Spring!

Today kind of sucked, and I didn’t get any gardening done. Tomorrow will be better. However, Nora spent some time communing with nature:

As Dean said, there’s a girl who’s excited about spring.

Late night suspicion

There are four animals, three humans, and a VERY VERY BAD SMELL in this house. Either someone, probably the big dog, is crop-dusting, or it’s the lingering traces of the brussels sprouts we had with dinner.

If that’s not guilt, I don’t know what is.

Memed! Anonymously memed!

Well, I know who memed me, but I can’t tell ya. State secrets, national security… you know, the usual. Being this important is hell sometimes.

Here goes:

1. I can’t believe I’ve never been to London. Seriously, it’s amazing, considering that I have practically 400 years of British history memorized (the juicy bits, anyway) and have no trouble understanding any dialect even remotely like English. Damn. This sucks.

2. Every time I think about the night I got so drunk that I woke up on a couch next to someone who had been hitting on me and had to check to see if my tights were still on I still cringe. Fortunately, they were, and there was no way in hell I could have gotten them back on in the previous night’s state of intoxication. Not that I would have minded sleeping with him, really, but I would have minded missing the fun. Wait, I might have been engaged at the time. Oh well.

3. I wish I’d met Lyle Lovett when I had the chance.

4. I have never felt so out of place as when I was a bridesmaid at my best college friend’s wedding. Not only was I the only non-Christian among the wedding party, I may well have been the only non-virgin. And thank whoever is up there for that, because I was able to render an educational service involving a banana to my beloved friend that none of her more saintly companions could have. Just goes to show you, every good girl needs a go-to whore on the roster.

5. Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls are my guiltiest pleasure. I don’t have food issues, you know, the “bad food” crap, it’s just that Swiss Cake Rolls have no redeeming value whatsoever. They are the trailer trash of pastry: sickeningly sweet cheap chocolate coating over a usually stale chocolate cake wrapped around some unidentifiable white semi-solid sugar product. And they rock my fucking world. We can’t even have them in the house or I’ll eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

6. I hope my mother knows how grateful I am for her letting me make my own mistakes while always being there for backup. Although I wish she’d given me a heads-up about the batshit bipolar guy from California.

7. In my darkest hours, I secretly blame my screwy neurochemistry for my dysfunction. Actually there’s no secret about it. As far as dumb things I’ve done in my life or bad choices, that’s a hundred percent me – and that’s no secret either.

8. Being really, truly on my own and broke as hell changed my life forever. I can’t say it was completely a conscious decision, but partly, and it gave me time to figure a lot of things out – like what I wanted to do with my life, my vocation, my values, my bad habits, and the list goes on and on. It was time to just live for a while with no expectations. I highly recommend it.

Whew.

I’m tagging Lorelei, Banshee and Polly. Because I lurv them.

Rebirth, renewal, pedicure

Mrs. Euphrosyne needs a makeover.

She’s slowly regaining a waistline (she always has great gams) and is hoping that the girls will be subsiding soon as well. It’s been two years and a bit since she worked outside the home; most of her work wardrobe, which was rather snazzy if she says so herself, is long gone to relatives or Goodwill, and anyway she’s not really interested in looking teacherish, even cute teacherish, on a daily basis.

But she’s realized lately that her wardrobe has gone completely over to the dark side…

MommyWear.

She doesn’t wear the de rigeur MommyWear capris – they cut her off at the precisely least flattering level, and she does have some pride – but she owns more knee-length crops and slim bermudas than she cares to admit. She has two types of shirts: t-shirts and toddler-stained t-shirts. She has good but unbearably dull undergarments. She has flats and sandals. Her earring piercings may have closed. Her nails are short because she’s been working with resin (she claims) and the residue is hard to clean (so she says). The truth is she simply doesn’t want to deal with the maintenance.

Or maybe, just maybe, she does.  And here’s the damnedest thing: she can dress everyone else, but evaluating her own lack of style and amending this problem is hellahard, possibly because she has no idea what the options are. Prissy schoolgirl: got it. Artsy student: did it. Party girl: nailed it. Teacher: aced it. Non-slob mommy?

No frickin clue.

Somebody, somebody, come to my rescue and take me shopping. Force me to try things on. Block my Landsend account. Veto boring shoes. Make me commit to accessories.

Tim Gunn, I cry for you in the wilderness.

