I've been painting forEVER.  Thirteen years of forever, actually.

I do like painting (especially the people I get to meet and work for), but I never meant for it to be my career. It just kinda happened that way.  So, this summer, I decided that I was going to stop taking big jobs and would try to do something else.  Something more satisfying.  Something that made a bigger difference in people's lives.

I found out in August that a former client of mine needed someone to work for her as a personal assistant.  She has Parkinson's Disease and needed someone to do the daily chores for her, ranging from paying her bills to taking her to the doctor to helping her with physical therapy.  So I started doing that part time (15-20 hours a week).

It was great!  But at 15 hours a week, I wasn't making much dough.  And, um, I HAVE A WEDDING TO PAY FOR.  So yeah.  I kept working for her, but also keeping an eye out for something to supplement that.

A friend of mine told me about a job opening at the best company in the whole universe.  I applied. Two weeks later, they called. One week later, I interviewed.

One DAY later -today- I got the call that I HAVE THE JOB!

This is the best opportunity I could have imagined!  I will be working in the pharmacy and dealing with cancer patients.  I'll be specializing in natural medicine stuff...working with the doctors to get the patients feelin' as groovy as they can. 

I'm SO in love with this company - even if I didn't get the job.  They do radiation and chemo, but they also focus a ton on mind-body healing stuff...yoga, acupunture, spiritual healing, meditation, engergy healing, LAUGHTER THERAPY....how perfect of a place is this for me!?  Seriously!

It was the perfect job and the perfect timing.

I truly believe everything happens for a reason.  And this certainly keeps me a believer. :) 

They say you will know everything you need to know in that first kiss.  (Of course, by 'they,' I really just mean Rachel on a Friends episode I watched last night.  Heh.) Regardless, I tend to believe it's true.

The Boyfriend's and my first kiss was nothing less than spectacular. He came up behind me in the kitchen and put his hands on my arms, and as his face nestled into the curve of my neck, I closed my eyes...

But I won't continue with that because it'll make me all crazy-like, like it always does, and I'll run in the bedroom and wake him up by pouncing on him...and that would just be so very wrong of me...hmmm.  Ahem.

ANYWAY.

My first kiss ever was in 2nd grade.  Chad.  He was this frumpy little freckle-faced boy who I just thought was the cutest little fat kid ever.  I had a crush on him because he was just SO funny.  (Whatever 'funny' is in 2nd grade...the best knock-knock jokes maybe?)

So one day during recess, I saw him walking alone.  I ran up to him full speed...and for some reason, he looked a little scared at this.  I stopped in front of him and he just looked at me.  So I grabbed him and gave him a big ol' smooch.  I shined a big grin at him, proud of my utter sweetness.

Instead of instantly handing me a box of candy hearts like I expected, he bolted.

Not only that, he bolted toward the teacher, who wasn't far away.  I stood and watched as he cried to the teacher and pointed in my direction.  Then I watched as the teacher, hands on hips, came at me, while Chad ran the other way.

Chad: apparently NOT so funny anymore.  The big fat baby.

I got in trouble.  Chad kept on running. 

And, even though we went to the same small school together until we graduated, I don't believe he ever said another word to me.  And I saw him tonight at the store for the first time in about 10 years.  He looked at me and I smiled when I recognized him.  He kept walking.  In the other direction.

Yeah. I think that first kiss should have clued me in. 

Now tell me about your first kiss!

I went into Victoria's Secret today to buy a couple new bras.  While I was in line to pay, the cashier was unsucessfully trying to convince the woman in front of me that she was NOT a 36C, the size of bra she was attempting to buy.

"TRUST.ME. I'm a bra specialist, I can tell by looking at any woman what size she is."

The woman paid no attention and bought her size C, but I (and the woman in line behind me) got a big kick out of giggling at this poor lady, repeatedly being told she's clearly a D, not a C, but she CAN buy a C if she feels ok about wearing a C though she's TOTALLY NOT A C.

The cashier looked at the rest of the women around and announced that something like 80% of women wear the wrong size bra.  I laughed and said, clutching my 36C bras to my side, "so what size am I?"

"You're, what, a double D?" said the bra specialist, eyeing my chest with vague interest.

I squealed and flailed my arms and gasped and spat and clutched my chest and screamed "OH DEAR SWEET JESUS NOOOOOO!!!!"

She shrugged and said, "It's funny, no one ever believes me until I measure them," as she walked away.

I turned to the woman behind me, helpless and panting and hoping to god that NO ONE HEARD HER say such evil things about my wittle boobies.  I wear 36C.  Have for years.  I can also fit just fine into a 34D, but still.  There's nothing double about it.

Thank god the woman left to help another customer, so when I set my 36C bras up on the counter, I didn't have to go through the "BUT YOU'RE CERTAINLY NOT A 36C!!!" thing.  I just snuck out of there before evil boobie-size-guesser could figure out what size I ended up buying.

I drove home, wondering if every woman on earth is just out there, squeezing their other-sized honkers into 36C bras because it just sounds like such a nice, cozy size.  I was concerned that maybe I really was a double D-size girl.  And it was making my stomach church just a little bit because, um, HELLO!?  Double D!

I got home and the first thing I did was run to the bathroom, take off my bra, and look at the size.  Victoria's Secret.  Size 36C.  Fitting just fine, thankyouverymuch.  Just like all my other 36C bras.  I sighed with relief and took out my new pink bra.  Ahhhhh.

Tried it on. 

Um.  TRIED....to try it on.

It didn't even cover half of my boob.  Wha?!  I let out a broken squeak and threw it back into the bag, snatching my new white bra instead.   It too!  WAY TOO EFFING SMALL!

WTF?

Are they changing bra sizes now like they are clothing sizes?  Where did my beloved 36C bras go?  Am I going to forever have to ask sales people for DOUBLE D bras now??  

Dear good lord, help me. 

And, um, while you're helping, lord, pleeeeeease don't let evil boobie-size-guesser be there when I go to exchange my bras tomorrow.  She's gonna point at my somehow larger-than-life boobs and laugh and tell everyone in the store that I'm clearly not a C but I bought a C anyway even though I'm TOTALLY NOT A C .

*gulp*

I made it to Texas yesterday!  I'm officially a Friscan Friscoese Friscoian resident of Frisco!  And I still have so many boxes to unpack that I want to throw up! 

But, oh, what fun it is to unpack a box that you haven't opened in nearly 15 years.  One of my favorite finds was a notebook of some of my old writing.  Though, by "favorite find" I mean "thing that made me gag the most violently".  And, of course, by "my old writing" I mean "incoherent blatherings from a self-obsessed, 17-year-old, whine tit."

So, in the name of Cringe, let's take a gander, shall we?

"Some try to cover up love with words or actions, thoughtless and useless alibis. In their hearts, though, they know they will never quiet the melodies of devotion. Try though they will, it will not cease. Reality, a strong word."

