Chivalry

This is a vent.

I'm a woman who appreciates when a man is a gentleman. I'm old-fashioned that way.

So when a man who is walking about 4 paces in front of me doesn't keep the door open for me, I get really pissed off. That happened this morning. He turned around, looked at me, and walked right through the space that was (selfishly) just wide enough for his little body to fit.

Then, the elevator. There were TWO men who walked in front of me, go on the elevator and NEITHER of them attempted to tap the "open door" button as they looked at me through the closing doors (besides they passed me on the concourse -- it's not like they didn't know I was coming!!). They rode the elevator to their respective floors together and all I could think were evil thoughts.

It's not even 8 a.m. and a few men have managed to get under my skin today. Hopefully the worst of my day is done.

(You moms with sons, I implore you to teach your boys how to treat a lady. You dads out there with sons, please teach your boys how to act like a man. You feminist girls, ladies, moms, women out there, accept that you like these little things in life and let the men do for you! It's a wonderful, subtle sign of respect.)

Because It's Easier To Say Than "The Six Million Dollar Man"

While driving home from an 8 hour dance recital for my two nieces (!!), I told My Husband how there's talk of 'The Bionic Woman' coming back. This led to talk of the 'Six Million Dollar Man'. My Little One was fast asleep. My Eldest listened intently to her parents -- and asked questions. (Sidebar: We had just finished talking about how Mythbusters tried to prove or disprove igniting methane that was expelled from the human body -- if you get my drift. I said, that sounds like Mike Rowe needs to go on Mythbusters because that's a Dirty Job! The two shows should be combined for once!)

We told her what powers each of the bionic people had...what cool shows they were for their time....what bionic means.

So later, My Eldest starts to ask: Sooooo... this Cash Man....

Before she could finish her question, there's a pause of hilarity. My Husband looks at me. I look at him. We both bust up laughing.

My Eldest: Wha????

My Husband: It's just so funny that you called the 6 Million Dollar Man "The Cash Man"!

Eldest: Well it's easier to say than The Six Million Dollar Man!

She's right.

Enjoy!



Long live Jamie Somers and Steve Austin!! I'll be tuning in....how about you?

Trust Fund Baby Dream #2: Carnival in Brazil

Carnival! In Brazil!! Rio bay-beeee....that's-a-where I wanna be!!

I have a passion and a deep desire to go to Rio one year and do Carnival!! Unabashed, uninhibited, raw energy charging the atmosphere for days.

Dancing (Samba Mama!!)

Booze (all kinds)

Sweating (err..glistening)

Boobs (all kinds)

Beaches (bikinis & fireworks, sand in all the wrong places)



Sun (natural tan)

Dancing (MORE Samba Mama -- on PARADE)

Kodak moments (both innocent and inappropriate)

Bright Colors (all are represented)


Celebration (of what exactly???)

Dancing (can you say....Sambadrome? Yes, there is an actual Sambadrome!)

Sexual energy *everywhere* (ahem)

(We'll ignore the high crime for my Dream thankyouverymuch)

Amid all of the splendor of this (hedonistic?) event, is this underlying slap in the face to the shallow socialized physical representation of "perfection". Look at the bodies. They are hot, beautiful,curvy -- voluptuous -- dare I say it? -- full figured! The images of a 'perfect body' where everyone is rail thin and emaciated are not present. There are all body types. A passion is present for the sheer appreciation of the natural human form. Moreover, it's wickedsexy! The body's appearance as it is emulated in the press doesn't exist at parties like this! I love it!!

If you clicked on the hyperlink above, you'll see...

Cellulite

Floppy Tits

Perky tits

Full tits

Not-so-full tits

Curvy hips

Asses galore

Bulging bellies

Juicy thighs

Skin, skin, skin -- in all it's glory

Bellies hanging over waistlines

You get the idea.... I would totally LOVE to get dressed up like that JUST ONCE (and I don't mean for Halloween!)



So, if I were a trust fund baby, I'd cart a large group of friends on my invisible jet to Rio for Carnival (I might as well add my WW fantasy to the mix)!

Wanna come?

Need More Be Said?

Happy Monday

1938-2001

Scholarship Winner ~ Only Brother ~ Son ~ Builder ~ Alcholic ~ Avid Golfer ~ The Best Hollywood Gin Player EVER! ~ Teacher ~ Soldier ~ Trot-line Catfish Fisherman ~ Husband ~ Hunter ~ Pool Player (and damned good too!) ~ Domino Dynamo ~ Gambler with Bad Luck ~ Master Warrant Officer ~ Math Whiz ~ PaPa ~ Viet Nam Veteran ~ Gulf War Veteran ~ Provider ~ Wonderous Child of God ~ Football Watcher ~ NASCAR fan ~ Ranchhand ~ Prom King ~ Color Guardsman ~ Joketeller ~ Perfectionist ~ Advisor ~ Lover ~ Chief

Most of all:

My Daddy

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

Still miss you.

xoxo

Tag -- I'm it!

