My Mom Called Me a "Dildo" and Other Useless Facts

Thanks to Laura for tagging me because I felt like writing but didn't have a subject.

1)  As Lyn discovered in a recent blog comment exchange, my mom used to call us "dildos" when we were kids.  She would use it in place of words like "silly" or "goof."  She'd laugh and then say, "Don't be such a dildo!"  When I found out what a dildo actually was, I couldn't help but wonder how many times I had used it improperly and, thus, made a total dildo of myself.

2)  I take a shower every night.  I have a bathroom in my bedroom with a shower stall as opposed to a bathtub/shower combo and the stall is relatively small but it works for me.  When I've had a stressful day (I've had many in recent weeks), I get in the shower and sit down on the floor and just let the water run over me.  Yes, I could do that standing up but it's more relaxing for some reason to sit down. 

3)  Perhaps it's the tight space that calms me.  During the final 3 years of my marraige, I primarily slept on the couch.  I literally couldn't fall asleep in bed next to my husband.  But I slept like a baby (and often with my baby) on the couch. 

4)  If I hadn't stumbled upon Laura's tag, I was going to enter this short essay contest.  In 200 words or less, I was to address "Tom Cruise's Scrotum."  I actually did a bit of Scientology research for this.  This was to be my thesis statement:  "Naturally, because he is the highest-ranked Scientologist ever, Tom Cruise has a very real responsibility to his scrotum as well as to the scrotums of past, present, and future Scientologists."  I'm not really sure where I was going with that but I'm pretty sure it was going to be funny.

5)  My best friend and I used to steal hood ornaments off of cars.  It was the cool thing to do in seventh grade.  Her mom used to help us by dropping us off in parking lots and keeping watch.  I forget about this.  I often pride myself on the fact that I've never stolen anything.  As it happens, that's not really a fact at all.  We turned out okay, though.  After all, I'm a student on the 15 year plan and she's a vagina doctor (who text-messaged her hubby that she wanted and embryo for Christmas).  Well, she turned out okay, anyway.

6)  My oldest friend Abbey and I spent 11th grade American Literature passing notes back and forth consisting of song lyrics.  The object was to guess what song it was and then come up with one of your own.  I kept up pretty well even though her knowledge of music is way more extensive than mine.  She introduced me to Erasure, after all.

7)  I still played Barbies in sixth grade and Dew(ed) knows exactly what I mean by this.  I set up furniture, dressed and primped them, but never actually got around to playing with them.

8)  I had several different boyfriends in junior high (2 weeks here, 3 days there) but didn't actually have my first kiss until I was in high school.  And I'm sure it showed.

9)  My mom let me have a big 16th birthday party.  She bought tons of food, a cake, the whole nine yards (Beth even pulled me aside to ask if any of my friends would be smoking pot and, if so, could they please do it in the basement?) and left the house.  Then there was a big snowstorm and only 3 people came.  One of them lost control of his car in the driveway when he was leaving and ran over the mailbox.

10) When my brother and I would play with his He-Man toys, we'd have He-Man and She-Ra make out.  Even though they were brother and sister.

I can't in good conscience tag anyone as I did that 2 blogs ago.  If you decide to do this, link it in the comments.       

Because I'm Special!

received a gift card for Christmas and couldn't think of anything I needed so I contemplated the things I might want. I decided to browse stationery. I didn't find any I liked; thus, I still have to find something to spend that gift card on.

For fun (yes, FUN!) I browsed websites for stationery. I found bunches and bunches that fit my fancy but I did not buy as I am trying like mad to save me some money! Upon browsing, however, I did happen upon something that really made my pulse quicken.



I've always wanted a wax seal stamper for the letters I write. I didn't buy one, though. I'm trying to save money.

I like to write letters. No one does it anymore. They should.

Really, I just like how happy it makes people feel to actually open their mailboxes and receive something other than junk and bills. For forty-one cents, I can make someone feel special.

Currently, there are only two people I write letters to. One of them is my daughter. For the most part, I let checking the mail be her job. If you're going to send a letter to someone in your own household, it really needs to be the someone who gets the mail. Reading the letter is only half of the fun. Seeing the letter in the box with your name on it is the best part.

I don't speak from experience. I don't actually receive many letters. But I don't give with the expectation of receiving. That's the reason I (usually) still send Christmas cards. People like getting them, I don't care if they have time or energy to send one back. It's the same with letters. I write them solely to make someone's day. No other reason.

When I first started reading Brad Listi's blog, he was doing a letter writing project. He wasn't as big a blogger then as he is now. I hadn't read his book yet and hadn't read his blog long enough to feel good about requesting a personalized letter. I wish I had because then I could tuck it into his book (now read) and I'd have a personal letter from the author.