Um.  Whut?  Yeah...that totally made sense. Please take a moment to roll your eyes.

"I cry desolate tears in my sleep. I refuse to shed them for you, though. They are only for my own gain. I have once again put myself through the agony of deception."

Egads. I wonder if I was wearing black nail polish and cutting myself with razorblades when I wrote this? Desolate tears?  le sigh!

"It is no longer up to me to choose the winding path of my life. Only destiny is involved in deciding which road I am led down. A tight noose will be affixed around my soul, escorting me to whatever fate I run into. I will obediently follow because I give up on my own decisions. I have wronged myself enough in this life."

Errrrrrruh. Seriously. Please excuse me while I go vomit on myself in the corner.  I was SO totally Emo before Emo was invented!  I'm surprised my parents didn't just murder me right then and there. 

Okie dokie. I have to go now because there's a certain box that needs a LOT of tape put back on it.  Hopefully I put enough on that I can't open it for another 15 years, when I have a kid who is whining about not feeling loved and I can whip this out and say 'you think you have it bad?! I WAS CRYING DESOLATE TEARS FOR GOD'S SAKE!!'

In my transition between Tulsa and Dallas, I've been staying at J's house.  You all may remember J from such blog storylines as "I'm totally taking tango lessons!" and "My friend and I make cheesecakes! WOOT!"

J and I are exactly the same.  Well, except that he's a conservative Republican. And an uber Christian.  And, well, pretty much everything I'm not.  But in the BEST way possible!  And we actually get along rather well.  I completely adore J.  Plus, he's totally hot. 

Ahem. Anyway.

Since I've been staying with him, I hang out with him, his friends, and his family nearly all the time.  They are what you'd expect : conservative, Christian, amazing people.  My group has always been the opposite...cussing, spitting, drinking, smoking, agnostic/atheist, Bush-hating, gay-loving lefties.  So this has been an eye-opener to say the least. 

I have noticed a few SLIGHT differences between the groups.  Heh.  So I offer to you now some situations and conversations I've been a part of this last month that show just how different of a crowd I've been enjoying lately. 

(quotes from MY friends are hypothetical and assumed...quotes from HIS are totally real)

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

While playing a really hard Xbox racing game:

My friends/family : "Are you fucking serious? What the hell is that asshole doing?!?!"

His friends/family : "Oooh, darn it all to heck!  Oh no!  Jesus take the wheel!"

When asked 'If you could choose how you were going to die, how would it be?"

My friends/family : "I'd want to be eaten by a shark, dude...that'd be freaking cool."

His friends/family : "As a martyr for the Lord!"

When talking about the President:

My friends/family : "What a fucktard."

His friends/family : "He's so cute with how he talks...that's why I love him...he's such a good 'ol boy!"

While imitating someone with tourettes:

My friends/family : "Mother fucker! Shit! Mother FUCKER!"

His friends/family : "Bob Saget!"

When asked "What you watching?"

My friends/family : "Ellen. And then Rosie.  And then Richard Simmons."

His friends/family : "Pat Robertson.  But you can change it if you want...I'll watch it again tonight."

When asked "What are you doing for New Years Eve?"

My friends/family : "Dunno...getting hammered...dancing with hotties...barfing."

His friends/family : "Getting drunk on the holy spirit!"

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

Again. Totally real. 

Ya know, Hell is going to be REALLY hot when I get there.  But, boy will I have some great stories to tell.  I hope you're all there to hear 'em.

I've always been pretty open about myself on this blog. While I don't use my real name, I never minded sharing pictures or true stories or the everyday happenings in my life.  As a matter of fact, I always felt sadness for the bloggers who said that they couldn't talk about...whatever it was they wanted to talk about.  I mean, that's the whole point of a blog, right?

Well, I now find myself staring up at the huge elephant in the living room, mouth agape, wanting to tell you guys how OH MY GOD THERE'S TOTALLY THIS ELEPHANT IN MY LIVING ROOM, PEOPLE.

But I can't.

As of a few weeks ago, I'm no longer with the person I was with for nearly four years.  It's been really hard and really strange...and I can't talk about it because one of the first things she said after the fall was "Please don't write about me on your blog." 

So, other than what I just said, I won't.

So, while I sort this stuff out, you'll just have to deal with all my crappy picture posts and "haha! Google is funny!", because, when I have nothing to say, I put up pictures and pretend I'm doing a good job a'blogging. 

It's my red herring for the situation. I hope you're in the mood for seafood.

Or pink. Whatever.

You know how I was all, "I'm totally moving to Texas in, like, three months!!!"?  Heh. Yeah. It's now THREE WEEKS.

I'm moving out of state* in three weeks, people.  And LOOK.

That's right.  All those boxes are EMPTY.  I haven't quite started packing yet.  And, um, I have a lot of shit.  I would show you this picture of packed boxes all neatly stacked and stuff and be all proud of myself:

...but then I'd have to fess up and tell you that I did that, like, months ago, and most of these were boxes that I just never UNpacked from when we moved here 2 years ago.  I just stuck them in the living room and called it good. Heh.

(On an off note, you see my cute little stack of expensive high heel shoes? That's right...they're packed away already and have been since I bought them...because I DON'T WEAR EXPENSIVE HIGH HEEL SHOES LIKE EVER.)

I haven't even BEGUN to get ready for this whole move thing. I just found out my new address a couple of days ago. That's when it sunk in that, um, hi, I need to get my ass in gear. 

What are you guys doing next weekend? Want to come help me pack up 31 years of crap?

THANKS.

*Don't worry yourself that it's only a 3.5 hour drive from Tulsa...it's still out-of-state, dammit.

Because, you know what?  The world is VERY close to ending.

Today, I was outside jogging prior to 8am.

HA!  Let that bitch sink in for a second.  Me. Chase. I was jogging.  (JOGGING!) And there wasn't a rabid animal chasing after me.  Nor was there a cheesecake on a stick dangled in front of me.

And! Did you get that last part of the sentence?  "Prior to 8am"  (!!!!!!!!)  Usually, anything prior to 8am involves me with a glass of Diet Coke, just waking up and checking my email, and saying "It's too effing early to read email."

And that brings me to my next point : minus the Captain Morgan episode on Sunday and the state fair on Monday, I haven't had Diet Coke in about a week.

I tell ya, folks, this shit doesn't happen unless Jesus is on his way back. 

HE IS RISEN!

It's been nice knowin' you, internets.

You really need to watch this.

I saw it this morning and just can't stop thinking about it.  It gave me the same warm, shmooshy feeling that the Where The Hell Is Matt video did.  I'm all teary-like just thinking about it.

So, yeah, I'm all about promoting this one. I think the world does just need one big hug.  And I'm going to do what I can to help.

I just bought this:

Free Hugs : we all need one

Who's first in line??

