna go watch Top Gun now and take a cold shower.  Mommy, help me.

What gets your juices flowing?  Anything strangely random like that?

It has begun.  There are only 9 days until the BlogHer conference, and, in Chase language, that means it's time to start having nutball dreams.

You know, those same dreams you had right before school started where you were running around looking for the right classroom and then a phone starts ringing but you can't find it so you start looking in lockers but when you finally find the right one you can't open it because you forgot the combination so you try to find your friends to help you and run into the classroom and look down and see you're completely naked and holding a chia pet?

Not that I've had that dream.

And I wouldn't have a chia pet anyway. Come on, get real.

Last night was filled with BlogHer dreams.  First, we were all in Vegas instead of SanJose (yeah, like any of us would actually make it to a conference if we held it in Vegas).

I missed the meet-and-greet because I decided to help the hotel staff in the garden and lost all track of time.  Then, when I finally realized I was running late, I had dirt ALL over my clothes and had to run back to my room and change.  And *gasp* guess what?  That's right...I'd forgotten to bring extra clothes with me.  The only other shirt I could find was about 3 sizes too small and said "I [HEART] WRITERS" on the front.

Don't think I didn't sport it like a champ. Because I totally did.

As I'm running back to the hotel lobby, I get lost and run out some doors, where there's a guy dressed up in a knight costume and he grabs me, laughing, like it's part of the Vegas charm or something...and he WON'T. LET. GO.  

"Dammit, I don't have time for this - I'm running late to pick up my BlogHer name tag!!!"

So I finally  find the right place and the long check-in table.  But, of course, all I can do is ask everyone, "Where's Mom101?!"

(seriously.  sorry Liz.  I wish I was joking)

I can't find Mom101, but I did find my name tag.  But, like I expect, it has my real full name.  So, like any rational human being, I scribble all over the beautiful name tag, writing "CHASE" all over it.  It looks like a 2-year-old did it, it's so sloppy.

Classy, I know.

I never did make it to the conferences.  I was either looking for the right room or sitting in the lobby watching tv.   And, much to my dismay, I never found Mom101.

Good lord, all you BlogHers are in for it.

Anyone else?

Dreams? Anyone? 

No?  Fine. *pout*

Here are my favorite 10 recent google searches that landed people at my site (my comments in italics):

10. Awesome 36C boobs (why, thank you, baby...I grew them myself)

9. Lactose gas fart  (oops, you heard that? sorry)

8. Lady shaking and touching her boobies (boy, have you come to the right place!!)

7. How come I haven't grown boobs after my period? (you poor thing - I feel for ya)

6. mexican girls farting (wtf?!)

5. Ooh ahh oh ahh said an 11 year old boy  (I repeat...WTF??)

4. Mouth that you use on flowers (*snort* You can put your mouth on my flower, baby)

3. I can feel a little poke coming through (why...have we been dancing?)

2. Procedures for milking men  (milking?! boy, do you have a surprise coming) (no pun intended)

1. Her boobs were the size of basketballs and still growing (now THAT sucks!)

---------------------

I've also been a crapola landlord this week.  If you haven't seen A Pond Perspective, go have a gander.  There are some pretty damn funny pics up there - today is the fattest giraffe I've ever freaking seen.  Sure, it's not real, but it made me gasp. Also, be sure to scroll down 2 entries and see the diamond-studded cars from Saudia Arabia...because, really, there's not anything that country needs to spend money on other than diamond-studded cars.

I was going to volunteer to help do the whole Blogme thing MochaMomma came up with, but I kept getting confused on what all I was supposed to do.  Interview people...fill out a meme...get my bikini area done with coffee-scented wax....what-the-freak-ever.

See, they give a little explanation here but by the time I reach the code, my ADD kicks in an I lose track of....

....oh crap, my shoe is untied and I'm about to trip ov.....ooooh, a shiney rock! 

*drools on my keyboard*

I didn't get tagged for this one per se, but Karl just answered it and Mocha yelled at me and threatened to not lick me if I didn't do it (and if I want to be licked by anyone, it's her)...so here is some random stuff about me & Taste The World (from their list of optional questions):

1. When did you start blogging and why? Tell me about your blog. What can I learn about you in under 5 minutes?

Well, lately you can learn that I don't have much to freaking say other than "shit...I have nothing to freaking say."  You can learn I'm a big goofball.  And you can tell I really, really, really like to dance.

