in lieu of a real post, i give you ... semi-porn but not really

It's been quite some time since I've said anything even remotely resembling significant, huh? I'm gonna roll with that for just a bit longer.

While looking for the video of a commercial my friend and I were talking about last night, I stumbled upon this gem of a banned Skittles commercial. Surely, it was never intended to make it on television because sweet holy god, I can't imagine in what world it would ... but I still find it hilariously ... well, hilarious.



As you were.

creative writing prompt

Write about a moment when you and another person (sibling, friend, parent, etc.) bonded.

My brother and I have never been terribly close. Once we got past the stage where we flung, "you're a jerk!" insults at each other every five minutes, we seemed to basically ... exist just fine together in the same house but we weren't particularly friends. I think we're both pretty different people than we were when we were younger (thankfully) and even though neither of us are chit-chatty phone call-y types and we don't talk all that often, we *are* closer than we ever were as kids. He sent me an email the other day that said, "Cool bookmark. Thought an avid reader might appreciate it" with the following picture attached, which reminded me why I believe so strongly in the, "actions speak louder than words" mentality. I don't need a phone call every other day or a constant reminder that someone cares about me. I just need an occasional one that tells me you really know the kind of person I am.

One who would just about give her tits to have this bookmark!

One of my favourite childhood memories definitely falls under the 'bonding between siblings' category. My parents have a ranch-style house so the three bedrooms are in the same hallway and the only thing separating what was my brother's room from what was my bedroom is the bathroom. When we went to bed at night and left our doors open, we could talk to each other until the parentals told us to shut the hell up and go to sleep (but in a loving, apropriately parent-y kind of way, of course). So, until that time came, we talked. And we played Scrabble. Scrabble is a fairly visual kind of game and when I try and think back to how we would have made that work with just talking, I have absolutely no idea how we did it. The only thing I really remember was saying things like, "I'll take a B, Chuck" (because when he wasn't making Love Connections, Chuck Woolery was hosting a bazillion other game shows, such as Scrabble).

I don't remember what words we ever played or how exactly we played or who ever won. But I do remember not hating having to go to bed at the end of the day because I had a brother two doors away who, for the most part, was the last person I talked to before falling asleep every night.

Ah, the old days.

it's been nice knowing you all

But seeing as though the owners of the media did *not* follow my very clear instructions, I'm off to have a heart attack.

Thank you, Buzzfeed and the friend who sent me the link

And ... aalsdkfa;lskfdjlaskjdlkjadgj;lasdjfljadslkfj;dasljfl.

Dead.

imagine that

I heart the hell out of it when friends are inspirational. Well, Ms. Thompson and I aren't friends but a friend did inspire this post by posting the following video to Facebook, in which Professor Trelawney says ...

"Imagine getting up in the morning and seeing, like, you’ve got a spot (I just found a spot this morning myself, actually). And you’ve got a spot and you don’t think that the world’s come to an end. You just put a bit of ... dab a bit of something on it and then walk out in the world because you’re so happy with yourself and your space that you can just take that space and you don’t need to apologize for yourself. Imagine that. That would be a great place to be. Imagine getting up in the morning and just putting on your clothes without even having to think about whether they make you look one way or another. Because you know that ... your space in the world is assured. You’re allowed to be whatever you want or need to be. You’re welcomed like that. Imagine that."

The video ends with the following text on the screen: Loving the natural you should be an everyday occurrence. Constantly worrying about your reflection and criticizing your body, shape and size is an act of violence against yourself.

For the past three weeks or so, I've been getting reacquainted with the gym and doing so on a much more regular basis than I ever have in the past. My motivations for returning to voluntarily sweating my tits off on a regular basis are varied and you should know by now that I'm an orderly kind of gal so a list, it is!

A. Every year, February kicks my ass; it's just a suckass month. And every time it ends, I notice how positively lazy and unhealthy I feel, both physically and mentally. I've never been a girl who loves being on-the-go and I value my relaxing alone time something fierce but a month of it is enough to drive a girl batty. What better way to actually regain some energy than to go expend some?

