Skittles??? Me?????

You're Skittles!!! You have a very interesting
personality, you're so unique. You're the kind
of person who always thinks outside of the box.
You're also a very accepting individual, and
believe in inner beauty.


Which kind of candy are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Queen Bitch

A friend of mine found this at DetailsArt.com



Not only do I want one of these, I love the artist's sentiment:

Artistic Passion
Let's give ourselves the courage to keep going when no one else believes in us.
The vision to be able to see past the fear to where beauty lies.
Passion for everything we do.
Truth in always listening to our inner selves and
possibilities because anything is possible if we really believe.
Let's give ourselves the gift of responsibility so we may have a say in our lives.

Joey

I Need a Good Movie

I needed a good movie. I needed to laugh. So I picked up the Chronicle yesterday and read through all the reviews. I looked for the little-man-jumping-out-of-his-seat icon. There were only a couple movies that made the cut. They weren't comedies. So I took a chance. I ignored the little-man-with-head-leaning-on-arm and went to see Raising Helen. The review said something about bits of humor... I never cry in movies. Never. It's all Micky's fault. I cried. sob...sob...sob...

Monday Madness

Just because I haven't done this for a while, here's my Monday Madness.

1. In your opinion, what is the perfect temperature?
70 degrees, sunny, slight breeze

2. If you have a garden, what do you plant in it? If not, what would you plant in it?
I planted a packet full of Nasturtium seeds. They sprouted. They are almost dead. If the Nasturtiums won't bloom for me, how could I be entrusted with any other living plant?

3. What is your favorite summertime beverage?
Tall glass of ice tea, lots of ice, slice of lemon. Pet peeve: being served ice tea with no ice.

4. How many times a year do you rearrange your living room?
Once, then I pay for it with a back ache that lasts 364 days.

5. How fast do you drive in a '55 mile-an-hour' zone?
55 unless there are no visible patrol cars.

6. How many minutes per day do you usually talk on the phone?
As little as possible. I never use up my cell phone minutes.

7. What is your favorite software program?
Anything that is on my palm pilot.

8. How many music cd's do you own?
About a dozen. I hate to pay for music.

9. How many memes do you participate in on a regular basis?
Lately, none. Got tired of them but now that I seem to be in sort of a brain fog, I might do some just to get going again.

10. Name 3 blogs that you have on your 'blogroll' list. (any 3.)
You pick three from my list. I'm having too much trouble making up my mind lately.

Comment

I've got comments. Or maybe I should say, I will have comments. Why? Because Blogger has made this available and I just thought I'd try it. So, go ahead. But remember, I have the power of deletion!!!

About Town

Last week I wrote about my Bay to Breakers experience and made some comments about a few participants. At the end of the race, or “footwalk” as I would call it, I was a bit in awe of some of the things I observed and amused by the guts certain people had to show up in their wildest dream attire, alter identities, or wannabe personalities. Or perhaps this was the opportunity for those people who cross our path everyday to reveal the true identity of what lies beneath the skin.

Throughout my daily walks around town there are a number of characters, some of them quite eccentric, who cross my path. It’s almost as if I have my own personal Bay to Breakers experience right here in my own neighborhood, a mixture of those who blend in with the normalcy of our small town and a few who stand out in the crowd, whether they know it or not. Note, I know none of these people personally and any resemblance to anyone you know is strictly accidental.

Half way down the block from my apartment, on my way to work, the smiley lady greets me. She is about my age and I swear I know her from somewhere but can’t quite place where. We each smile and mumble two words, “Good Morning.” On my way home from work, we cross brisk paths in exactly the same place, smile, and say, “Good Evening.”

Behind the smiley lady comes the coffee lady. She offers cheers with her coffee cup sending aromatic waves of caffeine my way and we both mouth “good morning.” She smiles. From her casual pace and calm appearance her CD player must be tuned to easy listening. Sometimes she walks silently with another women with headphones.

Stay at home Dad returns from walking Working Mommy to BART. His son has now cycled through the front pack, backpack and stroller stages to a toddling beside Dad stage.

Five young women, in color coordinated sweat suits, jog by immersed in candid conversation. I’ve heard bits of everything from kids to sex and sometimes feel a tinge of jealousy by their youthful enthusiasm.