I started blogging almost a year ago on <ahem>Myspace<ahem>.  I just wanted a place to write...just to make myself write something everyday.  I'd tried journals, but it never worked for me - so a'blogging I went.  After about 3 weeks of that, I switched over to Blogspot for another handful of weeks.  I got a few actual readers and decided to grow up a little, getting my own domain in February.

I've loved every minute of it.  And have come up with some really stupid posts : some that I'm quite proud of because of just how stupid I can make myself be.  Just looky here.  See?

2. Who do you read everyday, rain or shine?

I have 90 on Bloglines and I read nearly every word of all of them at some point.  There are several that I have to read as soon as they post, though :

Blogography - Dave always makes me laugh. Plus he's hot. And he has a bad monkey.

Chanakin Ricesteamer - Chanakin is a good friend of mine. Plus he's hot. And he said the wedding ring is in the mail...but I ain't seen nothin' yet.

Emails From Jesus - Because, um, it's Jesus and Satan and they'll eat my soul if I don't?

Motherhood Uncensored - Because she's hilarious and she embarrasses me with her topics sometimes.  And I don't get embarrassed.  Oh, and because she's 7 feet tall and has feet like a derranged hobbit and might get them near me if I don't read her.

Niihaus - Lisa makes me laugh more than anyone.  You have to go back to her first month of archives and read the post about her very own vagina monologues.  I swear you won't regret it. 

People.com Blog - Ok, so I like celeb gossip a little too much.  Shut up.

Secondhand Tryptophan - Because it's Karl.  And you all know Karl.  And if you don't, you need to.

This Is NOT The Life I Pictured - Deb is a slutbag.  And I love her. And she talks about me a lot, so I need to go defend myself over there.  And I think we were separated at birth.  And I'm going to cry when I leave San Jose without her.

3. What don't you write about?  What do you consider a no-no in your book?

There's not much I won't say in general, but I usually tend to stay away from politics.  It gets people pissed off and this blog isn't the place for that.  I like to keep things on a light, airy note here.  So...how's about that GW Bush?  BOY does he suck nuts.  Wait...what?

4. How do you feel about meeting bloggers in real life? Are you nervous? Will you have great expectations?

I've met a lot of people in person from my online experiences, but no bloggers yet.  To be quite honest, I'm a little like a small town girl going to California for the first time and hoping to see some movie stars walking down Hollywood Blvd.  I tease about humping peoples' legs, but I promise not to do that (unless you ask nicely). 

But, I swear I'll be all crazy-like on the inside and juuuust on the verge of asking everyone to sign my boobs.

5. So, soon we're going to meet each other at BlogHer. Important question : how do you party?

With a drink in one hand and, if I've had quite a few, a cigarette in the other (sorry Deb), gabbing away and laughing at everything.  If it's one of those nights, I might have a couple of empty tequila shots next to me, too.  Mmmm. Salty goodness.

Tagging Deb....because I know she hasn't done it yet. 

Hi, it's me, the car that was behind you all the way down Main Street. 

I totally appreciate you deciding to take up the entire road - my lane, oncoming traffic's lane, the turn lane, the edge of the curb.  Yeah, we all loved your mad driving skillz tonight. So, as a little thank you, I called up the cops for ya! 

No, really...you probably would have gotten away if it weren't for me.

You know how I was all up in your ass at the stoplight?  Mmmhmm. That's when I was reading off your license tag to the operator!  And you know how I just kept on following you?  Yeah, I was walking them through where you were headed. 

I totally hope that cop that came 'out of nowhere' was a great surprise for you.  I worked really hard on it!  (No, really, you don't have to thank me! It was my pleasure!)

So, thanks again for endangering everyone's life. That was mighty decent of you.

Maybe we should do this again sometime. Fucktard.

Your buddy 'ol pal,

Chase

First let me apologize to my wonderful dance partner, J, in case you ever read this.  I'm about to divulge some personal information you shared with me tonight.  You know...that thing that I said "I'm telling all my internet pals that" and you laughed because you thought I was kidding? 

Yeah. I totally wasn't.

My dance partner and I have a great chemistry together - we can read each other's moves pretty well, and, shucks (I say, patting myself on the back), we're just damn good.  So we started taking the couples classes together so we could dance just with each other through the whole thing.  However, before we were official partners, we took the singles classes, where you switch dance partners every few minutes.

