Photo Tag

I've been tagged by Sirius Sighthounds to post the sixth picture in my sixth photo folder and explain it, then I'm supposed to tag six other bloggers to do the same.

This picture was actually sent to me by Scott from Blue Barron's Place, and this is a picture of Hoover's haul from the track to the kennel to begin his life of retirement. As it happens, Scott hauled Hoover (in the foreground), and the dog in the background (who I think may be FKA Go Peanut Go or maybe Wiki Onetime), and he was kind enough to send me the pictures from Hoov's big break.

Now for the tagging:

• Bosslady
• Blue Barron's Place
• Plus Est En Vous
• Nuttin But Hound Dogs
• Miscellanea
• Kris-ticism

Six More Things

Ah, memories…remember the last meme we had? Since the Six Things People Don’t Know About Me was so much fun, I’m reviving the concept with Six Things I’d Change If Money Were No Object.

In case you’re not familiar with the meme concept, here’s a definition: a blog meme is a question or topic that’s started by one person, who then “tags” other bloggers to answer the same question or address the same topic. The people tagged by the first person then tags others. It’s a form of viral fun that would never have been possible if Al Gore hadn’t invented the internet. Thanks, Al!

Without further ado, here are my Six Things I’d Change If Money Were No Object.

1. I’d quit my job, and I’d do it with style. Since I have all the cash I need in this scenario, I’d invest in a flamboyant pink rhinestone pantsuit such as might be worn by the love child of Liberace and Dolly Parton, and I’d top it off with a red beehive wig with a white cowgirl hat perched atop. Even though I hate to fly, I’d get a first-class ticket and limo service to the corporate office, and I’d sashay up to the executive suite, belt out a rousing rendition of Take This Job and Shove It, tender my resignation letter out of my décolleté, shout “Kiss My Grits” a la Flo from Mel’s Diner, and I’d mosey on out the door. I hate to think what I might do if I didn't like my job.

2. I'd convince G to sell the business. Without our pesky money-garnering activities, we could pal around together endlessly. We'd spend our time helping with greyhound rescue, taking classes like cooking and welding and whatever suited us, and we'd shop and travel and have loads of laughs.

3. The cars would be next to go. First, I'd get rid of Otto VonCrapp (my car), and I'd replace him with a 1964 Ford Falcon Futura convertible. I'd get G a '65 Mustang Fastback coupe with pony interiors, or a Shelby Cobra. We'd also get some kind of tricked out hybrid SUV for road trips and dog hauling, but I haven't given that nearly the daydream time I've devoted to the muscle cars, so the details are sketchy.

4. Home renovations! Once we had a ton of free time and sweet wheels, I'd have all the things done to my house we've discussed since we bought the place, which includes landscaping, replacing the driveway, having the exterior stairs redone, rewiring the electrical system, new plumbing, and a new workshop for G's hobby of making furniture.

5. From the vanity file, I'd have a little work done. Suffice it to say that I'd no longer have more chins than a Chinese phonebook. Oh, what a happy day that would be!

6. Finally, I'd take the boys on trips to far-flung exotic locales. We'd try to speak the language, eat the local cuisine, and see the sights. I'd document it all in as funny a way possible in my book A Broad's Adventures Abroad, which I have yet to pitch to an agent, but I've got plenty of time for that.

Thanks for reading...now it's your turn! I hereby tag Mom, Alex, Jen, Stephen, Maria, and Zan.

My Trove of Dirty Secrets

Ok, so it's only really an iPod, but it's not altogether untrue, and it's definitely a more provocative title. Lots of us have iPods, and I'm willing to bet there are more than a few dirty secrets in them.

You know what I mean; I'm talking about the songs you love, but you feel stupid admitting it. Well, I will hide my shame no more. I hereby declare that the following songs are either currently on my top rated play list, or they are on my list of "must download" tunes. I've listed them here in the order of least embarrassing to "I-Can't Freakin'-Believe-I'm-Admitting-This".

• Fergielicious by Fergie


• My Humps by Black Eyed Peas


• It Takes 2 To Make a Thing Go Right by Rob Base


• Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler


• Hold On by Wilson Phillips


• Afternoon Delight by Starlight Vocal Band

So, there you have it. Are we still friends?

My Six Irrational Fears

As a follow-up to the Six Things People Don’t Know About Me, I’m pleased to present My Six Irrational Fears. As I noted in my original “Six Things” post, I’m too much of a language snob to call this my “Six Things I’m Afraid Of”, because that would end in a preposition. I’m literally a slave to my neuroses, but I like to think that's part of my charm.

In any case, I had a lot of fun with that post, and I thought this might be almost as fun. I do have some ridiculous fears, as you’ll see.

1. Thanks to That Old Nag Candy, I’m Terrified of Horses. November, 1990: It was a misty morning in pastoral Castroville, California when I first met Candy, a 12 year old nag owned by my friend Joy’s father. We’d spent a fun night at Joy’s house, watching The Princess Bride and eating artichokes, and we woke up in the morning to a breakfast of Mickey Mouse pancakes. After breakfast we were set to go riding, which I’d never done before. One moment, I was happily mounting Candy and picking up the reins, and the next minute I was on my back next to a steaming pile of horse hockey, staring at Candy’s undercarriage with the wind knocked out of me. In fairness to Candy, I’m sure I did something wrong, but I won’t make that mistake again, because I don’t go near horses!

