I don't FEEL any older...

Happy Birthday to me! (go ahead, have some cake on me. I'm a giver.)

Before I go on there are two things I should tell you. The first is a quickie: this one is almost certainly going off-mission. (but since it's my birthday I'm good with that.)

The second is an explanation of my philosophy of birthdays, which is this: I believe that everybody should think about everyone that they like and love more then they think of themselves, MUCH more then of themselves, for 364 days of each year. If we all think of others consistently then there will be many people thinking of us, and we'll all be ok. But for one day each year, on the day that you were born, you should think of yourself, yourself, and YOU SEF, BABY! I live this philosophy. It's a winner. Win-Ner.

37 years ago today my Mom was probably cursing my very existence, planning sweet revenge on my Dad and promising sexual favors to any doctor who could make this blessed hell STOP. These days we call this childbirth. But to my amazement she's forgiven me, and she and my Dad happily hang with me on my birthday pretty much every year. I give to all on April 28th; I give to all on April 30th. But April 29th is MY day. On April 29th I give to me.

Understand that up until last Thursday I was convinced that I was going to be spending my birthday at the bedside vigil of Granny. In fact, I was pretty sure that Granny's ironic sense of humor had her planning to pull the plug ON my birthday. It would have been a fabulous way for my life-long sparring partner (but with love, big love) to get in the very last word and with no way for me to get back at her! Oh I would have cursed her, but I also would have bowed to her brilliant strategy. She was the master.

But I guess she decided, at the last, to be generous and free the whole family Thursday afternoon. Suddenly I needed to decide how I wanted to spend my birthday, and I went with one of my favorite ways to spend any day: a day-trip to the pacific coast. Me, the parents and a family chum had one hell of a Mutual of Omaha day! We saw elk, we saw a bald eagle, there was also a golden eagle and frollicking harbor seals. In one day! I have a pained trigger finger from all the picture taking!

And we listened to excellent music and all sang along as we cruised down the road. And we ate snacks (because seriously, what is a road trip without snacks? Prison in a foodless car, that's what.) and then also amazing fish and chips as the sun sank in the west (same place it normally sinks, but it's much cooler when the west is all full of water, like a big, cosmic bathtub filling up with the sun) And I got to fall asleep in the back seat on the drive home, which is one of my favorite things since childhood but one I don't get to do much anymore because when you're the driver they really don't like for you to fall asleep in the car and when you're super-single you're pretty much always the driver...

Now it's the end of the day and I'm riding the high into the day after my birthday, also called the "oh crap, that's right: I'm not the center of the universe anymore. Sigh."-day. I'll think of others and give of myself and be generous and considerate and work my philosophy the other 364 days of the year. 364 days to go, baby. Happy Birthday to me.

It's good to have goals

I hate to break it to all of you, but you're not going to live forever.

I know this because if there was anyone who was ever going to live forever it was my Granny. She didn't age a bit from my first solid memory of her (around age 7, when she moved to Hippyville) until about 10 years ago. She stayed a little old, but not elderly, for over 20 years. Didn't get sick, never got hurt... Live forever, that was Granny.

And even after she did suddenly get old, and then older, and then uncomfortably old, she was still gonna live forever. We celebrated 90 years with a big party. We celebrated 95 years with an even bigger one. We were already starting the planning of her 100th birthday party, which was to be HUGE.

But I have absolute proof right now that nobody will ever live forever. Because Granny gave up that option Thursday afternoon. She has moved on to blaze a trail through the next cool challenge, and I'm glad that she'll have all those rules figured out by the time I get there. After all, she did a crap load of amazing stuff when she was here. She really made the most of her 97+ years, including traditional adventures such as marriage, 3 kids, 5 grandkids and 9 great-grandkids.

She also had many not-so-traditional adventures, such as going to a picture show with a mobster's bodyguards, singing on the radio when radio was tv, traveling all over Europe with a girlfriend and no dude (shocking for the time!) and even a short trip to a mental institution. (she committed herself -- probably the bravest thing ever.)