The gas station guy nods his head and smiles as he races from pump to pump providing full service to all his customers. He’s there every day, seven days a week, from early morning well into the evening. I’ve never seen him sitting down. He wears the same sweater every day (hopefully he has two or three all the same).

The more eccentric appear around my noontime walk.

The blind man comes out of the pizza parlor just as I pass by on my way to the post office. He’s not hard to miss in his bright hot pink, turquoise and orange clothes and bright orange backpack. Reminds me of Waldo. He gets dropped off at one end of town in the early morning, and walks the entire downtown 2 mile strip from one end to the other and back every single day. A few months ago he disappeared. “Where’s Waldo,” I wondered. I searched for Waldo everyday. Rumors of his death were soon squelched when he reappeared a few days later, same route, nothing changed.

The orange vested parking lot cop sits on the bench in front of the drug store, arms crossed at chest level peering with beady eyes at all passers by, For some reason this guy really bugs the heck out of me. It could be the fact that the parking lot is usually half empty and his services seem unwarranted. It could be the remarks I’ve heard while he teases kids, asks people nosy questions about their medications, vacations, and even sex life. Most likely it’s that high pitched babbling voice that grates on me.

Outside the beauty supply shop stands the old beauty queen smoker. She smiles and greets people with her raspy chain smoker voice. Looking through the smoke I see a once very attractive lady, maintaining her beauty as best she can, gray hair in tidy little waves, stylish clothes and a model like stance.

On my way home I see the end of the day crowd.

The parking ticketmaster is busy writing tickets five minutes before the meter clicks off for the day. Irritated drivers argue that their watches say 6 o’clock while he continues writing and slaps the tickets on the windows. He struts away with a satisfied grin, and rushes to the next car with two minutes to spare.

The mentally challenged have put in a busy day at the local thrift shop and are on their way to BART. It brightens my day to hear their always cheerful greetings.

The dog walker is pulled along by five dogs, each tugging in a different direction across the broad sidewalk. The pint sized foo foo’s yip and yap, their tiny legs in fierce motion as they keep up with the labs.

A ginger bearded guy with baggy shorts over dirty long pants, wears a coat of many colors and sandals on his feet. He walks with an agenda and I expect a sermon one of these days.

And last of all, that crazy red hatted lady with purple attire…. Oops that would be me.

Bay to Breakers

Did you see me Sunday in the Bay to Breakers? I was there with my Red Hat Society ladies. In my red shorts, purple t-shirt, purple bra, red lacy socks, and red hat.

I walked, or should I say sauntered, 24,583 steps along with 59,999+/- other participants, burning a mere 450 calories while consuming twice that many calories in free power bar bits, rice crackers, no-carb bars, and cheerios. I skipped the oozy gel stuff and vitamin water that was guaranteed to re-energize my tired body.

I blew up purple balloons to pass around my group of ladies while dodging flying tortillas and other unmentionable airborne items at the start line.

Just a little of what I observed: ?ladies? with balloon butts and boobs, Naked men yelling, “it’s ok, you can touch it if you want.”, 80+/- year old nudist couple, Naked ladies with flamingos on their heads (future red hatters?), Upside down people guzzling kegged beer, Lesbian and gay brides and grooms, Miss Kitty with pink umbrella, Orange, red, green, and blue painted bodies, T-shirt – Say no to bush and dick, Lobsters, Grass skirts, coconut bras, see through underwear, Elvis, Elvis and Elvis.

The “goods” outweighed the “bads”
Bad: the broken down charter bus
Good: BART was free from Lafayette
Good: the bus driver showed up to pick us up at other end
Bad: the person who threw a soccer ball and almost knocked out one of my friends
Good: the young man who offered to stay with my friend if she needed help
Bad: energy stuff consumed during race
Good: Luau feast of roast pig, roast corn, and double dipped chocolate/caramel apples
Bad: Having to buy frozen peas for friend who fell after the race
Good: we all crossed the finish line
Good: we had perfect weather

Will I do it again? Let’s see, I ran the race 22 years ago, I walked it this year, if I wait another 22 years maybe someone will push my wheelchair.

Today is....

International No Diet Day!!!!!