Thanks, Jen, for letting me steal your post. :)

*Edited to add the website.   Read more about Free-Hugs.com here.    Buy Free Hugs t-shirts here.

I'm good at all kinds of random crap.  I read really fast.  I can totally organize a whole room in 30 minutes.  I make the best pork chops on the planet.  But if there's one thing I'm REALLY good at, it's quickly starting new things.

And then never finishing them.

Take a gander here:

Ripped up carpet/scraped around old tiles 4 weeks ago with intent to retile the next weekend. HA! I laugh!

Kitchen light hung in JANUARY 2006. Caulk? Paint? No, thank you!

Just from this picture, I can count 11 books I started...and never finished.

I couldn't even finish dinner.  :(

But I have a feeling my life is going to change - starting TODAY.

Why, you ask?

Because today I finished something.  I did it.  I did it!!  Something in my life is actually COMPLETE.

Today, my dear bloggy buddies, I rounded out my collection of Friends DVDs.

Yes, that's right!  I bought seasons 9 & 10 today, making my collection complete. I have them all. 

Done. Finished.

I mean, things can only go UP from here, right? 

Right?!

Look what Shellie got me for my birthday today!!!!!!!

You may seethe with jealousy now.

That's right. David Sedaris. Live.

SEETHE, PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now leave me alone. I'm going to go wet my pants more.

I love change. The more things change, the more comfortable I am. 

Change of scenery, change of style, change of paint color in every room...anything.  If things stay the same it too long, I get restless and grumpy.

The same goes for my hairstyle.  Most people keep the same look for years.  The most I can go is about 6 months before I'm totally bored...then I have to mix it up.

Throughout the years, I've done juuuust about every hairstyle imaginable.

Shaved off?  Sure. 

Long enough for a ponytail? You betcha. 

Curly? Straight?  Yes, yes.

Red? Pink? Blue, black, white, orange, striped?  Yessir!!  You name it, I've done it at some point.

Even since I've started this blog, I've gone through several changes.  Let me share my progression. 

*cue sappy nostalgic music*

November 2005 :

Look. I've got hair in my eye. That says 'boy, she's sexy...but such a funny gal!'

March 2006:

The layered look says fun...and maybe a little drunk.

April 2006:

Blondes have more fun. And by fun I mean dark roots. Also, please note the hair in the eye. That's special.

June 2006:

Ok, so maybe redheads have more fun.  With their eyes closed, apparently.

I went about 3 months before I got tired of that look.  So today I got me some hair choppage.  It was a good time.  Now I can feel my scalp when the wind blows.

But I lurve it!

September 2006:

Guess what?  My hair is in my eye again! I win!

Good evening, boys and girls! 

I'm your new pal, Chase and  I'll be telling you a little story today!  It's a story of adventure and fun and excitement, and it MIGHT even have a little embellishment!  Can YOU say embellishment??

Good job, kids!   Now, let's get on with our tale...

* * * * * * * * * *

It was a bright and sunny Friday afternoon at the kingdom.  Two beautiful princesses, Chase and Shellie, decided to take a roadtrip to a wooonderful land called Dallas.

Oooooh!  Ahhhhh!

They brought along with them their two trusty steeds doggies.  A very good puppy named Bowie:

And a very baaaaad doggy named Moxie:

...kids, to read more, please click below...

• 16 large items we had to cram into the small trunk
• 16 times I wished we'd remembered the CD case - d'oh!
• 16 times we passed the same car with the stupid OU flags on it
• 16 pictures I took and deleted before my batteries died
• 16 kinds of kickass my brother's new Lexus is
• 16 toys we brought for the animals to play with
• 16 toys they refuse to play with
• .16 seconds for me to pass out on the couch
• 16 Ritz crackers that I ate for breakfast today
• 16 hours now that Moxie has been refusing to use the bathroom
• 1.6 hours before Bowie used the bathroom on the carpet
• 16 hillbillies I've seen so far - Yeeeehaw, Texas!

It's been announced that James Frey and his publisher have agreed to settle the lawsuit brought against them by readers who have their heads up Oprah's ass were upset to find his book was embellished.  Each person in the suit will get a full refund for the price of the book.

I have my own thoughts about this, but that's not where I want to go today.  Instead, I (by way of my legal counsel) want to demand my own refunds.  Because if the whiney bitches those plaintiffs can get their $15 back, then I should get mine, dammit.  Here is the official statement from my attorney on these matters:

To The Olive Garden Restaurant :

Ms.Chase hereby demands a full refund for any and every meal she has ever purchased and consumed at your place of business.  Ms.Chase was under the impression that your food was decent.  Because of the company's reputation, my client returned to Olive Garden to offer you "another chance" at compensating her.  Your company's commercials depict food that is 1) Italian and 2) yummy.  On more than one occasion, your company failed to follow through on these promises, and my client's wallet and tastebuds were therefore harmed because of it.  My client demands full monetary compensation and one fully-paid trip to Italy, so that she may have real Italian food.  Please comply forthwith.

To Mr. Richard [insert last name] :

Ms.Chase demands you return to her her virginity. Ms.Chase was under the impression loss of said virginity would be a tolerable, if not pleasant, experience. However, this was false advertising on your part and, therefore, we state for the courts that my client was duped into giving this item up to you. Virginity must be returned intact so that she may give it to more deserving parties. Along with said virginity, you must sign a sworn statement that you, Richard [insert last name], were too immature to ever have taken such an item from my client and that you shall never act upon this again.

To President George W. Bush :

Through your actions and the actions of your administration, Ms.Chase's reputation as an American has been forever tarnished. Though Ms.Chase did not vote for you, she was still under the impression that you were a human.  In finding out that you are instead a disgusting spawn of Satan, we demand you resign. IMMEDIATELY.

Sincerely,

Chase's Attorney

My Love, My Heart,

This is one of the hardest letters I've ever written, dear.

We had some amazing times together.  Everyday with you was a blessing. I have to admit that I've never loved anyone as much as you.  Still, it's time for us to part ways.  It's not you, it's me. 

My sweet, perfect, DVR...you've never let me down.  You always recorded Project Runway just as I asked you to - I never once had to remind you.  And The Chelsea Handler Show?  You never missed an episode!  All my re-runs of Family Guy are still stored in order in your mind...and no matter how many times I want to watch them, you've never once complained.  And movies! Oh, the movies you've kept for me these long months! 

There was that incident with Garden State, but that was mostly my fault...I know I pushed your buttons wrong.  For that, I'll always be sorry.

So, in order to save us more heartache, I am letting you go.  Your one flaw is that you cost me money...money that I'm trying to save for my move out of state.  Please, stop, don't cry in front of me, DVR.  Let's remember the good times, shall we? 

Remember how we watched Elf together and laughed?  And how we played So You Think You Can Dance? so many times we knew Ivan and Allison's steps?  I think these are the things we need to dwell on - not how much we'll miss each other.

And I will - I will miss you.  Because I love you.  Please know that I'll always love you. 