B. While I've never considered myself to be overly self-conscious when frolicking between the sheets, most women will tell you there *are* some positions that are more likely to challenge one's self-esteem and body consciousness. Being in the "lucky as hell to have had the partners I've had" category, the number of times that's been an issue for me has been next to never. But I did catch myself thinking it not too long ago and while part of it is the fact I don't fall under what I consider to be that partner's ... historically-proven preferred body type, that 'excuse' only goes so far. Mrs. Roosevelt wasn't lying; that's my thing, not his. And when I really thought about it, I realized I wasn't worried so much that he was unhappy with me (because as far as I'm concerned, even if you *are* having sex with someone you're not physically attracted to, that says worlds more about you than it does the other person), I found me being unhappy with me. Not because it makes me feel like a lesser person (it doesn't) and not because I think it makes me hideous (I don't) and not because it's going to change how I frolic between the sheets (it's not) but because I remember when I didn't feel that and I simply prefer that feeling to this one. So, as Mayor Wilkins assured the concerned citizens of Sunnydale, "never again," I've assured myself of the same thing.

C. At some point in February, as a way to combat its suckiness, I decided to start revamping my non-existent style. I still don't believe clothes make the (wo)man but I do feel there's some truth to the statement, "if you look good, you feel good." I bought whatever size I needed regardless of what number that was, I bought whatever I liked and wanted, and I've worn it. I've also found that actually giving a shit and making a conscious effort to not give in to the constant desire to just blend in feels pretty fucking great.

D. My favourite aunt was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, had a double mastectomy, and starts chemo in a couple weeks. Thankfully, it was found early enough to not be an immediate death sentence but when a girl starts thinking about losing one of the most important people in her life, she starts thinking about the best way to go about hangin' around in this world for as long as possible.

So. Seeing as though I suck at goals, I didn't set a specific one so much as tell myself, "If you go to the gym twice a week and both weekend days, that would be awesome. But three days a week and both weekend days would be super awesome." Technically, a goal? I suppose so. But a ... lenient one. I don't plan on altering my ridiculously picky eating habits much because ... well, simply put, I don't want to. Food has never been my vice of choice and while I do have an aversion to just about all things green (save for leafy lettuce), I'm fairly content with what and how I eat. The last time I knew my weight was maybe six or so months ago at my last doctor's appointment and I have no intention of tracking whether or not that number has or will go down. Simple Evil math tells me it will because when a girl who spends a good 9 hours a day sitting on her ass starts spending at least an hour or so at the gym four or five times a week, it's gonna show. Okay, if I wind up at the point of having to buy new clothes, chances are I will weigh myself our of pure curiosity. But I don't have a goal weight and I don't have a pair of three-sizes-too-small-but-maybe-I'll-get-back-into-them-someday jeans that taunt me from the depths of my closet.

We *are* all allowed to be whatever we want or need to be and I'm opting for happier and healthier. If thinner winds up being a side effect, cool. But if not, I'm still gonna have the happier and healthier part, which is really the only part that matters.

condoms, Rose. Condoms! Condoms! Condoms!

If I gave a flying frack about Valentine's Day, I would so totally send these to every single person I know.

The title of this post is from a gem of an episode.

yes, fine, I will admit it

I am still not friggin' done reading the Harry Potter series. I have the seventh and final book left, which I plan on starting next week and finishing over the weekend. How I've managed to not have the ending ruined for me, I have no idea. But I'm assuming once the film opens on the 19th, that may change, whether I like it or not.

Plus, I like the stories and do very much want to finish them all. I just need a little non-magical reading thrown in too.

Where I'm going with this post is here:

Next weekend, my plan is to not only devour whatever I have left of Deathly Hallows but to do so after having made Butterbeer Cupcakes as an accompaniment. They sound eighteen kinds of delicious and as an added little treat, provided it arrives on my doorstep sometime this next week, I hope they're going to be the very first things I make with this:

I've wanted one for years and since I've been baking lately, I've noticed that it's terribly difficult with a hand mixer and a fairly small Pyrex bowl; half the flour winds up on the walls and half the liquid gets splattered all over whatever shirt I'm wearing. It annoys me and when I get annoyed, I get cranky and when I get cranky, it is not at all pleasant. And baking is all about warm, happy feelings; not unpleasantness.