Now I have to figure out what I want on my list of adventures before I move on. Let's assume I have another 60 years to fill. With what do I wish to fill them, dear Liza, dear Liza, with what do I wish to fill them, dear Liza, with what? (thank you, Muppets) In honor of old, old, very old Granny and her list of "here's what Granny did with Granny's time" I am starting my own list of things I'd like to do my time. It will ever be a work in progress (much like my life. Yours too? Something else we have in common. I feel very close to you right now.) but I'll try to keep it current. A never-ending meme, if you will. Here's what I got so far:

1. travel to 3 other continents (Australia, Africa and possibly a pole?)
2. own my own house.
3. have at least one piece of writing published.
4. own a 1963 Ford Falcon convertible. That runs.
5. have sex with at least one other guy besides WWIT-Dude
6. Fire a shotgun and a rifle.
7. win a blue ribbon in photography from somebody what matters.
   
8. own a first edition of a good book.
9. keep a plant alive, outside, for more then one season.
10. learn how to do at least one of the following dances: tango, salsa or swing.

Any suggestions? Any challenges? I challenge you all to start a list of your own! This time is a cool thing -- don't waste it. And blaze on, Granny!

I am JUST SAYING.

It just seems to me that if I'm not using the equipment I shouldn't have to go through the hassle of maintaining it.

For instance, if I've not done more then piddle with my private region in the last decade I should be exempt from having to schedule Gyno appointments, let alone go to them. No cold things in warm places, no poking where I've not been poked, I should be given a "get out of Gyno free" card!

The same thing with mammograms. Someone asked me recently how long it had been since my last mammogram, and when I replied with the totally reasonable answer of "so I should have had one by now?" they were all shocked of face! As though I'd replied "well, I think the last one was right after I shot that priest but before I set fire to all of those puppies..." No priests were shot, no puppies set ablaze, and yet such a look was I given!

I mean, if you buy a car and drive it around for a couple of years, and then you park it in the garage for a decade, you shouldn't have to drive it over to the mechanic every year for a check up, right? I understand that when you decide to start up that car again after being idle so long that it will probably not start right away, and may take some tender care to get it to turn over. I'm ready for that, should I ever take this old jalopy out for another spin. (Man, I sure hope you guys are clear on the analogy I'm going for here. Or else I'll get emails claiming that I went off-mission with no warning!)

To take the time and the money and all to schedule appointments for fun things like my gynocologist or the special, special experience that is the mammogram... It just seems like a vicious joke. I say if you have to keep up the up-keep then the doctor's office should have a complimentary "refresher" that the offer. Right there in the office. Have some handsome, young buck named something like "Turk" or "Hans" who is skilled in the ways of... oh you know...
"using the equipment..."
"dusting off the furniture..."
"exercising the pony..." (seriously, I could populate an encyclopedia of these.)
"waxing the porsche..."
"fluffing the pillows..."
"using the guest soaps..." (last one.)
"driving the submarine..."

For a service like that (sanctioned by a doctor, so you know it's healthy and all) I would pay a little more. And it would be reserved for those who aren't gettin' any at home. If you've got a dude and he's watcha call unskilled you can't use the service! In that situation you have to either skill your man or just stop using him. No fair double-dippin'!

Sigh. For now I guess I should find a gynocologist and make an appointment for a tune-up.

Stinkin' cool way to do Earth Day

Off-topic, but very holiday-appropriate!

OK, so today I'm mowing the lawn. I'm doing it because I don't own a machete and fear things that lurk in tall, tall grass, and so I mow. I'm mowing, mowing, oh so mowing and I determine it's the right time for one of those dramatic pauses where one stretches their back, peers at the shiny sun (as if to say "good lord but that is a bright sun we have there!" like that could be a bad thing) and wipe one's brow with the butt of one's thumb. I stretch, peer and wipe and in that moment of quiet my internal voice was finally able to break through with this question:

"Say, what's with all the bug action over there by the trubs?"

Tangent: they're either trees that are the height and majesty of shrubs or shrubs with the depth and potency of shrubs. Since they are neither true tree nor sure shrub I dub them trubs.

Anyhoo, these trubs run along the north side of my yard between me and the northern neighbors. And sure enough, smack dab in the middle of the line of trubs, about 2 feet off the ground, there is much bug commotion. I stare, I stare, and then I see that the commotion actually the comings and goings of bees from a MASSIVE swarm hanging off a trub branch! Big! Large! Not at all teeny! Bees, baby!

There was a time I would have made a beeline (sorry) straight to the phonebook and looked up "killer of bees!" to solve my problem. But three things have changed: First, one of my favorite people became a beekeeper and blogged about it (so, SO cool. If you haven't read it you must. I'll wait...)