Today, I challenge every single person who reads this blog to take fifteen minutes of your time to make someone feel special and write them a letter. Tell me who you're going to send it to and what (if it's PG, of course) you're going to write about.

Need ideas? Tell them what you did today, no matter how dull. Tell them about what you were thinking the last time you thought of them. Tell them about the one quality they have that you wish everyone in the world had. Tell them about what you're going to do together the next time you see each other. Tell them what makes them special.

Write to your kids, your significant other, your mom, your best friend, a sibling, or your boss. If you're going to write to someone in your household, make sure they pick up the mail the next few days. If you're writing to your child that doesn't live with you, send it to their primary residence so they know that you think about them, even when you aren't together. If it's to your spouse, send it to them at work. You get the picture.

My intent is to see how many people I can get to write a letter to brighten someone's day. As an added bonus, I'll do a "Brad Listi" if you'd like but it would require you messaging me your address and that might be uncomfortable to some.

Letters are beautiful things. Truly a lost art. Mine don't look artful, poor handwriting, scribbles and such, but I'm pretty sure I make someone feel special when I write. That's all that matters.

Soft Words Spoken, Promises Broken

That title's not mine.  It belongs to Buffalo Tom's Sodajerk.  That song is about masturbation.  This blog is not.  This blog is not about much of anything, to be quite honest.

I arrived home tonight after my spending the better part of our Christmas break in Wyoming.  I can't begin to tell you how weary I am (clearly, not too weary to begin catching up on MySpace).  Yeah, according to Google, it should have taken 20 hours to drive there (I'm sure they don't include gas and food breaks, naturally).  It took 25 there and 24 home.  The tricky part is that I'm relatively certain that the entire 25/24 hours took place in Nebraska, the longest (?) and most boring state ever.  I was like Jack Nicholson in The Shining by the time I got through it.

I have to get mushy now.  I'm sorry, I'll post random pictures to amuse you afterward, I promise.

The last 4 hours on the way there were horrible.  The roads were clear, the weather was amazing- until I crossed into Wyoming.  Initially, it was merely ridiculously high winds blowing immense amounts of snow about making it nearly impossible for me to see anything.  That wasn't so bad.  Then, I drove on a thick, solid sheet of ice for my final 1.5 hours.  That really blew monkey butt.  That period of time had me using my daughter to talk Josh at our destination because I was too freaked out to talk and drive.  Ultimately, I yelled at him to stop calling me.  He laughed at me and, as I was possessed by demons at that time, it really pissed me off.  He said I wouldn't be mad when I got there, I'd be happy.  Whatever.

He was right. 

When I got there, he was waiting outside to show me where he wanted me to park and he was genuinely happy to see me.  Moments like that, seeing that expression on someone's face, are what life is all about, people.  I wasn't irritated anymore.

I won't tell you about how everytime I neared a destination on the drive home, thick currents of fog ensured that my speedometer wouldn't exceed 45 mph.  Wait a minute, I just did.

Promises broken?  Everytime I see him, I promise myself I won't cry on the one night we go out, just the two of us, to drink and have a good time.  I failed.  Again.  I hate being female sometimes.  Sometimes, I feel sorry for men for having to put up with us.  I'm totally lying.

Pictures, pictures:

First, I'd like to note that, in Nebraska, there was an exit sign (couldn't whip out camera fast enough) announcing the exit to "Boy Town" immediately above the exit sign for some Mormon retreat.  It was awesome.

 

The beverage to the right of my Diet Coke is my mom's famous "Vodka...with a splash of cranberry juice."  Literally, it was just a splash.  I'm surprised it changed colors.  After two of them, I didn't look like this.

This is what happens when I ask my daughter to take a picture of the bridge over I 80 in Nebraska.  It's a museum or something.  All I know is it's in the middle of nowhere and completely uncalled for.

Here is a picture of the actual bridge.

This picture says it all.  It was above the entrance to a convenience store.  In Nebraska.

Good times.  As long as you don't shoot.  Shoot what?  With what?

This is a picture of Josh when we took the kids to play Glow Golf in a mall.  We haven't actually discussed it yet; still, I'm positive that we are psychically synced (sp?) enough to agree not to ever take our kids to mini golf again unless they are old enough to be dropped off.

This is what happens when children play X-Box for 4 solid days because their parents are busy remodeling a bathroom as a Christmas gift to one of the parent's mother and it is taking much longer than expected.

This is a picture of my sister's ass.