Happiness

I learned from Kevin that August is National Admit You're Happy Month. This proclamation was made by the Secret Society of Happy People. August 8th is National Admit You're Happy Day. Damn, I missed it. No wonder I am so sad today.

Note: Gray Davis is listed as the governor of California on the SSOHP site and he was undecided about making the Happy Day proclamation. I wonder what out current governor thinks.

Promises

Tomorrow I will go to a women's conference. Topic... The promises.

In the interest of not breaking anonymity, I'll just say, yes I do attend 12 step meetings. Those who know me well, know which program I follow.

I have printed The Promises below. It's partly for a selfish reason... so I can see them in print and consider how far I've come in the last 16 years, consider why some promises are slow to be fulfilled. The last line sums it up well. Tomorrow will be good for me. I've been slacking lately, becoming complacent, not working it. There. I have admitted it. That is the first step after all.


The Promises (from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous)

If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us - sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.

Graduates

Congratulations again. What a year it's been. They met at massage therapy school. They got married. They are going to have a baby girl. They graduated. That's a lot for one year.

I Wanted to be a Jag but...

it turns out ...

I'm a Dodge Viper!

You're all about raw power. You're tough, you're loud, and you don't take crap from anyone. Leave finesse to the other cars, the ones eating your dust.

Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

Thanks Shirl ... I really needed to know that : )

We Had A Visitor

Minnie and Rusty stood by the sliding door, ears twitching, tails swinging, fur in a ruffle. I knew something was up. It seems SH left peanuts in Little J's stroller. There was a squirrel feasting, taunting the cats with his swishing tail. By the time I got my camera, the squirrel had left. Then the mice showed up. The cats didn't seem to mind the entertainment. Don't tell my landlord .

Palmpilotitis

I have PalmPilotitis. It began several months ago when I got my new Tungsten C.

I bought the Tungsten C because it had wireless capabilities, figuring that someday it would be cool to sit in Starbucks and check my email, download ebooks, upload my blog entries, etc. etc. Then I found out I'd have to fork over money to use the wireless service at Starbucks. So I did the next best thing...

I started to download programs, ending up spending more money on all the programs than I paid for the Tungsten C (never mind how much I paid for that but it's a lot less than  my first $2000 desk sized monster 2 floppy 5 1/4" drive computer).  And, now I can carry all my important stuff with me everyday, everywhere. Important stuff like...

• BART schedules...for the once or twice a month I ride BART
• Solitaire, Bubble Trouble and Word Pop...for when I'm stuck on BART, in doctors office, etc
• DateBk5...with all my important appointments, reminders and birthdays
• DietLog...so I won't eat too much cause it's such a p.i.t.a. to enter everything
• SlovoEd...dictionary/thesaurus that I can't live without
• SmartList...so I can keep all sorts of useless databases...conversions, passwords (if only I could remember password to get into them), grocery lists, medical records, packing lists, list of state flowers-flags-capitols-etc, red hatter info, etc etc
• Photos of grandkid
• Address book so I can send postcards and call people not listed on cellphone
• Email addresses so I can send email when I get wireless
• DocsToGo so I have files handy and can get work done and write stories
• EReader so I can finish reading DaVinci Code and I Am No One You Know
• Alarms so I can remember to do everything I need to do on Palm Pilot

Okay, now it's confession time. I couldn't stand it. I had to have wireless internet. So I got comcast (must put reminder on to do list to cancel aol). I unwired my apartment. Got access to internet in desktop, laptop AND palm pilot. Wooooooweeeeeee. But...

This morning I woke up at 5am, like I have been doing every morning this week. I didn't want to turn on the light and wake up snorting hog (SH). So I snuck off into the living room to retrieve my palm pilot from my purse (must put alarm on PP to remind myself to take it to bed from now on), snuck back into bed, turned on palm pilot, surfed until the batteries ran out. Meanwhile SH wanted attention. My response... "Sorry, I've got Palmpilotitis."