...Second, I've accumulated so much guilt about this planet and what we, the greatest villain from any Disney or Disney-like animated movie, have done to everything that I couldn't kill off any little critters like that. And third is this whole thing about how bees are dissappearing mysteriously and we're all doomed. So I got a bee-centric phone number from the phone book and discovered Groovy Bee Dude. (not his name, but he's innocent and you know what we do with the innocent. That's right, we protect them.)

And so suddenly I'm in the middle of this awesome Mr. Science episode! I called my sister's kids so that they could check this out (never waste a moment of natural wonder, I always say! Rest in peace, Marlin Perkins.) and took pictures and it was stinkin' cool. This Groovy Bee Dude brought a box and took this bunch of bees (looking all the world like golden, stripey grapes with wings and stingers and buzzing and flying and ok, hardly anything like grapes except for their being bunchy and hanging off of the branch.) and just shook them down into the box!

You know that if we'd done such a thing it would have gone something like this:

• Dress from head to tow in the bee-resistent suit and hood and gloves and still hate to get close enough to the buzzing branch to touch it.
• Take branch.
• Shake once over the box and run, run, run like a little girl with a little bit of squealing thrown in.
• Stand a safe distance away, cowering and watching the box to see if anything has moved down into the slots.
• After a while, creep back to the branch and shake remaining bees from the branch into box.
• More of the running and the squealing.

None of this for Groovy Bee Dude! He's wearing jeans and a shirt and nothing protective. He's grabbing the branch and shaking into the box. He's standing over the box, watching the bees do their bee-thing. He's cowering not a bit! I was seriously impressed with the whole thing.
After he had the branch de-beed he had to leave the bee box in the yard until night, at which point all the bees would gather up in the box for protection and such. At that point just about all the girls (the bees) would be calling the box their new home, looking after the queen (who was so dang cooperative and just went straight into the middle of the box first thing! thanks, your majesty!) and doing the most impossible headcount ever. And in the meantime Groovy Bee Dude went to dinner.

Leaving me with the bee box in my yard.

But not scary! I waited until the anxiety level around the hive had calmed down (how would you like it if someone shook your ground until you fell into a box!) and then I wandered over and sat and enjoyed this unique moment. Me and a tiny little universe of lives doing their thing. The whole box hummed. Within a few minutes the bees were settled into the new home and resumed their beely coming and going. They ignored me, minding their own beeswax (sorry) and I sat and watched them for a long time.

Happy Earth Day, folks. I hope everyone got to do something that made them feel like they've earned their corner of the globe, at least a little bit. Tomorrow: back to the mission.

Curtain Call

Not for me, just in case anybody was alarmed.

I've spent much of this week hanging out with my 97-year old Grandmother. We call her Granny. And when I say "we" I mean the entire population of Hippyville calls her Granny. She's lived here for almost 30 years and she's always been one of those people who attracts others to her.

But for me Granny is also a role model. In many ways, but specifically I'm talking in the area of being a single woman. Because she has been single for the majority of her life. By choice, I think.

See, Granny had a Husband, with whom she had 3 kids. But after a while the Husband found another woman, in another town, for whom he could be a hero. And the Husband needed that. He was a man who really needed a woman who needed him. Husband liked being needed, being necessary, being someone's hero. Unfortunately for the Husband, his greatest love was a woman who could absolutely take care of herself. She was independent, strong willed... she was a f*cking force of nature.

So here was the Husband, with a wife who was the envy of all who knew them and by far one of his biggest selling points to friends, neighbors, clients. and also with a mistress in a nearby town who satisfied for him the need to be needed. And the poor, sad man couldn't make up his mind. No matter how much Granny did for him, in running his home and raising his kids and helping him build a business and being his partner. No matter all of that, because the Mistress did the one thing that Granny couldn't do: the Mistress couldn't get along without the Husband.

Eventually Granny laid down the law and confronted the Husband about his extra relationship. He tried to sell her on the idea of them all living together (because apparently he was living in a fantasy universe) and Granny responded as any reasonable woman would (glass ashtray to the head.) And they divorced, and Husband married Mistress (now Wife Mark 2) and they had a couple of kids of their own. They had their lives and they both had their deaths and Granny marches on.