One of the boys in my first swing class, who I'll call Mark, always had a little problem.  Make that an...um...BIG...problem.  And that problem always was touching my leg.  I started calling him Boner Boy to anyone who would listen.

But, really, all I could do was laugh.  I felt bad for the kid.  Mark was certainly that kind of guy who wouldn't normally be arm-in-arm with a girl, unless she was choking in a restaurant, so I tried to overlook his...leg-poking contraption.  At least I got to switch partners every few minutes where he would share his joy with the other girls.

Well, tonight in tango class, we learned a couple of moves that are just plain ol' EFFING HOT.  One where I lean into my partner and run my leg up his...and then one where we do a spin, connected at the hip. 

(insert Sesame Street music here)  SEX + EEEEE = SEXY

As J and I were dancing so close, all I could think about was Boner Boy and how GLAD I was that he wasn't in the tango class.  So, of course, I kept giggling like a retard.   Thing was...J kept giggling too, but wouldn't tell me why.

I couldn't wait to tell him about Boner Boy (who he knew, but didn't know him as pokily as I did). After class, J said, "Ok...now's probably a good time to tell you...sometimes I have sorta a....blood flow problem."

I was confused.  (Not too surprising, is it?)  So I just said, "umm....ok"

He looked at me with big eyes and said, "...sometimes it flows the wrong direction..." motioning down with his eyes.  "So...um...I'm just warning you....just in case...."

I lost it. 

I laughed at him.  A lot.  After his sincere attempt to explain a possible future physical malfunction, I laugh in his face.  Like the good friend I am.

Then I told him about Boner Boy and my good nature in thinking a little wood can be a laugh riot, and he felt a little better.  He laughed with me.  Not that all the blood wasn't at that moment in his bright red face...but he laughed.

Of course, I can't guarantee he didn't cry when he got into his car.

Sorry, J.  Sorry if my bone-giggling made you cry.

But, damn that shit is funny.

And here's what we learned yesterday :

• When you're rushing from one place to another and want a quick, easy lunch on the go, don't pick tacos.  It's not as easy as it freaking sounds.
• Even more fun than hanging up on telemarketers? Answering and blasting music/singing for them.  I've had a load of fun the last couple of days introducing unsuspecting people to Blue October.
• A beagle biting a frog equals lots of foaming at the mouth and lots of vomiting. Yay!
• Even though you can't see it because of the bubbles, sometimes there's a knife in the sink, pointing straight up, waiting to stab you in the palm.
• Don't sit your drinking cup next to your 'this is where I put my eaten sunflower seeds' cup. There is a huge mix-up potential here, people.

Even though I tend to keep my blog posts on a light, goofy note, I often go through dark spots where I feel hopeless and simply numb to the world.  I always have, even when I was little - though it was much worse when I was young. I remember many times sitting alone in my room, crying and fierecly praying : please just let me die now, I'm done. 

A school mate of mine (not a friend) died in a car wreck when I was in middle school.  I would walk to the cemetery everyday and sit on her grave, crying because it should have been me instead - asking God for a do-over.  I was so very jealous of her getting to die while I was left in this life.

I constantly had suicidal thoughts, and had pill bottles in my hands more times than I can count.  I'd hold the bottles and look at myself in the mirror, crying, considering my options.  And I was always too scared to try.  Thank god for being a chicken to try new things, yeah?

Not having anyone to really confide in, I pushed myself through my young years by writing. I had a diary and I wrote dark, disturbing poetry.  I showed very little of it to anyone...and often wrote something, perfected it, and then made sure to destroy it.  What I did show, I blew off as just writing, lying about how true it may have been.

Another thing that kept me going was my list.  It was a very short list, but something that kept my heart beating.  It was titled "Reasons To Live" and was scribbled on a torn sheet of notebook paper.  There were five things on the list :

• God
• Tracy (my best friend growing up)
• Bubba
• Yay-yay (what I called my other brother)
• Grandma

I told Tracy about this list several months ago.  I wanted to thank her for being on my list...that, even though I could never tell her what was going through my head at the time, that I could never tell anyone what was really happening at home...I wanted to thank her for being one of five things that kept me from taking my own life back then.

Since I know at least one other person on that list reads my blog, I wanted to post about this and tell him thanks, too.