So, I bought it. And I'm psyched. And I can't wait to bake up a fucking storm.

from one of my father's morning emails...

I would like to see you closer to us, but I love the fact that you live where things are happening! I want to enjoy some of that w/ you.

I love Chicago. I do. I think most people spend their lives looking for three major things: what they're meant to do with those lives, who they're meant to spend them with, and where they're meant to spend them. The first one has always escaped me and the second...well, I don't believe in the 'soul mate' theory and choose instead to believe there are many people in the world with whom I could be perfectly happy. Who and where the fuck they are, I have no idea. But that last one? That one, I've managed to find. For me, home isn't where the heart is but where the heart grows and thrives. Some places just feel like home and for me, it's here.

One of the best things about it is that my parents and I are close enough and they're at the age where it's more financially doable than it was in years past to come visit. Although he grew up in a tiny-ass town in the Adirondacks, my father has always been a city lover. When I was little, I was in my parents' room and found a paper bag full of money from all over the world that he had saved from the time he spent in the Navy. He never wanted to be a career military man but he did want to get the hell out of Small Town, USA and joining the Navy was his way of doing that. I love asking him just one small question about that time in his life because he'll go on and on and on about the places and things he saw and how lucky he was to be able to do that. My mother, on the other hand, was never a lover of city life until I moved to Chicago but she's grown to really love experiencing some of the things she never before had a chance to experience. It's been brought up several times how awesome it would be if they moved out here after they retire. A year ago, she wasn't at all ready to sell their house but when she was here in August, she told me she really thinks she could do it and be happy here. If they'll ever really make that big leap, I don't know. But it also wouldn't surprise me if they one day seriously consider it.

They'll be coming out again for Thanksgiving this year and this morning as I flipped through the craptastic free newspaper on my way to its crossword puzzle, I saw this ad for a concert on December 4th:

My parents love smooth jazz. My dad always says, "the stuff will just clear your head," which is the part that usually trips me up because even though I spend far too much time in there already, the entire point of music for me is to *keep* me in my head. I like my tunes to leave me wondering about things and remembering times gone by and questioning where I'm heading. I like my music to leave my head a jumbled up mess of thoughts whereas my parents like it to just mellow them out. For the most part, I divide the smooth jazz genre into two sub-genres:

1. Elevator muzak

2. What I like to call, "music for makin' love, Wonder Bead style"

I certainly don't think there's a single thing wrong with makin' sweet, sweet love but most of the tunes I put in that category simply put in my head images of John & Jane Doe frolicking around a Sybaris-esque love den, complete with candles and bearskin rugs and rose petals on the bed; all of which, to me, are uber cheesy. Thoughtful, genuinely caring gestures that may lead to activities of a carnal nature, I quite enjoy. Cliché romantic ones, not so much. Songs in the elevator muzak category just leave me stuck between wanting to shake my ass just a tiny bit and wanting to fall right asleep.

However, I *do* have somewhat of a musical thing for Brian Culbertson, who also happens to be my parents' favourite artist. And also happens to be the blonde guy in the above concert ad. I'm adding this photo soley because my musical 'thing' for him ain't just musical.

I dig him. I dig him mucho. I love that he started playing piano at the age of eight, I love that his jazz band-leading father encouraged a love of music, I love the originality of most of his stuff, I love that it's not just a dude and his piano but a dude and his piano rockin' out with other dudes and their instruments of choice, I love the fact he's a little contemporary and a little old school and a little jazzy and a little R&B. And anyone who my mother says broke his keyboard during a concert because he was just banging the living hell out of the thing during the entire show, I imagine is one hell of an entertainer. Really, I just love me a skilled musician whose passion is playing the keys.