And we will meet again.

Yours eternally,

Chase

Right before I turned 30, I started writing down a little list of things I want to do before I die.  I just dug it up so I could revisit it.  I thought I'd share.

• Take a long roadtrip by myself
• Have a(t least one) book published
• Take swing dance lessons
• Become fluent in at least one foreign language
• Live in at least one different state (though several would be nice)
• Live at least for a couple of months in a different country

Let's see...I can already mark 3 of those things off the list!

In May 2005 (4 months after I made the list), I took a roadtrip by myself for 15 days. 

In April of this year, I started taking swing lessons. And salsa lessons. And tango lessons.

And, come November/December, I'm moving out-of-state, yo.

As of right now, I just want to add one more to the list : take another big roadtrip.  The last one was just amazing.  This next one doesn't have to be by myself - just as long as I get to drive, baby!

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

What's on your lists??

As you readers well know, we at Taste The World like to insure the safety of everyone involved in our bloggy community.  We demonstrated our desire to make your lives safer with the tornado preparation post.

Yes, yes...you're welcome.

Today we'd like to share with you some general information on how to handle a crisis.  Since not every person will react the same, we will offer up two scientific methods for proper action.  A crisis can be anything from a dog going into seizures to a fugitive plowing into your car late at night.

Please pay close attention to these highly-developed skills and then apply them to your lives if/when you need them.

The Shellie Method™

• Remain calm
• Calm others around you, if necessary
• Assess the situation logically
• Call any authorities needed at the location
• Briefly and articulately explain the situation to authorities
• Attend to any victim with a relaxed demeanor
• Keep the situation under control until authorities arrive
• Tell the authorities any important details you can remember
• Offer to aid authorities if needed

The Chase Method™

• Immediately freak your shit out
• Breathe erratically and perhaps cry a little
• Place hands on head and pace around blindly
• Don't understand what anyone is trying to tell you
• After 5 minutes of looking, find your phone to call authorities
• Confuse the authorities with nonsense blabbering
• Close eyes when nearing victim because aaaaaaacccckkkk!!!!!!!!
• Ask for help yourself because you're flipping out
• Hand the phone to someone who can actually speak
• Run around in circles
• Get tired of running and lay on the floor/grass
• Roll around until someone offers you help
• Reward yourself with a popsicle later because you did a good job finding your phone

Wow.

I think this has made me smile more than anything has in a long time. It's simple. It's silly. It's amazing.

It makes me smile. It makes me laugh.

And it makes me want to dance.

(link via Maggie)

I think I'm losing my mind.

No. For real this time.

Before BlogHer my recent vacation to California, I had been feeling really down. I get in funks a lot anyway, but lately, I haven't been able to shake it.  I was forcing myself to go to work, and since I am my own boss, it's unfortunately easy to play hooky. 

My relationship with Shellie has been iffy, too, and right before I left, we'd gone through the "I don't know where we're going" thing.  And it's all me.  It honestly is this time.  I feel nothing but lost - in my relationship, in my job, in my general direction in life.  I'm irritable. I'm sad. I'm confused.

California broke that up a little it and I was able to let go of a lot of my stress and confusion...and just be.  I felt so much more like myself.  No stress, no pain.  No real life.

When I returned, I joked about going through some sort of detox, but it hasn't gone away.  And, actually, it's gotten worse.  I've suspected depression for quite awhile now, but keep blowing it off because once I'm ready to go to the doctor, I feel a little better and talk myself out of it.

Now? Stress is piling up on top of that depression (or whatever the hell is going on).  Stress of hating my job.  Stress of having my truck smashed into - and now the insurance company is trying to say that was OUR fault because of how we were parked.  Stress of dropping school before and now not having a GPA that will ever allow me back into college.  Stress of my business failing. Stress of wanting to go to the doctor, but not having insurance. Stress of moving to another state without a job and Shellie is not coming with me. 

(Oh. Did I not mention yet that she's not moving to Texas with me?  She's going to finish school here - we'll be living in different states for about 3 years. THREE. YEARS.)

All of that plus me being fruity anyway?  Not a good combo, apparently. The last two days have been mental hell for me.  Yesterday I stayed at home from work so I could cry.  I cried about losing my dog. And then I cried about crying so much.  I had to make myself go to my dance class - and I only did that because I was going to LOSE. IT. if I didn't.

Today I stayed at home from work because I. Can't. Leave. The. House.  I can't make myself go to work. When I stand up to go, I feel like I'm going to throw up, that's how badly it forces me to say NO to normal life. I can't talk to anyone on the phone. I have clients I need to call, but my fingers refuse to dial. 

I went to lunch with an old employer today to discuss a very decent and money-making (though temporary) job offer.  I couldn't concentrate on anything because my energy was spent trying to not lose it at the table and burst into tears.  For no apparent reason.

I was trying to catch up on blogs today, but I couldn't stay focused enough to read more than a paragraph or two.  It started feeling like the more I tried to read, the more I forgot how to read.  I kept feeling like someone was covering my head with a thick blanket, like it was just out of my vision range, but close enough to make it hard to breathe and feel its weight.

Sounds totally batshit crazy, doesn't it?

It got so bad that I finally ended up curling up in a ball on the couch and making myself go to sleep.  And that's what I did all afternoon.  I slept.  Because I couldn't stand to be awake.

I feel a little better now that Shellie is home and I can talk to her.  Poor Shellie, who has no idea what to do with me.  I feel down a lot, but try to hide it because I don't want to worry her.  Or anyone else.  But I told her.  At least, I attempted to tell her.  It came out more like "I'm saaaaad...whaaaaaaaaa!!"  But I think she gets that I'm not ok.  That I need help.

That's all I have in me.  I don't know what else to say.  I don't know what's going on with me and my brain, but it's not making life very freaking easy right now.

I'm ready to sleep again.  Or cry.  Or cry and then sleep.

That'll do.

Well, I got a phone call from my brother a couple of days ago.  After he told me how awesome and beautiful and uber cool I am, he said he received a letter letting him know that they've begun construction on the house.

The house!

As of this weekend :

(look! sticks and rocks and stuff!)

Folks, this means in about 3 months (or so), I will be moving to another state. Oh yeah, baby. That deserves a repeat announcement : 

I'M.LEAVING.OKLAHOMA.

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Holy balls, I'm excited!  I'm almost 31 and have never lived outside of the state.  One thing I want to do in this life is to live an assload of different places.  So far?  Not so much on the moving around thing - I've been stagnant for far too long. 31 years in a row of Oklahoma...it's boring. And draining.

And did I mention boring?

Everyone asks me, "so what are you going to DO when you're there??"

My answer is always an embarrassed shrug and an, "I dunno yet."  It's the same answer I give when people ask me here, "what do you want to DO when you grow up?"

Thirty-one.  And still no clue what I'm doing.