DeLovely

Oh no, I saw another sad movie. That's two sad ones in a row. Even hubby cried.
 
The best thing about it all though is....
 
                  I was the youngest one in the audience.

I Got a Gift In Vegas

Someone reads this blog. That someone knows that back in April while riding in my car on the way to the airport I got a new name. Well, truth is, that wasn't the first time I got the name. I think it happened once or twice earlier this year. Anyway, that someone gave me my own monogrammed dishtowel.



In case you can't read the fine print it says "Babe In Total Control of Herself"

The morning after…

All night I have had dreams. Dreams where I am stuck in spray-on quick sand. That is, I have dreams when I get a chance to sleep… somehow we didn’t bother to order a crib for the squirming, kicking baby and I have no earplugs to drown out Snorting Hog (it’s ok…he knows I call him that and he thinks it’s funny).

Subliminally aware that I must try to tackle the bathroom before the maid knocks, I sneak out of bed. I’m relieved as I toss back the covers; the spray on nylons are still on my legs, not the sheets.

My eyes adjust to the brightness of the lights in the entirely white bathroom. As I look around I wonder if I can sneak some cleaner off the maids cart when she’s not looking. Not a chance… they have learned how to position carts to cut down the pilfering of those coveted little toiletry bottles.

So I step into the shower stall armed with the already dirt marbled washcloth and a bottle of shampoo. First I shower in case the spray-on nylons come off and stain some more. Surprise… the color remains on my legs. Meanwhile yesterday’s stains have now dried into smudges so tough they are fingernail resistant. I have no choice. I’m so embarrassed.

As soon as everyone is dressed, we head out for breakfast. I’m hidden behind dark glasses and look the other direction when the maid notes our departure. Wanting to avoid the risk of seeing her after the fact, I note that I should not return until the maid has performed all duties on our floor. Fortunately she has done so by the time we get back.

I open the door fearful of the maid’s retribution. The bright bathroom lights are on. I look inside. Yes, the bathroom is clean. It’s remarkably clean.

And on the vanity counter…

Prominently displayed…

I see…

A bottle of…

Industrial strength cleaner.

The next morning, I leave a $10 tip under the bottle.

Wedding continued

Since I have been asked about that “to be continued”….

The wedding goes without a hitch except… Bride and Groom get “hitched” by Rev. Bull #2, aka Auntie Marilyn, daughter of Rev. Bull #1. (I sense that Rev. Bull # 1 is probably twisting his spirits over the use of his preachers robe). The ceremony is successfully crammed into the allotted eight minutes chapel time.

Before the final chords of the processional are struck, the hotel photographer whisks everyone back into the chapel for his allotted 20 minute session. He’s well versed in stepping between anyone else’s cameras and the bride and groom just in the nick of time to prevent anyone from intruding in his business. I manage to catch a few shots, all of which include his shiny, baldhead.

All is well until the Mr. Photo Opt lines up bride and groom and both sets of parents and then insists all three couples kiss. After an uncomfortable resistance as the bride’s parents try to explain that they are divorced, and not on a friendly basis, the mandatory kisses are reluctantly performed. Mr. Photo Opt is oblivious.

So the wedding is a done and all is well. Time has come to move the party up to our room. People cram into our two bed, one sofa room just as I slam the bathroom door shut to hide my spray on nylon fiasco. Fifty hot, sweating, suffocating bodies raid the drink table, exhausting the short supply of ice. The AC is cranked to the top of the dial but it’s still hot enough to melt the whipped cream off the wedding cake. I take a couple of snapshots of bride and groom doing the cake thing and escape with JJ to the party sized bathroom. JJ tugs at his hot rayon shirt. I remove it. He dances around in his velvet shorts and bowtie like little Mr. Chippendale. I let him out into the crowd. He performs til the attention fades whereupon he throws via a full fledged, pre-two year old tantrum. It works. People start to leave.