(One of my BC faves)

So, after they head back to New York the Monday after Thanksgiving, they'll be turning around and flying back out that weekend for a concert at one of the most stunningly beautiful, historic theatres in the city.

I love so very many things about Chicago. But these experiences...the ones that because I'm lucky enough to live here, I get to show people and and share with them...those are the absolute best.

why i love "how i met your mother"

And Neil Patrick Harris. Well, one of the reasons I love Neil Patrick Harris. Mmm, Neil Patrick Harris.

* insert squiggly, dream-like sequences lines and ... music. you know the kind i'm talkin' about ... *

Wait, no. Not that kind of blog. Not that kind of blog!

On Monday's episode of How I Met Your Mother, Barney and James (brothers played by Neil Patrick Harris and Wayne Brady) came across an old letter their mom had written but never sent. It was a photo of the two of them as kids with the words, your son written on the back. Realizing it was a letter to one of their fathers, the entire gang went to the man's house to meet him. Barney had a touching moment when he finally acknowledged that he didn't really believe Bob Barker was his father (his mother had told him he was) and he was finally ready to meet his real dad.

When a black guy answered the door, it was clearly James' father, not Barney's. Unable to accept that, Barney convinced himself he and James shared the same father and he was black for a day.

Legen ... wait for it ...



... dary!

i don't LOL at my desk very often

But this morning? Hahahahahahahahahaha!

40 years

My parents are celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary today. Forty years of love and laughter and celebrations and holidays and vacations and so much more. Before they ever decided to have children they would love unconditionally and consistently, they vowed to love each other the same way. I'm amazingly thankful and proud and inspired that although that committment has been tested and I know it will be again...it's never been broken. And I'm quite sure it never will.

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skin to the wind, baby!

I spent most of this past Saturday naked. Nude. In the buff. Sans clothes.

(Image via 9gag)

This little tidbit wouldn't really be blog-worthy if it weren't for the fact that I was also outside. More specifically, outside at Lake O' The Woods Club, a nudist club in Indiana.

A couple months ago, a good friend told me about Chicago Fun Club, a local group of nudies that has what appears to be at least one event a month where they get together, shed the clothes, and frolic about doing any number of things. The plan was to go a couple months ago when my friend made a weekend trip to Chicago but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. A few weeks later, he told me the Chicago club was meeting up this past Saturday at LOWC for a skinny dipping event and all-around day of hanging out.

And hang all out, we did.

My morning started off on a less than pleasant note and despite the fact that all I really wanted to do was lounge on the couch and watch the one thing that always helps adjust my perspective, I would have felt shitty backing out. So, we hopped in the car and a little over an hour later, arrived at our very first nudist event. Which proved to be exactly what I friggin' needed that day.

Since everyone and their brother can't just pull in, ditch their clothes and roam around the grounds, we were buzzed in by what I imagined was a woman inside somewhere sitting behind a desk completely naked. Once we parked the car, we looked like the oddballs of the group walking toward the clubhouse with our clothes on. Everyone and their brother (and sister and wife and husband and children) were either in the pool or lounging around on the chairs surrounding the pool but there were some people just laying in the grass and some standing around talking with others; all of them, naked. We made our way into the clubhouse to sign in, where we were greeted by the mystery phone voice who buzzed us in, who was indeed, sitting behind a desk naked. She crossed our names off, scanned our driver's licenses, took some general info, and sent us back outside to join in the fun. So, we headed back to my friend's car, ditched our clothes and walked back over toward the clubhouse, finally looking just like everyone else.