The boys of summer

Ah, spring in Texas – and an unseasonably cool and temperate one at that – and a weekend warrior’s thoughts naturally turn to thoughts of mountain biking. My particular champion made his first assault of the year on the Hill Country last weekend. Seasoned campaigner that he is, he did not venture forth alone. He was accompanied by a small and trusted cadre of companions and fellow nrrds; hmm…

Captain Brian, bowed by the weight of command:

I think the helmet adds an air of gravitas, don’t you?

Commander Dave, either constipated or plotting mutiny:

He’s much more handsome in real life, but we don’t tell him that.

Lieutenant Will, recently married, caught in an unguarded moment:

Marriage has not yet damped his natural joie de vivre; considering that his wife is hotter than anyone has a right to be, this is not surprising.

Ensign Derrick, the redshirt, just happy to still be alive.

We don’t know much about Derrick except his propensity for Texas-themed casual wear and a general air of being a good sport.

Silly girly game! I love silly girly games!

From Lorelei:

Google “(Your name) likes to” and see what comes up. Make sure to use quotes so you get strings… here are my first ten or so.

1. Ann likes to play with herself. *ahem* (this came up about fifteen times; it’s in some song)
2. Ann likes red.
3. Ann likes to dance.
4. Ann likes to draw upon her own personal experiences.
5. Ann likes to party.
6. Ann likes to ride bikes and her hobby is sewing.
7. Ann likes to dream about Heaven on Earth.
8. Ann likes to spend time with her family and friends.
9. Ann likes to be needed, as well as to cherish and protect her loved ones, of whom she is somewhat possessive.
10. Ann likes to hunt for raccoons.
11. Ann likes to meet her subjects personally.

At least seven of these are right on the money, especially the raccoon hunting – mmmm, stewed raccoon.

Prizes, prizes, prizes

For Mr. Smarty Pants:

and a mix CD (yes, I’m that dorky): Ultra-Craggy Outlaw Country Singers of My Childhood: Willie, Waylon, Kris and Johnny.

A special edition of this CD will be sent to The Most Dedicated Contestant, my Aunt Zerlene, who updated her entry twice, no, maybe three times? Anyway, it was impressive.

For The Most Vehement Protester on the Subject of Jeremy Brett, Polly: Boo Hoo 1 and Boo Hoo 2, Euphrosyne’s favorite songs of lost love, self-pity, and general moaning.

And of course, the CDs I still owe Texasgurl will be posted post-haste, really, no really, if she will kindly send me her address once again.

 

Unabashed toddler spam

Photogenic child, talented husband.

All right, girls: the winner is…

… a guy.

One of two guys who entered. The other one, although a good sport for playing, totally crapped out. I know. I’m in shock, too.

So, Alan – you win. Congratulations. Since part of the prize is a rather girly piece of jewelry, I can either substitute something else or send it along for your spouse…

I’m very happy that so many played – a total of 17 entries, which is probably almost as many readers as this blog actually has.

Apparently, Waylon Jennings and Sean Bean were the least recognized, with a small but vocal minority (Mom and Polly) protesting that Jeremy Brett’s picture looked nothing like his most famous character, Sherlock Holmes. Aaryn guessed Eddie Rabbitt for #1, which I thought was pretty good, really – right era, right genre, wrong bearded guy.

Tomorrow I’ll post prize pictures; including the consolation offerings.

The answers… revealed

Before I rush off to tabulate the entries and declare the winner (although I’m pretty sure who that will be), here are the names you’ve all been waiting breathlessly for. Wait, breathe first. Okay, now read.

1. Waylon Jennings, at the height of his craggy sexiness. (Hmmm. Crexiness? Not sagginess – that comes later.)
2. Gabriel Byrne.
3. Alan Rickman.
4. Peter Falk. That’s right, damn it, Peter Falk. Stop laughing, Polly. (I never knew that ol’ Sweatypalms had auditioned for Columbo, but it made me giggle to hear it. I only spent one school year within his icky range of influence, after all.)
5. Jeremy Brett, the best Sherlock Holmes ever, and also Audrey Hepburn’s smitten follower in My Fair Lady.
6. Robert (quiver) Mitchum.
7. Sam Elliott.
8. Sean Bean, or as I like to call him, Beanie Meanie, since he always plays villains.
9. Ciaran Hinds.
10. JEREMY IRONS, Mom. For the love of all things craggy, Jeremy Irons.

Okay, off to count.