But, HEY, that's another blog post.  Let me jump around and get drunk dance because :

I

AM

FINALLY

MOVING!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thankyouverymuch.

p.s. Did I mention I'm moving soon??

p.p.s. It's been brought to my attention that I need to say WHERE I'm moving to.  Frisco, Texas.  NOT in Oklahoma.  Not FAR...but it's a step in the right direction.

Because I need some freaking REHAB, bitch.

Has anyone seen my Funny?  Because I've lost the damn thing somewhere between here and the San Jose airport.  And while you're looking for that with me, could you help check for my Enthusiasm, my Drive, and my Ability-to-post-at-least-one-freaking-blog?  Those are gone too.

WTF?

I know most of yous are tired of hearing about the "B" word (I won't say 'BlogHer', I swear. You don't wanna hear 'BlogHer' anymore, do you?  Ok.  For you, I won't mention 'BlogHer'. Consider it done, my friend.).

(BlogHer!)

I'm going through total detox right now.  I'm sweating and twitching. I swear I keep seeing bloggers around town (Suebob filling up at the gas station, Sweetney picking up some Wendy's). When someone introduced themselves to me yesterday, I stammered for what felt like 30 minutes because my brain couldn't decide between Chase or my 'real life' name.  And I almost want to wear my badge around my neck because I feel totally naked without it.

(What?? I said almost. I'm not sitting here wearing it right now, tears streaming down my face. Geez, people.)

It seems like since I got home, all I've done is read blogs to scrape just one more little ounce of the weekend away, to see one more Flickr set, to remember one. more. detail. Just in the last 2 days, I've added about 30 new blogs to my Bloglines.  And I still haven't been able to go through my mile-high stack of business cards I received at BlogHer that one place with all the people.

By this time next year, someone will probably have to commit me.  And it will probably have to be in Chicago because when people start saying goodbye after the conference, I might have a breakdown and latch myself to Lisa Stone's leg and scream that "I ain't goin nowhere and you ain't neither!"

I can't freaking wait.

Ok. I need to step away from the computer.

And go shower.

And finally get out of my jammies (AHEM1:40pm).

And seriously. What the HELL was in the BlogHer food?!  Dammit!

I learned some things over the last weekend...very important things...very life-altering things. And now I share them with you so that you may go forth and spread the divine knowledge.  (Really, I just wanted another bullet-point post because, damn, it's fun!)

• Just because you're in a hurry the night before you leave for the big blogger conference and want to be all perfectly groomed beforehand, DO NOT take a semi-dull razor to your bikini area because, hey, it's the only thing you have right then.  Because, if you do, the resulting razorburn will make you walk like a cowboy who rode a bronco too hard the day before. Ou.Ch.
• DO NOT, under any circumstances, rush up to a semi-familiar-looking person and enthusiastically introduce yourself, and when she hugs you because she knows who you are, totally call her by the wrong name multiple times because she.will.be.offended.and.you.will.look.like.a.moron.   GOD, I'm such a moron.
• If you forget to pack toothpaste, and so does your roommate, don't worry - you can buy a tube of it for $94587239482 down the hall from the vending machine.
• Don't ever plan on losing 10 pounds before a big blogger conference...if you do so, you will instead gain 5.
• Look up when taking photos. Having more than one chin isn't flattering. Having more than two is even worse.
• Having "Taste The World" and pictures of sushi on your blog business cards makes everyone moan uninterestedly, "ooooh, so you're a food blog".  Look into changing that.
• Being a non-smoker (3.5 years smokefree, baby!) and then smoking a whole pack of cigarettes over a weekend will make you insanely crave another pack when you get home.  Who knew?
• Karl REALLY likes it when he walks into your hotel room and you don't have a shirt on.
• Izzymom is probably the most beautiful woman on the planet.
• One weekend of screaming, smoking, squeeeeeing, and drunken LOUD talking will result in not having a voice when you get back home.
• One CAN survive on alcohol and junk food alone for at least 4 days.  Though, it may make one spend lots of quality time in the bathroom once one gets home.

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.

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.

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?

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

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!

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'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.

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

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*

Watch this. 

Ask me what I want to be when I grow up and I'll point to David Sedaris.

Not so much the short, slightly-balding gay guy part, but the brilliant, hysterical, and did I mention brilliant?, writer part.  This is the kind of talent I fawn over.  This is what I dream about nightly. 

Going right along the same lines as my lack of training bra, I was the only girl left in my grade who had never shaved her legs (or so I assumed).  And, at 11-years-old, I wanted to so desperately.  It was another symbol of womanhood that I was begging for.

I suppose I just could have done it, but I didn't.  I wasn't a troublemaker (at least not at that age).  Instead, I would sit in the bath, get the razor and pretend.  I'd hold it a few inches above my skin and shave the air, tilting my head to the side, lifting my leg up all sexy-like, just like they did on the commercials.

One day, as I was sitting there playing with the razor, I wanted to see what it felt like.  I couldn't possibly shave my legs, that would be wrong.  So I lightly dragged the sharp razor against the back of my left hand.

Oooooh, neat! 

I lightly shaved the back of my hand a few strokes....but, yeah, that got boring pretty quickly.  Then I got an idea.  A brilliant idea, by jove!   (I'm full of 'em, I know)  I had a little hair above my wrist - I could just shave that off! 

EUREKA!!

So I did just that.  Shave, shave, shave....no hair!  Ooooh, smooth.  I giggled at my cleverness and thought to myself that they would never know of my deed.  I mean, it wasn't like I'd gone and shaved my legs, for god's sake.  So I shaved a little more.

And a little more.  Shave, shave, shave...yay!

Before I realized it, I'd shaved all the hair off my left arm up to the elbow.  I fawned over its silky smoothness...until I realized...oh crap, my right arm doesn't match now!  That, my friends, would be noticed by the parents.  And we couldn't have non-matching arms, now, could we?

So I steadied my left hand and shaved all the hair off my right arm, too.  Poifect!

Then I realized - damn - I didn't have any hair on my arms.  How could they not notice that?? So, after drying off and getting dressed, I took to walking with my arms crossed or behind my back.  Yeah.  Like that wasn't noticeable. It took a whole 2 hours before my stepmom saw my arms.  I got in lots of trouble for that one.  And she pointed out that I looked like a moron.

Who knew?!

Thank god I don't remember the growing-out process.  I can only imagine the horror of hearing "ewwwww! Stubble Arms!!!" (because you KNOW someone had to have said it!) And the itching, god almighty, the itching!?  People probably thought I had fleas.  Or cooties.  Or lice.

Or worse - that I'd shaved all the hair off my arms like a retard and was in process of growing it back out.

I know. 

I never said I was the smartest kid out there.   Eh.  At least I thought I was.