One time when I was young I asked Granny about Husband. I hadn't really known him and he died when I was fairly young, but I couldn't figure out what could have happened there. Granny said it in her words, and they were this: "Husband wasn't happy because I didn't need him. I chose him. I wanted him. I loved him. But I didn't need him. And that was what he desired most of all." And here I am, at the age of almost 40 having never met a man that I needed. In fact, I pride myself on being independent. Strong willed. I'm working still on "force of nature." And if that means that I also stay single because I can't find a way to need a man, or a man who doesn't need to be needed, then so be it.

Granny is super, super old. She hasn't really been the Granny that I knew for a couple of years, and especially the last 6 months. She's had some health scares, some trips to the hospital, some time in rehab facilities... She doesn't eat much or drink much or follow conversations or do much else. Yesterday the parents brought her back to her little Granny flat, built on the back of their house, so that she can wrap things up at home.

I was sitting in her room this morning around 2am, checking that her chest was moving and counting down the 2 hours until I'd have to roll her over again, and I hated that this frail thing was the force of nature I'd enjoyed sparring with my whole life. But when you are as strong as she is, and you decide you're sticking around as long as you can, that's what happens. Still, no matter. Because more then anything I will remember Granny as the woman who taught me that you can want, you can love, you can choose, but it's ok if you don't need. If you can take care of yourself, you get that much more freedom in your world.

But for right now I'm going to take care of her. I'll check in as much as I can, but I'm gonna take care of her.

It could definitely be worse...

Sometimes in life the universe comes along, on it's cosmic milk-and-egg delivery run, to remind you that things could be worse. For me that moment often comes when I see scary biker pirate dude.

There's a guy who frequents the neighborhood just north of mine. He's one of those guys who is recognizable to everyone -- "oh yeah, I know the guy you're talking about! I just saw him at the west side Shop-fer-Crap last Muffleskin Day!" -- but known by no one -- "no idea who he is. Sure stands out in a crowd, though!" And boy does he! But wait, let me paint you a picture:

• About 6 ft tall.
• Super-skinny. I'm talkin' Tim Burton animated hero skinny.
• Long, dark hair down his back. Stops probably just over his nonexistent heiny.
• Sometimes just moustache, sometimes full-on evil Spock goutee.
• Always wears the same thing: black, beat-up skinny jeans and a black biker jacket. And the leather jacket is always, always zipped up to nipple-height. (I'm guessing -- I haven't actually measured the height of his nipples.)
• Right hand is a razor-sharp, wrought iron hook.

I'm gonna give everyone a chance to catch up, because if you're like me, you had to go back and re-read the first part of the description after you covered "hand is a hook." A HOOK. A HOOK. HAND IS A GODDAMN POINTY, SCARY, "GET OUT OF THE HOUSE, HE'S IN THE BASEMENT!" HOOK! And this guy is just living in my town. A fellow resident of Hippyville. Mr. Scary Biker Pirate Dude, esquire.

You can't drive past such a fellow citizen and not do a couple of things. Double-take. Watch him in your rear-view mirror. Wonder where he's going or where he just came from. Mr. Scary Biker Pirate Dude, walkin' down to the Piggly-Wiggly for Cheezy Doodles. Senor Biker Pirate Muchacho, off to the pet store for food for his ferret. Forsooth, Biker Pirate Scurvy Dog, how be the puppet show and mime-a-palooza you attended? And by the way, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOUR RIGHT HAND?

That's the other thing you can't help doing after driving past old S.B.P.D. (as I'm calling him). You have to wonder what happened to his hand and, more to the point (sorry, couldn't resist) why, when he was faced with the decision about how to replace his now-missing righty, he went with "fully-sharpened, wrought-iron, scary, scary, scary hook!" Not a fake hand, or one of those articulating jobbies that can open and close. No, he thought "this is the opportunity I've been waiting for to finally have a sharp, steel, pokey thing with me at all times." No doubt he'd been forced to suffer many instances where he was needing a sharp, steel pokey thing and had none. Never happen again!

But if you're like me the other thing that you sometimes do, as S.B.P.D. is getting smaller and smaller in your rearview mirror, is wonder if there is a Mrs. Scary Biker Pirate Dude. What would the woman in his life be like? What would be the pitfalls of living w/ someone who always has a meat hook coming off his wrist? Does she have any Black-and-Decker body parts of her own? Any funny stories about getting jabbed by the hook? Complete with ugly-looking puncture wounds of course. Just how big a vat of bactine would someone have in their home when living that life?