So...thank you, Bubba.  I love you more than you could possibly know.  Thank you for being my reason.  Thank you for being my Bubby.  Thank you for being the meanest, dumbest, smelliest, most amazing brother in the world.  I owe ya one.

Growing up, there was a pretty girl my age down the street named Amber.  She was the type that did it all.  Sports, pageants, plays, singing, etc.  You name it, Amber was all about it.

Because we rode the same bus, I got to chat with her a little bit and was thrilled when she invited me, the nerdy no-friend girl, over to play.  She was, afterall, a lot more popular than I was and I jumped at the chance to hang out with her. 

I went to her house one evening soon after and was immediately dragged by the hands to the back room by Amber and her mother.  It was an addition that was turned into Amber's own little place.  Two walls were fully mirrored and they had installed overhead lighting and a runway and stage.  It was explained to me that this was where Amber practiced her singing and dancing and modeling.

GASP!  Modeling, too?!

I was beyond jealous.  I, like most young girls, gawked at the poetically tall creatures when they graced the covers of Vogue and Cosmo, and got to star in George Michael videos.  George Michael!

Amber explained how she was taking modeling lessons and was getting to do photo shoots with real photographers.  At that moment, it became my secret obsession.  While I never thought I was even close to being pretty enough to be a model, I suddenly wanted it more than anything. I ran home that night and begged my parents to put me in modeling class, too. 

HA!  I bet you can guess how that one went over.

I was crushed, but the dreamed lived on inside my little head.  As a matter of fact, it stayed with me so long, that when I turned 21, I decided to finally go talk to a modeling agent.  After sifting through a couple crappy ones, I found one who actually got me paying work.  I did all kinds of stuff for the agency - things I couldn't imagine paying someone for (i.e., making $35 an hour to ask people to sign up to win a prize at a convention, or making $25 an hour handing out free chili samples).

The money was pretty cool, but the people in the biz were...well, people in the biz.  I didn't meet one single person that I would have ever called my friend, though they all pretended to be mine pretty well.  Girls were just like the stereotype goes : dense, snooty, petty and shallow.  And they acted like modeling was THE most important thing on the planet. 

When I had my most work, I was 5'7" and weighed about 110 pounds.  My agent would constantly tell me to lose 5 more pounds or I wouldn't be getting anymore jobs. No matter how much you weigh, it's always "just five more, honey!"

I was not impressed, to say the least.  I stopped modeling about a year into it, when my agent told me going to college was a waste of time and that I needed to focus on the important stuff, like doing this big runway show for Gadzooks.

Mmmhmmm.

But I did it.  And I'm so glad I did. It's out of my system. The most I actually got out of it was getting to say I did it - and I took some really neat pictures that often make my friends say, "umm....that's you? But you look....good."  

And really?  Who needs mean ol' models when you got friends like that?

"Hold the wall like you mean it. Oh, and act stupid!"

"Pretend you just got a lobotomy. Yeah, that's it!"

"No, dammit, I said DON'T show any personality!"

"I want this picture to say 'ah mah gawd, somethin' shiney!'"

"There ya go, Chase, pretend you're dead. Good model!"

I had a brilliantly hilarious (heh) post about religion and evolution based off of a debate going on at the lovely Dawn's WriteWingBlog, but my computer ate it.  So, instead of re-writing it all, I'm stealing this from Motherhood Uncensored for now. 

Ten things you will NEVER hear me say:

• I'm really in the mood to go camping right now. All those bugs? And peeing outside? And not having running water or electricity? And sleeping on the ground? And getting eaten by bears?  I LOVE IT!!!
• Do you want to go see that new Van Damme flick with me?  I freaking LOVE him.
• Eww, cheesecake?  Get that crap away from my mouth.
• Ultimate Fighter Challenge is BRILLIANT television. I love watching gnarly men kick each other in the face and get cheered on for it.  Violence is HAWT, yo.
• YAY!  A chance to do math!
• Hi, you know that sound you're making as you're chewing with your mouth wide open? I love it and wish you would do that a little closer to my ear.  We'll have to eat together again soon. Because you totally rock.
• Wow - I wish my boobs were just a little bigger. I love not being able to wear tank tops!
• You know what I think is super sexy? That woman over there who has TONS of big muscles and no neck or breasts.  I'm sooooo jealous of him her!
• Beagles SUCK.
• I'm pregnant?  That's the best news I've ever received!