Whooooooeeeeeeeee - I get to eat and eat and eat. No consequences. No explanations. Going home at lunch to work through junk food drawer. Gonna finish it all off. Because.........

tomorrow the day will be over... gone... not to return for a whole year.

Minnie Red Hatter

Miss Minnie Poopalot spent the afternoon of April 25th, (while the Queen was out celebrating the Red Hat Society 5th anniversary), consuming a portion of Moll Queen's red boa.

Nail Polish Revisited

The nail polish is chipping. It lasted ten days. What now?

I go to the local drug store and check out the nail aisle. Hmmmm, all those gadgets. When I had the manicure done, I made mental notes of all the steps and supplies so I could stock up on all the necessities when I returned home. Trouble is, the list now resides deep in brain tissue under five days of Dallas disorganization, one day of babysitting and six days of work.

So I go down the aisle and and toss every tool that has anything to do with manicures and pedicures in my basket figuring I'll remember the routine when I lay out the tools. Wrong.

I sit down at the kitchen table this evening and arrange all the implements. The first step is obvious. Remove the old polish. I soak a Kleenex in the improved formula, non-acetone, protein enriched polish remover. No luck. not even a smudge. I soak a extra fluffy all cotton ball in the stuff. Still no luck. Wondering if I should have bought stuff with acetone. Wondering if there is a more appropriate tool to perform this task. Consider the chisel-like instrument. Think better of it. Soak a cotton square and try again. The polish is now smudged. One hundred cotton squares later I now see dull nails with tinges of ruby red here and there.

I hate nail files. But I get out the roughest file in the batch and work away at the edges, careful not to trim too much. My old method of hacking off the split nails with clippers every week left these short stubby nails so there isn't much to work with. Two or three swipes along each nail and I'm done.

But wait, there's this other tool that has three different files on it. At least I think they are files. I read the directions. Three steps. Step #1 Clean. Step #2 Condition. Step # 3 Shine. Aha, this must be what buffs the nails. So I do each step a couple of times across each nail. Still dull but I've had enough buffing.

Okay, I'm tired of this whole scene so I put the remaining conglomeration of tools back in my see through bag that I bought just for manicure supplies. Maybe I should just leave the nails bare. But no, I am now used to seeing color and gotten past the initial first reaction from all my acquaintances, that snide, "Is that really you?" thing they all do.

So I bring out my polishes. I never buy one of anything. Don't trust myself. So I check out the three colors I had selected in the store. Pink Pearl because that's what my mother always wore, Lavendar because it might look cool with my purple outfits, and a deep rose just in case. I think the light must have been bad. These do not look like they did in the store. I select the darkest one. Figured it wouldn't be so obvious if I lightened my color each time until I get back to natural. Kind of like the way I dye my hair.

Decide to do my right had first since it will be the most difficult. Use half a box of Kleenex to fix the edges. Try to use one of those wooden sticks like the manicurist used to smooth back the cuticles. No luck. Oh well good enough.

The left hand is easier. Except that I smudge the right fingernails by the time I'm at the left middle finger. Another half box of Kleenex, remnants are clinging to sticky polish on both hands.

The Kleenex is gone. The cotton balls are gone. The cotton squares are gone. I give up. I must be done. So I sit back and check it out. Not bad if I remove my glasses. Good enough.

But it seems there is one more step. The shiny overcoat. No problem, it's clear. I apply this quick and easily. Now my fingernails and fingertips shine.

I happen to see my toenails. They don't match my fingernails. Not even close. I call my sister-in-law. "Do they have to match?" I ask. I know the answer. But the toes still look good. I don't want to redo them. So I opt the be two toned. Feel like when I was a kid and was criticized because my purse didn't match my shoes.

In the process of putting away the rest of the stuff, I mess up a couple of nails. Grab used cotton and remove polish. Redo. Redo another one. And another. Figure out I should just leave stuff on table and come back later. Would be a good time to check my email.

I decide I should write this all down for prosperity. Or just to bore someone out there. Then I notice, My right thumb is smudged. My space bar has specks of pink rose polish. Think I'm going to repair it? Not a chance.

I've come to several conclusions:

1. I want to go back to the old days when this was a two step process. Remove old polish with the only brand of polish remover available and apply one coat of the only kind of polish on the market.

2. I need to find a good professional manicurist.

3. Men must have invented painted ladies.