So I'm trying, as I wander past my now-familiar cast of Yenta.com characters, to remind myself that they may be no Paul Newman or Nathan Fillion, but at least they probably don't have a sharpened, wrought iron hook for a hand. And that's gotta count for somethin'.

What if you threw a wink party and nobody came?

So the good (and surprising) news was that out of 6 winks I didn't get one single rejection! Not one! Look at me, being not at all rejected! Wahoo!

The other news (good? bad? unclear) is that out of 6 winks nobody winked back. Or emailed. Or even noticed? I'm all out there, winking my heart out and everybody else is unresponsive. You know, like I was to the guy who winked at me. Maybe this is just a karmic kickback. Maybe I should wink back? Even if I'm not interested? Or maybe I should go ahead and reject him? Or maybe I'm reading all sorts of meaning into stuff that is 100% coincidental?

Part of me would kind of prefer some good, old fashioned rejection. Rejection is clear and direct. You know where you stand with rejection. And I tend to go straight to "angry" with rejection, which is an emotion I'm totally versed in.

So then I'm thinking "maybe I should start over again and do some more winking?" So I search and review and find that it's all the same guys out there. Apparently there are only 35 dudes who match my preferences in Hippyville. 34 -- that's it. I've winked at 6 of them, there are about 11 without pictures (and therefore off limits because I'm not that daring), another 15 who I'm not interested in (vegetarian, morning person, too touchy-feely, morning person, not my type, looks-wise, morning person...) and, according to the math, 2 more guys whom I have lost in the shuffle somehow. (I should really look for them -- what if they're in the swamp?)

the commercials are saying it's a whole new Yenta.com, but to me it's just the same old guys. Plus 2 in the swamp.

100 things about Femtastic...

OK, so I'll move this over to the "About Me" (just as soon as I figure out how to do it) but I figured I'd post this here for two, very important reasons. First, it's the best way for all of my patient readers to finally see what I've come up with. Second, MAN it's been a while since I've posted!! Bad me, BAD ME!!! Anyhoo, here's the list. I'm confident that most of it is probably true.

