Ch-ch-ch-changes

I've had a huge upheaval in my life just this past weekend. It came on so strongly and was so all-encompassing that it seemed like I'd been missing an important piece in my crazy life and someone just handed it to me and said, "This should help everything make sense now." And it does.

Two days after my birthday, bright and early on a Friday morning, I received a message in a bottle, floating in a sea of other bottled messages that had arrived (this happens every time I post a blog or a new pic... or sign in, for that matter). Why this one stood out was because of how simple and effortless the conversation began, but had all the key elements that showed he'd done his homework.


Date: Dec 14 - 6:02am
Subject: You are correct!

That lighting bolt thingy IS alot of fun. It's like I found my perfect video game. I would have never of thought to push it had I not been inexplicably re-drawn back to your profile and read everything on your profile page.

Mark Hamel looks less like a lesbian and more like he's been hanging with the summer stock crowd for way too long.

I think you should definately not take your profile down. Not yet, anyway. It's too good to just take down. Like public art that only a few people know about. Say your attached or something if you're trying to deflect impossible matches. Or give me another week to make sure I didn't miss anything.

You are "un-wooable."


You may not see the genius of this message, but that's simply because you're not meant to see it. It is for me and me alone. My first thought was, "Wow, why do I feel as if this is a correspondence from a friend I've known forever?" So I compared our profiles and immediately felt that if we did know each other, he'd be part of my tightest circle of friends.



Then I followed the trail of breadcrumbs, investigating his music tastes and realized that it read like a playlist from my own iPod. I stalked him a little further (to Myspace) and what I found made me think it was a crime that we weren't already part of each other's lives, when it seemed as though we were already totally connected, so I set about to rectify that.

We got to know each other at a good clip... not too slow, not too fast... email quickly gave way to IM, which then just as easily gave way to phone. Each time we conversed, it was as if we just dropped into a conversation already in progress -- a dialog that had been going on our whole lives... effortless, exhilarating, silly, amazing.

When we met 2 weeks after first contact, we spent a day together discovering hidden treasures, thoroughly enjoying each other's company, and allowing the butterflies between us to leave on their own. And when we embraced at last, it was as if I was learning for the first time how a hug was supposed to feel. I would tell you more, but I'm sure that I can't do it any justice.

In just 2 days, I've experienced the deepest comfort and most complete sense of understanding I've ever had... and life as I'd known it has been irrevocably changed.


"You gave me some really good advice in your first message to me and I believe that I'm finally going to take it." -- TheSheCreature to AlphaDolt, while changing profile status to "seeing someone" (December 30, 2007).

YEUGHUAAAH!

Bringing back a Christmas classic from a couple years ago. Watch it and thank me later!

Karkis - Secret Satan

It's 3:10 AM on Xmas morning...

And I'm sitting here watching a local tv channel that's just showing a burning log with really cheesy music playing. No, it's okay... really. It's Dan Fogelberg. He's dead, so it's okay.

So I must be loopy, because I've been watching it for more than 10 minutes straight so far...

...I need help, obviously.

Worst. Update. Ever.

Remember my blog post about how "graceful" I was on my birthday night adventures? Some of you have wondered how a simple knee scrape would cause me so much continued pain over a week later.

And lucky you, I have more pics!

But first, let me remind you of my previous knee injury back in April, because my birthday gash ended up also being a re-injury of that fun moment in awkward bipedal history. As I fell straight down onto the metal storm drain cover onto my hands and knees, my mind raced back to the previous injury and I wondered briefly if I would even be able to get up again (I wasn't able to put weight on it the last time). Luckily for me, the real pain was delayed.

Unluckily for me, it meant almost complete insomnia for this whole week, as I laid awake with an ache that couldn't be quelled by OTC pain killers.

Now here's the pictorial update you wanted:




Who's more of the camera whore: me or Meringue?



And these are shots of my other knee, with the all-over bruising that it sustained, but hadn't shown up for a day or two after...



Kiss it and make it better!




Jeez, by the looks of those photos, one would think that I've finally found a new career as a "working girl." Some girls say that walking the streets is the worst part, but I say it's all that kneeling on gravel that's a bitch.

How to look (and feel) your age

People often wonder why I only seem to wear comfortable shoes... none of those girlie torture devices. I mean, why wouldn't I want to look more appealing to the opposite sex and accentuate my gams?

The answer is really simple: I am a complete clutz.

Case in point, yesterday day and night I was out enjoying my birthday... not "enjoying" it too much, but in dignified moderation. Age has taught me how to pace myself, at least.

What it hasn't taught me is how to walk in shoes that are designed to trip me.

The funny thing is that I even predicted it when we headed out for the day, saying, "I never wear these shoes, because they always make me trip... today should prove amusing, at least!" Not heeding my own foreknowledge of these terribly designed sandals, I decided that the beautiful spring-like day that was my birthday deserved to be gussied up a bit with some glimmery, strappy footwear. What could go wrong?

Well, other than having a difficult time keeping pace, really nothing went wrong for a good 8 hours. Then suddenly, when attempting to cross the street (ironically in my neighborhood of 15 years ago), one of the sick bastards got hung up on the edge of a loose sewer cover and I ended up on all fours faster than David Hasselhoff diving for a burger.

My left knee seems to have taken the brunt of the fall, followed by my right wrist and ankle, which are now hurting more than my poor knee is today (along with a severely bruised ego).

Had I been drinking? Sure, but it was only about 5 drinks in as many hours (plus water), so I was by no means drunk... if I was, it would have hurt a lot less, I'm guessing.

So then I spent the rest of the night hobbling around, bemoaning my bloody knee and ripped pants, while cursing the day that I ever bought those shoes. "They're meeting the trash as soon as I get home! Forget about donating them to Goodwill, because I don't want anyone else being cursed by these evil, evil things!"

I now present, the only pics from my 37th birthday:

Happy birthday, Frank Sinatra!

...and Edvard Munch!

...and Yasujiro Ozu!

...and Edward G. Robinson!

...and Bob Barker!

...and Connie Francis!

...and Dione Warwick!

...and Sheila E.!

...and Jennifer Connelly!

...and Madchen Amick!

...and ME!!!

I'll be celebrating this evening with yummy tapas and enough mojitos to forget that 37 years ago today, every part of me touched every part of my mother's vagina. Cheers!