• Sometimes it's ok to have a drink at 9:30am
• To turn off the stupid annoying closet light...shut the door all the way
• Black lipliner and no lipstick?  Not so much a good look
• A $5 mojito in Texas is MUCH better than a $11 mojito in Vegas
  
• It's possible to sunburn a sunburn
• Four girls in a room = assload of stuff on the floor
• All girls try to walk around Vegas in hoochie shoes...and end up limping
• My luck still suuuuucks and I need to stay away from slots
• J-Lo wants nothing to do with me, apparently.  The bitch.
  

I'm a friggin' redhead, baby!

(If you missed the pics, my hair changed here and here)

I grew up with two brothers, 9 and 10 years older than I am.  So, by the time I could understand english and put together a sentence, what I was hearing around me was nothing but fart jokes, booby talk and double entendre.  In turn, I had the sense of humor of a teenage boy instilled deep into my psyche.  Needless to say, I still can't hear a carpenter say they have wood to hammer.

Heh. Wood. You're gonna go hammer your wood. Heh. Heh. Heh.

Not only will I never laugh at intelligent jokes the way I laugh at crude ones, I will also always make fun of you and call you mean names.  I'm quite a lady, yeah?

I grew up with terms of endearment like "tard monkey" and "uber slimeball".  My brothers, to me, are "gayer than jesus" and "fugly like yo momma".  If I hear someone call me a freak, or retard, or assface, I get a tingly in my heart and love them bunches.  You really can do no wrong in referring to me as an ugly freak of nature.  I'd probably give you a big, fat hug and call you a buttlicker. 

I still have a postcard that my brother sent me years ago.  On it, he calls me an "ugly, spastic, retarded, disfigured mongoloid."   Not politically correct, you say?  What. Ever.  There ain't no such thing...those are all lovely words, in my opinion.

When I've gotten comfortable with someone, I usually start to poke fun.  Some people take this the wrong way - I even had one girl think I didn't like her and said I was mean.  ME!  Mean!   All I did was tell her she was stupid and make fun of her hat. I think I might have even pushed her.  I mean, that's LOVE, right there, folks.

So, for all you people going to BlogHer or who I may meet in the future...I apologize in advance.  If I laugh and call you a moron, it's only because I think you're great.   And if I pinch you on your arm and giggle about it?  I just wanna be your friend.  And if I trip you and step on your face and call you a pig?   Well, then stop touching my boobiess that way because I really don't like when you do that.

Heh. I said boobies.

I was just reading over at my renter's place about deciding on a tattoo and how big of a decision it really is.  There are so many people who regret their ink - it sucks.  I thought I'd tell the stories about my tats.

When I was 17, I wanted a tattoo on my forearm.  It was a raver guy with his hat pulled down over his eyes, wearing a Mickey Mouse tshirt - I drew it myself.  Yeah...exactly.  I went to get it and while I was sitting outside of the guy's house (I know!), I chickened out.  Thank. God.

Then, when I was 20, I wanted an angel, kneeling, holding the world and crying.  I was big into 'people are killing the planet' and such, so it was a good thought.  Well, the artist who drew it made it anime-looking, half naked, wearing heels.  It was tacky, but I was like "ok, cool, that works."   The guy wanted to go have lunch before we started and I chickened out while he was off eating. Thank. God.

Around that same time, I started studying Zen Buddhism and became very "aaaaaaaaaaah" in my life.  Practicing mindful meditation changed the way I viewed life and was one of those dramatic shifts in my life.  So a few years later, when I was 25, I decided to get the kanji symbol for "Zen".  I got it on the top of my foot near the ankle. The colors I chose were red, orange and yellow, symbolizing a sunrise - a new beginning - firey change. Here it is:

I started dating Shellie a little over 3 years ago.  We would always talk about how we gave each other butterflies in our stomach, so she started calling me Butterfly.  I wanted to get a butterfly tattoo to always remind me that 100% pure happiness exists, and that I've been there.  So I got this one on my lower back.  It's about 4"x4".  It hurt like a bitch, but I love it.

I want 2 more.  I want one on my other ankle with the kanji for "serenity". It goes along with the meditation and that change in my life.  I want the colors to be green, blue, and purple, symbolizing calming water - balancing out the fire colors and symbolization of the other tat.   The other I want will have something to do with my Malachi...but I'm not sure how I want to go about that yet.

So - tell me about yours if you have 'em.  Show me pictures. Especially if it's in a naughty place. *giggle*

I wanted SO badly to go to Chicago this last weekend with the cool bloggers, but it just wasn't in the cards for me.  I have too much travelling coming up soon.  And I'm already broke.  Egads.

In 4 days : Dallas!  Shellie and I are going down there to hang out, look at the new house stuff, and get a feel for the new town we're moving to. We're only going to spend a couple of days there...but I can't wait!

In 10 days : Vegas!!  A friend is having her birthday party there, so we're off to Sin City for 4 days. Woooohoooo!!  So purty. So much to do. So many lights and bells and stuff and things and junk.  Fun for the whole family getting drunk and dancing!  We're staying at Mandalay Bay.  I'll be blogging from there, I'm sure.  I can't promise sobriety.

In 53 days : San Jose, CA! Ok, yeah, that one isn't as close.  But it's BlogHer!  I get to meet Deb and Karl and Belinda and Queen of Spain and Kristen...and...and SOOOO many people!  I might faint. And not just from all the tequila.

In 149 days : Moving to Texas!  Ok, not really positive on the day count...but it's close.

Anyone else doing some summer travel for fun? 

It was rainy and quiet today.  I was goofing around on the internet, taking a break from washing dishes, and in between loads of laundry.  The tv was on, but I wasn't paying attention - I was just tired of the quiet.

I was home alone, the dogs were outside, it was my personal time.  So I decided I'd just...ya know...do it.  I mean, no one would see me.  And women do it all the time, right?

I drew the blinds.  I locked the door.  I leaned back in my chair.

I groaned a little.  I giggled a little.  I couldn't believe I was doing it - in the middle of the day, no less.  It's usually something I do only at night, so it was a little awkward for me.  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was a little ashamed.  But I didn't stop. I have to admit - I actually liked it. 

After about 45 minutes, it was over.  I sighed.  Who knew that would have been so enjoyable?  I still feel guilty about it, though, so I'm confessing.  Maybe if I have your understanding - and your forgiveness - I can live with myself for doing it.

Bloggies, internets, loyal readers, stalkers...I ask you...will you forgive me for watching a whole episode of Dr. Phil today?

I'm sorry.  I'm really, truly sorry.  I promise won't do it again.

Today, I had lunch with a girl I grew up with, whom I hadn't seen in a few years other than a quick hug at a funeral last year.

As she talked about her second marriage, her upcoming trip to Egypt, her plan to (starting in 2 years, of course) to have two children and then adopt a third, and the loss of her beloved dog and then that of her mother, I couldn't help but think about how fast life goes on.