1. I've been single since 1996. I'm not sure I want to change, but I'm open to whatever comes next. (update:  in 2009 I met T.E. and stopped being single.  As it turned out changing was awesome)
2. I come from a family of married people -- we're not much for divorcing.
3. I have 2 cats -- Mr. Man (all black) and Lulu (calico)
4. I like to think I'm a photographer (check Snapstastic.blogspot.com to decide for yourself)
5. I own no ipod. (The future scares me.)  However a couple of years ago I got an iPhone. (apparently the future didn't scare me THAT much)
6. Instead I prefer to own music in smaller, self-contained units of measure. My people call them "CDs"
7. At this time my CD collection numbers just short of 400 disks
8. I have two tattoos and have a third I'm dying to add. But I feel like I can't do it justice until I no longer work for "The Man"
9. Right now I work in a lame office job. It's a decent way to pay the rent but I live for weekends and holidays (update:  yeah, this has changed too.  But you'll have to read the blog for that knowledge)
10. I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up
11. Whatever it is, it won't include math, science or filling out paperwork.
12. I live in the upper left-hand quarter of the US of A...
13. ...in a small town that has been home (no matter where I was living) since I was 2. I call it Hippyville
14. I performed improvisational comedy for 6 years in Washington, DC
15. I'm kind of afraid of horses. They're very big and powerful and I got beat-up by one once when I was little.
16. Few things delight me as much as the Muppets. I've seen all the shows, the movies... LOVE THEM!
17. I take loyalty to an absurd level.
18. I don't read books very much. Certainly not as much as I should. I should really read more books.
19. Then again, when I do read I can get obsessive about it.
20. I've read and re-read The Princess Bride, Ender's Game and all of the Milne Pooh books.
21. I talk a bunch. A big bunch. Most people think I can hold my breath for a really long time because of how much I talk.
22. IalsotalkfasterthenanybodyyouknowohyesIdonoseriouslyjusttrustmeonthis!
23. I have a huge collection of comic books. I'd still collect but I can't keep track of the schedule
24. I hung my magnetic poetry set next to the toilet for deeper output and get magical things like "chocolate is an elaborate apparatus for delicate arms." So true. So true.
25. I sleep with the TV on.
26. When I don't have the tv on I have dreams so vivid that they exhaust me by morning
27. Yes, I do know that everybody says you should never sleep with the TV on. But they need to spend a night in my brain!
28. I hate to exercise. I wish I didn't hate it so, but I do
29. But I really like playing Paintball and Laser Tag.
30. All of my relationships have been long distance ones. The closest I've ever lived to a partner was a 2-hour drive.
31. I design jewelry in my spare time. 'Cause beads are cool. Yes they are. (yes they are.  shut up.  no YOU shut up.)
32. The only sport I enjoy to watch is NASCAR. (can you believe I'm still single?)
33. I used to dream of seeing James Taylor in concert because I adore him.
34. Then I got to see him in concert. TWICE!
35. The second time he signed my Dad's vinyl copy of Sweet Baby James, and the crowd went WILD.
36. Now I'm dreaming of seeing the Police in concert. Summer 2007, baby!
37. I have irrational fears of heights, large bodies of water and the Dentist. Especially the dentist. (oh how I hate you, Doctor of Pain!)
38. Some day I really do want to jump out of a plane. (with a parachute! With a parachute!)
39. One of my tattoos is Winnie the Pooh. (Edwin Shepard illustration, not Disney Pooh. I spit on Disney Pooh.)
40. I never went to college. I wanted to wait until I knew what I wanted to study. I'm still weighing my options and saving my pizza delivery money.
41. I've had crushes on about 60% of my friends without them knowing about it.
42. Before I die I must (MUST) play the role of Lucy in "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown"
43. I'm addicted to three things, in this order: Pepsi, TV, the internet.
44. I've got one grandparent left. As of this year (2007) she's 97 years and 6 months old.  (Granny passed away in April of 2007.  She had a grand life and I'm hoping to follow in those footsteps.)
45. She stopped being a grown-up about 3 years ago. Now we treat her much like you handle a toddler.
46. I don't remember what she used to be like when she was really her and that makes me really mad.
47. Because of my experiences with the elderly in my life I really don't want to live to be too old. When I can no longer make rational decisions for myself I'd like my last decision to be "pillow or tall staircase?"
48. I'm pretty sure that most of my friends, even the truly close ones, find me really annoying about 50% of the time.
49. However I'm amusing or helpful enough the rest of the time to make it worth the effort. (whew!)
50. I'm ok with both of those facts, but I prefer the second one.