I'm in love again.  Head over freakin' heels.

By now, you guys know my obsession with dance.  I started taking East Coast Swing lessons a few months ago.  Loved it!  It's such a fun dance to do. Goofball and fast-moving, kinda perfect, no? The studio I go to didn't have enough people to fill the next class, so we stopped after Swing II.  I'm sad about this.

But, it's ok.  By then, I'd also started Salsa dancing. Loved it even more!!  It's a lively little dance and sexy all at the same time. It has great spins, which I'm still working on perfecting.  I'm still taking lessons in that dance - we just finished up Salsa II and the first Salsa III class starts tonight.  YAY!

But last night?  Oooooh, last night, baby.  Last night was my first TANGO class.  Even with just one class under my dance skirt belt, I already know I'm in love with it.  It's dramatic, and intense, and beautiful, and so very sexy.  I really wish I was doing lessons every night. 

I'm swooning over here.  Can you see the swoon pouring from me? 

Yeah, don't step in that.

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In other news, I have a new renter this week.  It's Laci from the very appropriately named Long, Slow, Beautiful Dance.  But that's not just why I picked her...she's funny and bitchy and has the coolest template!  (And I'm not just saying that because the girl looks like Maggie Gyllenhaal, even though she does, and I totally LOVE Maggie Gyllenhaal). 

Laci cusses and yells and bitches at her neighbors for blasting fireworks all night, but you know what?  She has a heart of gold because right now she's trying to raise money for special needs kids.  So go at least say hi to the angel, why don't ya?

I. Am. So. Excited!!!

Deb and I got all our travel plans for BlogHer in line today.  I arrive in San Jose for the conference a day early - Thursday at noon.  Don't really know what I'm doing all that day - probably sitting at the bar drinking mojitos and crying uncontrollably anytime I recognize a blogger.  Lord help me.

And Lord help all of you. Seriously.

Then, dumbass Deb arrives Friday night.  And then there's some conference or something. But we don't care about that part.  What we DO care about is that we're staying an extra day.  And then?  On Sunday?  Guess what we're doing?

HELL YEAH!

We're going to drive our happy asses to San Francisco and play around the city all day!  YAY!

And, of course, when I say "play around the city all day," I mean we're going to drive around and try to find a place to park so we can ask directions to any touristy things because we haven't been there before.  We won't find anything AT ALL because everyone will spit on us because I'm from Oklahoma and she's from *cough* Los Angeles, so we'll find a local pub and order a LOT of liquor. Then, once we get lost and wander into the wrong part of the city, we'll get mugged by some guy in a trenchcoat, and we'll cry a lot and try to find our way back to our car.  Then, when we get to the car, we'll realize we're both too drunk to drive anywhere, so we'll stand on the corner and panhandle for spare change so we can go to the Starbucks down the street, buy a Carmel Frapaccino, and photoblog about our misadventures, where we'll title it something like "SAN FRANCISCO FREAKING RULES WITH MY BFF AND OH YEAH P.S. WE'RE STILL DRUNK!!!!!"

I can't wait, yo.

T minus 23 days....and counting.

Stupid, ridiculous things Chase is TERRIFIED of :

• Ferris wheels (even looking at one in working order)
• Trying to open wine bottles (it pops)
• Trying to open cans of biscuits (it pops)
• Trying to light fireworks (it pops)
• Anyone holding a balloon (it pops)

Do you see a theme beginning to form here?

These aren't just things I'm scared of...these are things that bring me to my freaking knees.  I'm also scared of spiders, motorcycles, and buzzy bugs, but those things I can at least stand up when faced with them. 

My worst fear?  The balloon.  No, not the actual balloon. Yeah, that'd just be silly.

(ahem)

But it's the squeaky noise it makes when someone touches a balloon.  BECAUSE THAT'S THE NOISE IT MAKES RIGHT BEFORE IT POPS.

Yeah, yeah.  Laugh and point now, I'll wait.  I've heard it before.  But, yeah, you get me in a room where there are tons of balloons and I'm all good...unless someone picks one up.  Then I'm all sweaty-palms and heart-racing and about to crawl out of my skin.  I've left a table at a restaurant because there was a clown making balloon animals for a kid next to me.  I seriously CAN'T handle it. 