As I was watching her talk and laugh and rehash old memories, I noticed the fine lines that have somehow settled around her eyes since the last time I saw her.  Wrinkles. Crow's feet! To me, she'll always be that 15-year-old cheerleader who uses too much hairspray and who always has the cool car (and who, by the way, wouldn't have given ME the time of day back then).

When I got back into my car, I pulled down the visor and looked at my own face. And there they were - just as prominent as hers, perhaps even more.  I have wrinkles around my eyes and mouth.  Where the hell did these come from?!  I look in the mirror every single day, sometimes quite closely.  Was I just blocking this out before?  I found my first gray hair about a year ago, but it was the only one - it was a fluke, a practical joke.  Right?

Yes, I know I'm not old.  I'll only be 31 this year.  And I'm having the time of my life - 30 has been the best year yet, and I imagine it's just going to get better.  But I also notice the little extra time it takes me to stand up from a squat. I notice how long it takes my back to move correctly after a night of dancing. I notice how there are more and more things I can say "yeah, I can't get away with wearing that shit anymore".  And, now, (ack!!) I notice wrinkles (wrinkles!!) on my face.

It's not growing older that bothers me, per se.  It's noticing that the me I finally got comfortable with being is changing yet again.  It's knowing that I still feel 22, but 22-year-olds see me as an older lady.  They call me ma'am.  MA'AM - me - the girl who, not-so-long ago snuck out of my parents' house and took a hit of LSD and stayed out past curfew with my skater boyfriend. 

It's realizing that this is it.  This is it.

And, so, tomorrow I'm going to sign up for more dance classes, even though I probably should be saving the money for a rainy day.  I love the dancing more than I've loved anything in awhile - and I only have this one chance to do it. 

And so do you.

So go, lovely bloggies, go...dance while you can.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Old Time is still a-flying
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

I just read one of the funniest posts ever.  Before you click, make sure you're sitting down.  And don't take a drink of anything.  And, like, don't be easily embarrassed about pubic hair discussion.  And make sure to read the comments - they're just as funny!

Freaking. Hilarious. No wonder they call you the Queen.

Today Shellie and I had lunch the way the rich folks do.  We got dressed up all nice, wore our best shoes, best jewlery, most expensive perfume, did our hair perfectly - and dined in pure elegance.  We were proper and stunning and everything was exquisite.

Well, ok, not so much all that stuff.

We wore what we slept in, threw on some flip flops, didn't comb our hair, hadn't quite put on deodorant yet, and went to Lowes to buy $2 polish dogs from the vendor, and then munched on them on the drive home, spilling cheese on the seats. 

And that, my friends, is how we live it up in Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

Jealous?

*UPDATE*

For dinner, we went to an arena football game and had popcorn and greasy pizza.

Not only are we classy broads, we have ONLY our health on our minds.

It's that time of year again, folks! 

Time for my neighbor lady to close her blinds and not dare open them again until about October.  Why?  Because if she leans over her kitchen sink and looks out that window?  Yep, she can see my winter-paled boobs floating around in my pool like oversized bobbers.  Sorry, lady.

The guys came yesterday and opened our pool and I can't wait to dive in!  The temperature right now is probably around 50 degrees, but hey, it's a start.  I can at least lay out near it.

I need to have a big ol' pool party before I move to Dallas, huh?  How's about we have BlogParty '06 at my house before we leave?  You're all invited.  We'll grill and swim and drink and I swear I'll wear a full bathing suit this one time.  WOOT!  Let's do it!

(heh. I said do it.)

(I also said woot. You're welcome, Karl.)

We went to a friend's birthday party last night.  There was one guy there - and about 20 lesbians. 

Shellie and I don't normally socialize. And we certainly don't go to lesbian parties. There's just always drama draping the air, like at any moment it could burst and someone would take off their flannel and strangle their ex who is sleeping with her friend's ex's ex twice removed.  Or something.  Anyway.  We just don't get out much.

We got our friend a gift from Pottery Barn, some incense sticks and oil and stuff that smelled of hibiscus.  On the way to the party, Shellie said, "They're going to look at this box and say POTTERY BARN?!  What the....that's not a chainsaw!"

That's my girl.  We always try to pinpoint the worst stereotypes in everyone. When we got there, we didn't have to try anymore...the did a pretty good job of it themselves. 

There were a couple ladies there who, if you didn't know better, you would have said to yourself 'that is a woman?'  There were also the ladies who you would ever imagine were gay, unless you had a very finely tuned gaydar.  We had the couple who had been dating for a month who were getting ready to move in with one another. We had the girl in flannel and cowboy boots and a 10-gallon hat who pulled up in a pickup truck bigger than my house. We had the "oh my god, did you hear what _____ said to ____?!"  We had platters of cheese and glasses of wine (this breed of lesbian is always classy).  We had a tub of beer (for the other breed).  We had the couple who sat in their car, arguing. We had the girl who hooted at the girl walking by wearing all pink. We had the inside jokes that were made so obvious, everyone knew what was being said : 'yeah, you crossed MY border last year...ha ha ha...we'll keep that one to ourselves though...ha ha ha...hugs'.

.YAWN.

We ducked out of there after 2 beers (we must be that breed) and way too much cheese (or, we could be that breed).  We drove away, laughing, glad to be going back to seclusion and glad an ex of an ex of an ex didn't show up like it was rumored.

I did make sure to announce to my friend a warning that anything that happens at the party MAY end up on my blog.  But, ya know, I don't think she really believed me.

I'll be 31 in a few months, and I'm still not ready to grow up.  Not even close.

I don't mean maturity level because, let's face it, I'll always be a 12-year-old in that department. I mean I'm not ready to be an adult.  At 31, most people have gone through school, have a career that they're at least advancing in, and are ready to settle down.

I do have a job - hell, I own my own business.  But the only reason I do it?  Because I know what I'm doing and, honestly, I'm too scared to try anything else.  I realized the other day that I've never once gone on a job interview.  I started painting when I was 18, and here I am, 12 years later, still doing it. 

But I couldn't care less about it. I say I like it, but really, it's because it's easy for me, I get to work alone, and I don't have to wake up at 6am.  I'm moving to Dallas by the end of the year and I'm just dropping it.  I'm going to go work a job paying squat in an industry I won't care about just because it's normal for people to have a job, and, oh yeah, those credit cards ain't gonna pay for themselves. And I probably WILL have to get up at 6am.  Yikes.

I have been trying to get my degree since 1996.  I just can't get into it - I can't finish a semester because it just gets tiresome.  I don't care enough.  I go from "I'm gonna get my degree!!!!!!" to "what would I even use it for??"   I don't want a career.  I have no drive to say I have a good-paying job or that I got a promotion or that I was named employee of the decade.  I honestly can't picture myself having a "real job."  Ever.  I have about 25 hours left to get my bachelor's.  That's it.  But I'm simply bored with the idea and can't physically make myself go to class.