51. Spiders make me very uneasy, but I love snakes.
52. My knees can bend backwards, thanks to kneecaps that are too high.
53. It's a cool party trick, but my Mom and Sister won't let me do it. Something about it being bad for my knees. Whatever!
54. I'd like to have a kid some day, but the later it gets the less likely it seems.
55. I throw like a girl, but I shoot like a dame.
56. I know all the lyrics to "Bust a Move" by Young MC
57. Also the lyrics to many Sondheim tunes, most Cat Stevens songs and practically all Barenaked Ladies jams.
58. I don't ever want to meet someone who has my birthday. I prefer to be 100% selfish on my birthday and if I share it with someone I'd have to be considerate of their feelings.
59. Dark chocolate is SO much better then any other chocolate. Heck, white chocolate isn't even really chocolate!
60. My favorite fancy candy is dark chocolate covered caramels. My favorite cheap candy would be Nutty Bars
61. I live in a duplex next to some guy whom I've never met. Never even seen clearly. For over 3 years.
62. I hate to cook and, therefore, suck at it.
63. I also suck at gardening, though I don't hate it so much.
64. I never, ever watch the news. Instead I get all my television news from Jon Stewart.
65. But I do listen to the news on NPR every weekday.
66. I pretty much always listen to all CDs on "shuffle". It's like getting a new CD every time I listen!
67. I'm allergic to bandaids. I don't know if it's the adhesive or the latex, but either way I get bumps, bumps, ITCHY-ITCHY BUMPS!!
68. Truthfully I'm hoping it's the adhesive, because apparently most condoms are made of (if you can believe it) LATEX! (remember the bumps? NOT something I want in my "special place")
69. I always bring my own candy and soda to the movies. It's kind of the cost, but it's also that I can't get there early enough to stand in line for the theater food. Also the very high cost.  And it's expensive.
70. I'd love to take a martial arts class, but I don't really have the dedication. Or the flexibility. (or the pajamas)
71. When I was 12 I cut off the tip of my left thumb. They sewed it back on, including stitches through the thumbnail. It killed the nerve endings in the tip of my thumb.
72. About 6 years later I discovered the nerve endings in my thumb had come back to life. I discovered it by jamming a pin into my thumb, showing off how there were no nerves. SURPRISE!
73. My dream car is a 1963 Ford Falcon convertible. Sky blue. p-r-e-t-t-y...
74. I have a big old collection of shot glasses; I don't collect them anymore because I have friends and family who bring them back to me from all over the globe.
75. Every day I have a 16 oz. glass of milk with ice cubes.
76. I sometimes dream of giving up and just going for full-on FAT. So much easier, ya know?
77. I have truly dreadful handwriting. No kidding; I wish that my friend Risky could follow me around and do all my signatures because my name looks so much cooler when she writes it.
78. Then again, I can type 85-90 words per minute.
79. My favorite sleep is in a room full of people hanging out and having fun around me.
80. I am absolutely NOT a MORNING PERSON. People always say "you'd have a much better morning if you'd just go to bed earlier and get a full night's sleep." No. It just doesn't matter what I do the night before: I will always hate mornings.
81. My hearing is not so good anymore due to years of listening to music in my headphones at the volume level of "stupid-loud"
82. To compensate I'm a better-then-average lip reader.
83. And I still listen to music on my headphones at "stupid-loud"
84. I've never tried any illegal drugs.
85. But I've had way more then one person's fair share of Jagermeister.
86. I like my Jagermeister with a Wheat Thin chaser
87. I don't watch reality shows because they make everyone who watches them look very stupid...
88. ...except, apparently, Dancing with the Stars when, and only when, I have the flu and am feverish.
89. I've seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show over 125 times. IN the theaters!
90. But I'm not in favor of the in-theater casts. They force everyone to stifle their fun for the sake of the casts.
91. One of my favorite ways to spend time is playing board games. I'm geeky that way. (yes, that way too.)
92. At the same time I'm not really into video games much. And also don't do sports.
93. I was a virgin until 1994...
94. ...and I last "made the beast with two backs" in 1996. (you do the math!)
95. My people name their cars. The first car I ever paid for myself was a 1965 Chevy Corvair convertible, which I named Stella Star.
96. My current car is a Mazda 6 Station Wagon I call Hope. 
97. She got the name because her previous (and only other) owner worked the Obama campaign in 2008.
98. I am a dead shot when firing small guns like a 22. But I can't get past the kick of the larger caliber guns.
99. I can cut my own matte board when framing my art
100. I sucked my thumb until I was 11 years old. I still miss it sometimes.