Yeah, I know.  I shake my head at me too, but, lord, I can't help myself when it actually happens. When it comes to loud noises and scaredycatness?  Just call me Rain Man, baby.

What are YOU terrified of? 

Anyone else hate balloons?  (I can't be the only one!)

I posted not too long ago about the freaky deaky Juicy Fruit commercial that I hated.  I'd like to now add another to that list, please.

I can't find the actual commercial online, so if you do, let me know.  This one is for Scotch Brite bathroom floor cleaner pad thingies.  It's a fine product idea, a swiffer-looking thing that fits around the edge of the toilet perfectly.  Goody-goody gumdrops.

But, the voiceover?  Makes me want to stab someone in advertising.  (Not you, Mom101)  I don't remember the exact verbage, but it goes something like this:

"Because boys don't always hit the toilet, now you've got Scotch Brite bathroom floor cleaner...thingies."

And they show a woman VERY happily cleaning piss off the floor.   Amen, sistah!  That's what girls are for...cleaning up boy pee!

The commercial should have gone something like this:

"Because boys don't always hit the toilet, now you've got Head Gripper 2000!"

And then they show a woman with a device that she latches onto her son/husband's head, holding him down to the floor while still VERY happily standing above them as she shouts "CLEAN UP YOUR OWN PISS, YOU NASTY, NASTY PENIS-WIELDER!"

I mean, whatever.  I'm just saying.

I was tagged by the beautiful Gemini's Wisdom with the Wikipedia meme.  The rules are simple:

1. Go to Wikipedia
2. In the Search box, type your birth month and day (but not year).
3. List three events that happened on your birthday.
4. List two interesting birthdays and one interesting death.
5. One holiday or observance (if any).

My birthday 

September 25  (Yay! Presents!)

Events

1890 - Yosemite National Park established in California. (Yay! Nature!)

1970 - The Partridge Family debuts on ABC (Yay! Singing gaybos!)

2005 - Big Brother suspended from Filipino television for having scenes of a sexual nature (Yay! Censorship!)

Birthdays

1930 - Shel Silverstein (Yay! Writery people!)

1971 - Hal Sparks (Yay! Talk Soup!!)

Death

1960 - Emily Post (Booo! Being a lady!)

Holiday/Observance

Mozambique - Armed Forces Day (Yay! War and death and fighting and stuff!)

I've never been one to get embarrassed too easily - growing up with 2 older brothers and an insane father didn't allow too much room for that.  That being so, I've learned to enjoy immensely when people around me do get a little of the ol' red-face...especially if it's because of something I've done.

Today I accomplished a pretty good one without even trying.

I ran to the convenience store today to grab some tampons.  This has never bothered me in the least.  However? The new guy behind the counter?  Yeah, not so much on the keeping his cool thing.

When he looked down and saw the bright pink box glaring up at him, his eyes got wide.  "Will that be all for you, ma'am?" he asked, faking coolness behind his glossed-over eyes.  And, of course, he had to pick the box up to look at the price. 

In his mind, he was clearly thinking, "oh hell, this girl is bleeding.  She's bleeeeeeding, god help me!!  And, oh my god, I have to touch the thing and act like it's not a box of tampons!!" 

He was certainly not the kind of man that runs to the store for their wife/girlfriend.

I just smirked as he hurredly punched in the price.  Before he could even tell me the total, he'd reached over and pulled out the tiniest brown paper bag ever made, obviously from the "if some chick buys tampons" pile.  Perfect fit.

As soon as the box was safely hidden in the bag, the guy's eyes returned to normal and he wished me a good day.  It was all I could do not to tell him I couldn't have a good day because, ickypoo, I was having my period.

I walked out, carrying my little paper bag in two fingers like it was a dainty Paris Hilton purse.  I mean, I couldn't act like it was what it really was - a tampon box-shaped bag - that'd just be embarrassing.

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I've been a horrible landlord this week. I haven't even mentioned Melanie over at Plaid Toaster!  Her latest post makes me cringe because it's a pic of a fireworks injury...yikes.  When I was about 4, we had a neighbor who almost lost a toe in a fireworks accident.  (Don't worry, the picture isn't that bad, it's just a thumb burn!)  Speaking of pictures, she has a new kitten and has the two cutest pictures of him EVAR.

So, because Dave2 says that we always yell about our renters, CLICK CLICK CLICK NOW YOU BASTARDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  *pant*