The only thing I want to do?  Of course, write.  But I can't really get into that either.  I get all gung-ho and go for about 2 days, thinking I've finally made a breakthrough, and then I come right back to "eh, I'll do it later."  What is it that I can't pick up steam for anything in my life?  Not even the ONLY thing in the world that I want?  I've talked about this before, but the more I think about it, the more I realize it's not just a moodswing..it's most of my life. 

I don't want a home, I don't want a family, I don't want a career.  I don't want to finish school. I don't want to have a plan. Because all that = responsibility.

I don't wanna grow up!  *pout*

I grew up with a strictly atheist father and a step-mother who went to a Church of God only on Mother's Day.  I, however, went to a Baptist church every Sunday from ages 7 - 15.  I don't think the church itself mattered to anyone...it was it being just a block from my house that placed me there.  But I believed.  Passionately.  I was a pro-life, anti-gay (HAHA), dress-wearing, hymn-singing Christian.  I cried with the crowd when people got saved, I opened my Bible and read along with the preacher's every word.  I was born again!

As I got older, the concept slowly morphed from "oh, Lord, you're my every breath" to "uhh...hmmmm."  By the time I was 15, I was simply...over it.  I officially lost my faith. And I didn't seem to miss it. Then, for the next 2-3 years (during my angst phase), I became very anti-faith.  I held the belief that all religion was just stupid and perhaps even out to get me. 

As I grew up and throughout my adulthood, though, I became utterly fascinated by religion. I love the concept of it all. It's just amazing to me what people believe based on this abstract gut feeling called faith.  To me, all religions (and even cults) are just straight up amazing.  Amazing in the way that takes my breath and all I can do is stare in awe-struck, respectful wonder. 

Another part of religion that floors me is that each one believes they are THE one. How many relgions/sects are there?  Countless numbers, I'm sure. And they ALL think, 'we are SO doing this the right way.'  And they've thought that way all throughout time.  And each one before them was simply primitive and misinformed.

For instance : the Greek stories of Zeus and Athena.  Silly, right? Zeus swallowing his pregnant wife and then Athena being born out of his forehead?  Does that even sound halfway probable?  Most these days would say no.  But what about the God of our time taking a rib out of Adam and creating Eve? And then a talking snake tempting Eve to eat an apple from a tree of knowledge?

I just wonder - how is it people can scoff at one story and then believe another that is just as strange?  How far does faith carry you before you start thinking to yourself "well, maybe THAT part was a little off" ?  My best friend said something about in the book of Revelations there were mentions of 7-headed dragons.  Now, I haven't read that, so I dunno, but when I laughed and said, "well, you don't believe they exist do you?" she, dead serious, told me YES, of course she does because it's in the Bible.  I felt bad for laughing because, hey, that's her faith.

Where do people draw the line in the stories between it totally happened and oh, that's just parable?  They teach the Bible as fact...but can/do logical minds believe every piece of information included in there? And if not, how do you justify to your faith not believing those bits and pieces?

Did Jonah really live inside the belly of a whale?  Did Noah really catch 2 of every animal on the planet? Did the red sea really part suddenly?  Did that snake really talk out loud?  Were there really giants in David's time?  When we die do we really go live in the sky or live in fire in the middle of the planet?

Curious.

Methinks the blonde is starting to grow on me.  Blondes DO have more fun, right??

Which title should I take?

Shellie and I bought this house in October 2004. However, we're going to be moving to Dallas in a few months.  We're debating on if we should rent the place out or sell it. I need feedback from you guys.  Here is our situation:

Cute 1939 brick cottage. 1600 sq ft. In-ground, 18,000 gallon pool. Privacy fence. Hardwood floors. Two bedroom. One bath. (Might be putting another full bath in before we move, though.) Den & living room. Formal dining. Big kitchen. Fireplace. Built-in bar. Laundry inside. One-car garage w/new door. French doors. All-glass sunroom.

Bought the house in 2004 for $100k.  So far have put $10k - $15k into fixing it up (new fence, fixed pool stuff, gutted/rebuilt bathroom, refinished all hardwood flooring, new paint, replaced some windows, will put in new carpet in family room, etc etc etc).

The house is 3 blocks from a major private university.  With the 2 separate living areas, three students could easily live here and not annoy each other.  I would love that.  BUT I'd be afraid since it has a big pool and back yard, kids would think "PARTY PAD!" and tear up the work we've done with big keggers.  It's a quiet neighborhood. I dunno...but that's what goes through my mind.  However, I don't know if a family would rent a house for the price....why not buy, ya know?

I'd love to sell it and not have to worry about it....if anything went wrong, we'd have to fix it.  I'd need to hire a weekly pool service so I'd know it was taken care of.  I'd have to worry if they paid their rent on time, etc.  However, I'd love to have the house to stay in our names because if we even wanted to move back, we have our place already.  And, if we sold now, after only having the place for a little over a year, we'd just barely break even on the money part.

What say you readers??  Pros and cons of both, please!  Anyone ever rented our your place before?

I wish I could do like Stella is and just sell EVERYTHING and travel the world for a year. *sigh*   And, speaking of renters, my tenant is leaving us tomorrow, so go say hi before she goes, please!!

Or is anyone else going through total mind meltdown right now?

I don't know if it was the feeling of the holidays, the Lost Blogs campaign, work, or what...but I just cannot get back into the swing of things.

I have been trying to catch up on all my blog-reading lately, but it seems like I just can't get a grip. I look at my Bloglines and want to cry : I see Belinda's blog has 5 unread posts as does Dr.Pants. Kristen, whose site I normally read a couple of times a day has 4 unread posts.  Same with Kevin's site. I won't even let myself think about the 45+ posts the Overheard Sites have waiting.  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!

My laundry needs washing. I have a ton of things to list on eBay. I have a list of work clients that I should have called last week. I need to drop 1 tiny thing off at the dry cleaners...but I just can't do it!

What the bejeezus is going on?  Anyone else having brain-fry issues this week?

Lately, I've had a few folks ask about who this Shellie person is I talk about. I just looked and saw that I've mentioned her in 13 posts, but haven't gone into detail. I'll get into why later.  First of all...here's a very unflattering picture of Shellie with my best friend, Mike.  (Shellie is the one without a beard, Pappy, because I know you'll say it.)  For some reason, they decided they were going to point at each others' boobs for this shot.  Nice maturity, there, guys.

Shellie and I met when we were 19 and sneaking into bars. We became fast friends and were buddies for 10 years. Then, one day, for whatever reason, I decided I HAD.TO. date her.  So I not-so-suavely got my flirt on.  (I'm so not that type of person normally.)  She fell for it - *evil laugh* - and we've been together for a little over 3 years.  And I honestly could NOT be happier.  She's fantastic.

And before you ask (because someone will either ask or wonder) I'm not a lesbian. I like guys too. I've dated a lot more guys than I have girls, actually.  Of course, everyone says this, but I don't like to define myself.  Lesbian? Nope. Straigh