Now I need to rest. And eat Nutty Bars.

APPARENTLY I have needs...

There's this new meme blazing through the blogosphere and it's very, very simple: you type your name and "needs" into google and see what you get. Initially I feared going off-mission, but this one just kept veering back towards mission and so I saw it as a good precursor to releasing the "100 things About Me" list. Before you find out what I think I'm all about, let's see what the World Wide Web thinks I'm all about, shall we? Woohoo!!

"Femtastic needs to get real stoned" What amuses me here is not the idea that I need to get stoned, but that I need to get real stoned. Like all the stoned-getting I've been doing so far has been entirely too half-assed. Like my getting stoned is being critiqued here, ya know?
"Femtastic needs a lot of assistance with self help skills such as toileting" So, just so I'm clear here: Toileting is a skill?
"Femtastic needs to make sure that "caddie-father" doesn't turn into a dirty word" Hey, you're not the boss of me, you caddie-father you!!
"Femtastic needs your help" Like that's news to any of you guys...
"Femtastic NEEDS its own whale NOW" I want to complain about being described as "its" but then I might not get my OWN WHALE! I'm getting my OWN WHALE!
"Femtastic Needs Buttons!!!!!!" For the whale...
"Femtastic needs a home" Big enough to fit in the whale...
"Femtastic needs to have his butt whipped in order to “straighten him out”." I'd like the scores of people who have thought this for years to please line up. Right next to the whale!
"Femtastic needs to beat matt again more than matt needs to beat Femtastic" I wonder if it's fair to put this out there w/out giving this 'Matt' guy a chance to chime in. If you're Matt please let me know how much you need to beat me. And then I'm kickin' your ass, ya Caddie-Father!
"Femtastic needs someone who knows how to handle horses on the ground" I'm cool with the flying horses -- it's just the earth-bound ones that are flummoxing me.
"Femtastic needs to learn to use his imagination" I don't know, it's got to be a pretty good sign about my imagination that I'm both referring to myself in the third person AND as a dude!
"Femtastic needs a nap" AMEN MY BROTHAH!!!
"Femtastic needs suctioning" Is that what you crazy kids are calling it these days? Naughty!
"Femtastic needs to do this, Femtastic needs to do that" (nag, nag, nag...)
"i dont think Femtastic needs to kill anymore people" I don't think you get to make that decision! (needless to say, now you must die. caddie-father.)
"Femtastic needs to engage in criminal conspiracy to make money?" My favorite part of this one? That it's a question! Like we're running this idea up the flagpole to see if anybody salutes? Criminal conspiracy? Anyone? Anyone?
"Femtastic needs to stay on top of the ball" Dirty...
"Femtastic needs some cash to buy Lydia a present" (obviously Lydia wrote this one. Greedy damned caddie-father...)
"Femtastic needs a title" I'm thinking something along the lines of 'Magical Captain of all Wonderment and Googleplotzing' (esquire)
"Femtastic needs to stay hot" Stay Hot? Stay Hot?
"Femtastic needs to adopt a sense of urgency and attack better on the ground" For the love of God, someone find me a man! STAT!!! (stat is Doctor-speak for "now")

Up next: 100 things. About Femtastic!!!

Being sick vs. being sick w/ guests

I lost the battle of the trash can. But at least I decided to give up being at work and was home when the battle was lost. Whew! But sadly I spent Monday and much of today being very lie-downy on the couch. (oh my beloved, beloved couch. I sometimes forget how much I love you, but you're always there for me and you never judge. Even when I spend 2 days on you in the same clothes...)

Anyway, as I was pulling myself back out to the category of "the living" today I found myself thinking about what such a period of yuck would be like with someone else in the house. Maybe it's because I've been a solo player for so long, but I am very, very sure that if I WERE to be sick with a partner I'd pretty much insist that they be anywhere but my house until I were better. Truly. Because if I feel cruddy the last thing I want to do is feel like I've got guests in the house.

Which brought me to another realization, which is that if I ever were to decide to co-habitate (big if, but I was feverish and the mind was traveling FAR. Purple elephant; black, female president far, people!) I'd never get over feeling like the other person was this guest in my place who would just never GO AWAY. I like having my own space and I don't know how anyone gets used to having someone else in their space 24/7. But assuming that I could get beyond that on a normal day, the second I start re-living my previous day's dietary choices I know I'd take the time, between yorps, to demand some ME TIME.

Oh, it gets worse.

I am also sure that I'd be a miserable nurse for someone else. I can do "sympathetic" when out in the world for quite a while. I spent 2 hours at my Granny's hospital bedside, trying to get her to take a pain pill while she cursed and whacked at me (different story, but probably one you'll get to read later). But then I get to come home and not give a crap about anybody else besides me. And the cats. And that works well because they're even more self-obsessed then I am, so they MAKE me give a crap about them. You won't find a plant living in my house because they refuse to speak up, but all the cats are alive, fat and sassy. But they get to be that way because they're cats. Any guy that diva-esque I'd have to exterminate.

Do you see what I'm saying here? Basically as I come out of my plague fog I realize something really important that I must add to my Yenta.com profile: I'm looking for someone who will NEVER get sick, and who, if I get sick, will get a hotel room.

I'm sure he's out there.

(List of 100 things is 2/3rds done, but I have to review it to see what the hell I typed while in the plague fog. Not that I think it would be wrong, but rather things you don't need to know...)

You still gots some time to chime...

So I've got about a 1/3rd of the list of things done (man, who knew it would be so hard to come up with 100 things about myself?) and I'm gonna have to spend today trying VERY, VERY HARD to not recycle yesterday's food (IF you know what I mean?) so I'm not gonna get the About Me list finished today.

But that means that you lucky people have a little more time to tell me what you'd like to hear about. For instance, beautiful and brilliant Courtney asked for some very general location info -- can do, Courtney!!

So seriously, put on the thinking caps and get creative, because when you take things like "what you do for a living" or "what your name is" off the table, it opens up a truly FASCINATING new collection of stuff!

And wish me luck with my trash can...