2. Airbags: The Inflatable Guillotine? – There’s no real reason behind this one, except that I’m 5’1” and I sit pretty close to the steering wheel. I have visions of the damn thing inflating in some fender bender and blowing my head right off my shoulders.

3. I May Need 10mg of Valium Just to Write About Flying – I was never afraid of flying until a fateful business trip to Rhode Island to meet a client. Everything was cool on the flight for the first 30 minutes or so, when we reached cruising altitude. The seatbelt sign went off, I did what anyone with a bladder the size of a peanut would do after a Venti Americano on the concourse. While I was in the lavatory, the plane shuddered and emitted a loud boom. Suddenly the flight attendant was banging on the door telling me to come out, “dressed or not”. I stepped out, whereupon she slammed me by the back of my shirt into a seat. There I sat amidst my trembling, crying fellow passengers for the 45 minutes it took to get back to the Atlanta airport for the emergency landing because one of the engines was ON FIRE. I saw one flight attendant crying, and another asked some passengers whether they’d given their hearts to Jesus yet, which let me know there was a strong possibility we were totally hosed and about to die in a twisted ball of metal. We made an emergency landing on a “special” runway with fire trucks and ambulances at the ready. No one was hurt, thankfully, but yeah, now I’d rather take the train!

4. The Day I Quit Getting Carded – Yes, I’m 37, and I still get carded sometimes when I encounter a clerk who's a little stoned. About 6 months ago I even got carded trying to buy a lottery ticket. I admit I’m obsessed with looking younger than my age, and I’ve even been getting laser treatments every month to keep the wrinkles at bay. Vanity, Thy Name is Addie!

5. Escalators: The Devil’s Skin-Crushing Pinking Shears – When I was about five years old, I stepped onto a “down” escalator with my Mom. About 1/3 of the way down, I slipped and rolled down to the bottom, all the while bouncing off those teeth at the edge of each step. Once I reached the bottom, my clothes got stuck in the mechanism somehow and as each step flattened out, it squashed my skin and left bloody blisters on my arms and legs. Needless to say, I much prefer the stairs.

6. The Dental Sadist, Euphemism “Dentist” – I find it hard to trust anyone who wants to put their hands in my mouth. I’ve never really had a bad experience at the dentist, so there’s no precedent for this fear other than raging neurotic identification with the bad experiences of others. I probably need therapy, the fainting-couch Freudian kind. I would say the therapy should be in a European sanitarium, but that would require a LONG flight, wouldn’t it?

Six Things People Don’t Know About Me

This feature is a little something that’s been going around in the SEGA/SECG blog ring, and I’m considering myself tagged by Maria, who tagged anyone who hasn’t been tagged yet. So, without further ado, Six Things People Don’t Know About Me:

1. I Was a Russian Linguist in the Army. I shipped out to Basic Training at Ft. Jackson, SC the day after I graduated high school, and studied Russian at the Defense Language Institute for 47 weeks. I arrived not knowing Cyrillic from Saran Wrap, and left pretty well able to hold my own. Incidentally, I also sang in the смелый российский хор, which is translated into the Brave Russian Choir, and pronounced Smelly Russki Whore. My singing career in the Army was short, but I served on active duty for 4 years, and also served 1 year in the Army Reserve.

2. I Worked as a Telephone Psychic in College, and yes, it’s fake! After leaving the Army, I stayed at home with the kids for a while before going back to college and undertook my undergrad degree when Jared was in kindergarten and Tyler was four years old. In any case, I fell into this strange vocation by answering an ad for work that could be done at home. When the woman who interviewed me explained the position was for a telephone psychic, I told her I would have to pass on the job because I don’t have psychic abilities, and she snorted, “Oh honey, that doesn’t matter!”. Want me to read your tea leaves?

3. Sometimes I Can Hear You, Sometimes I Can’t. A couple of days before my 32nd birthday, I woke up almost completely deaf in my left ear with an obnoxious roar in my right ear and an almost complete loss of balance. As it turns out, the condition is called Meniere’s Disease, and was not a brain tumor as I was originally told was most probable. One of the features of Meniere’s is that the hearing loss fluctuates, so some days I can hear more than others. In any case, it beats the hell out of a brain tumor, but you might want to stand on my right when you talk to me.

4. I’m a Language Snob. When I hear people say we live in a “doggie dog” world, or that they are “enamored with” (instead of enamored of) something, it makes me cringe. I could give a lot of examples, but my least favorite is when someone uses the term “gold standard” incorrectly (i.e., “This carpet is the gold standard of acrylic shag.”). For the record, the gold standard is the economic principle that states that a government should circulate an amount of currency that is equivalent to the amount of gold held in reserve. It has nothing to do with tires, carpet, cars, or jewelry, for that matter. There! I feel so much better now.

5. I Can Do Ridiculous Things With My Toes. I can pick things up, spread them out an incredible amount, and I can move the pinkie toe and the big man independently. I’ll be glad to show you, much to my family’s chagrin!

6. I’m Aware That I Don’t Have a Tan. I feel another rant coming on here, but please bear with me. I’ll never figure out why people need to point out to me that I’m pale. My favorite phrase is, “Wow, your legs are so bright…I need my sunglasses!”. If you have ever said this to anyone, there’s a strong possibility that you, Sir or Madam, are a colossal toolbox. No one would ever THINK of saying to someone of a different ethnic background, “Oh, it’s so dark in here, get me a flashlight.” It’s just as ignorant to point out that someone is pale, and it makes me crazy!

Well, that’s it for me. I tag Ashley and anyone who is still lurking who hasn’t done this.