We found a little spot to throw down some towels and sat for a bit to take in the sights. There were women who looked much like I do...there were women who were smaller and women who were bigger. Short guys, tall guys, white guys, black guys. I'm not sure, number-wise, how the gender scale tipped but there seemed to be quite a good number of both men and women. We chatted it up with a man from Maine whose family often travels with him but for reasons I can't remember, he was solo this time. We chatted with an Army vet who has been a member of the club for years and years. After swimming in the pool for a bit, because of the torrential downpour, we wound up huddled under a big tent, where we struck up conversation with a few people closer to our ages (we've dubbed the male of the group, "Horse Cock" because...well, yeah. I managed to keep my eyes in check for most of the day but a girl couldn't help but notice that tasty little treat floppin' around all afternoon). Since there wasn't much to be done in the rain, we went inside with them and into the sauna with a few other people to warm up. After which, once the rain stopped, it only made sense to take a swim in the lake, which is, I must say, amazingly fucking delightful after coming out of a sauna. Because I'm firmly in the anti-Mexican food camp, we didn't stay for dinner and left shortly after the skinny dipping.

New people tend to scare me. I'm shy in the sense that meeting new people and making new friends is unpleasantly difficult for me. I hate crowds and I'm not really much of a 'group event' kind of girl and much prefer spending my time with just a few people at once. But I was amazed at how little of a concern that was to me. I suppose it's really no different than people who get together and hang out because they're Cubs fans or Buffy fans or The Flaming Lips fans...there was a common interest between everyone that, at least for me, put me much more at ease than I had expected. There was...a brazen honesty about everyone that I positively adored.

I didn't grow up in a "naked house" but it also wasn't one shrouded in shame. We left bathroom doors open, we brushed our teeth while someone was showering...nakedness was just never that big of a deal. Thankfully, for me, that's carried over into my adult life. I'm not one to wear what most would call "skimpy" clothes when out and about and like a lot of people, there are days when there are parts of my body I'd rather not look at. But if I'm in my apartment, I'm most likely wearing as little as possible. It's just more comfortable. Hell, I have to wear clothes any time I'm outside of my apartment so why the hell would I want to be stuck in them when I'm just hanging out in the privacy of my own home? I don't.

My Saturday morning had started with my body...turning on me and left me wondering exactly what sort of ugliness was lurking around inside. Thankfully, not only am I on the upswing of taking care of that little health bump in the road, but the perfect way to combat that feeling last Saturday was to spend the afternoon being reminded that no matter what may be going on in the inside, the outside...just like everyone else's...remains beautiful.

thank you, HGRB creator. Thank you.

Hot Guys Reading Books

I've wondered the same thing

While I'm quite pleased with the series finale of LOST, I would have loved an answer to this particular question.

what are you waiting for, stupid? Eat it!

My girl, Betty, rockin' the girlie parts innuendo, circa 1992.



And still rockin' it, circa 2010!

is it 10:30 yet?!

52 seconds in.



I'm ready. Bring the funny, Betty!

yeah. um...

I got nothin'. Well, I've got giggling. And an excuse for a sodomy tag.

daily haiku on love = daily dose of delightful

I think I stumbled across this blog when a friend re-posted one of his haikus from it. While I'm sure that just as we all do, the owner of the blog has some less than beautiful qualities, I sure as hell can't find them anywhere when I'm reading.

It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy everyday. Who couldn't use more of that?

Go ahead. Add me to your daily reading.

Spring renewal

My apartment lease for the upcoming rental year, which I slapped my Herbie Hancock on and slipped under my landlord's door this morning.

Since that pesky Daylight Savings went into effect this past Saturday, I've been fortunate enough to be able to watch the sunrise from the bus on my way to work every morning. I've taken that same bus ride for a good four years and witnessed that sunrise from different views, thanks to different morning commutes, for almost eight years. Yet every morning this week, I've found myself thinking how amazing it still is to me that I call this place home. And mean it.

(Photo not mine but ooooooh, so pretty!)

I would like to thank my friend, Don

For being a friend *and* for sending me this awesome link the other day that I had completely forgotten to post.

It's okay if I know the majority of episodes from which these quotes originated, oui?

While Saturday Night Live isn't nearly as hilarious as it's been in past years, I've gotta say I'm fucking elated that Betty White will soon be hosting.

In her honour, I present you with my favourite Rose Nylund moment. I apologize for the lousy quality of the video but it's the only clip of it I could find.



Now, if you'll excuse me, I have celebrating to do with a cheesecake out on the lanai.