8 Things About Me

I have to post these rules before I give you the facts. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

ZigZagMan suckered some unwilling innocent off the street to venture into my pathway and poke me with a finger and yell "TAG! You're IT! Blame Zig!"...er, I mean, Zig Zag was kind enough to have me tagged because he digs my blog and might dig me a little bit, too. (Zig probably offered said innocent a weekend of camping and some beer.)

For the record Mr. and Mrs. ZigZagMan, I keep score.

1. I love chocolate - milk or dark. I especially love it on strawberries. Nutella is my sinful indulgence -- straight from the jar onto a spoon, then quickly into my wanton mouth. I, however, cannot STAND white chocolate. It's just not *real* chocolate. Hell, it can't even be in the chocolate family. Not even the drunk cousin who makes a scene at all the family get togethers. White chocolate is ... well...not worthy of wasting any more of my typing time or energy.

2. I am extremely moved by music. I'm tone deaf, and can't sing a note or carry a tune in a bucket, but my body responds to music uncontrollably. Therefore, I love to dance (and I'm a pretty good dancer I must say).

3. I want to move from Dallas ~ preferably near water. I would consider moving back to El Paso (hey, the Rio Grande is nearby!). I would also consider living in Austin. Even a small town very much appeals to me...in the Hill Country, or East Texas. If a job relocated me or my husband out of Texas, I'd love to move. Travelling is in the fabric of my soul and an luxury I don't get to indulge in much. I sometimes wish my husband had gone back into the Army when he graduated nursing school so that could travel the world on the government's dime. People should travel more.

4. I am amazed at people who have such jobs as putting (or even manufacturing) those little plastic thingies on the end of shoelaces, people who make those tiny paper umbrellas, and various other obscure, we-take-it-forgranted jobs. Bonus fact: I still want to be an FBI agent, or a forensic patholigist working for the FBI. I have a particular interest in sexual predators, serial rapists and serial/mass killers.

5. I will learn how to play the harp, own a Jaguar, fly a Cessna, become a blackbelt in some martial art, graduate college and be thin before I die. Also, I will publish either a children's book or a coffee table book (or both -- keep your fingers crossed).

6. I am intrigued by St. Veronica. She is the sixth station in the Stations of the Cross. She is not in the Bible, however, the Roman Catholic church has venerated her by portraying her in EVERY RC church as a station in Christ's Passion. (She is the one depicted who wiped the face of Jesus as he walked to his death. The cloth supposedly still exists today.) She is one of the subjects of my photography. I photogragh the St. Veronica station at every new Catholic church that I visit/attend Mass.

7. My hero is Thomas Jefferson. You'll have to learn more about him on your own to find out why. You'll be glad you did.

8. Eight is my favorite number. It's infinity. It's perfect. It's perfection everlasting. Zero is my other favorite number. Again, it's an unbroken perpetuation.

Now, to tag 8 people will not be something I can accomplish because I don't know 8 people who blog (personally anyway). I think I might be the only writer/blogger in my family and friends. At least, no one else has been brave enough to tell me about their blog if they indeed do it. So, these folks I know write a blog on their myspace from time to time. Hopefully that counts. :)

The next victims (um, I mean, tagged persons): Really Renate, Diana NC.

Trust Fund Baby Dream #1: Yachting on the JackieOhhh

For a couple of months now, I've been telling friends and family how much I really want to be a trust fund baby and that I'm deeply desirous of an unrestricted time away. I think I'll play Trust Fund Baby on my blog and offer my lil dreams and escapes from time to time. This is the first entry.....please indulge me

I am nude sunbathing on the vast deck of my yacht The Jackie Ohhh off the coast of either Mallorca or Monte Carlo. A barefoot cabana boy (although there is no cabana on a yacht) dressed in white linen serves me a glass of blush or, no, I think instead, a Pina Colada. I close my eyes and soak up the sun rays for they remind me of how much God loves me. I am shimmering like the aqua ocean around me. The wind cools me. I hear the ocean sounds: birds, waves. The creamy sweetness of the Colada envelops the tastebuds on my tongue and I sip yet more the nibble on the strawberry and cherry that was speared by an umbrella toothpick as a colorful decoration accessorising my drink. Good cabana boy. Good. There's yet *another* reason I keep him around. :)

The sun is beginning to set, and below is my view.

Random questions have popped in my brain: (1) Do yachts get names? (2) If you had a yacht, what would you name yours? Feel free to leave it in the comment section -- as well as *your* trust fund baby fantasies (or email them to me).

I am going in to the shore later to dine and dance so I'd better get ready to go now... ciao!

Plum Nice

As the summer heat was disspating in the lazy Sunday late evening, my family was out in the backyard. Each of us were doing various things. Husband's dad brought over some tomato plants. So husband dug a hearty hole into the earth for each of them. As he dug, the pitchfork immersed itself into a giant root system of a rather immature tree he recently removed. Husband wrestled with the pitchfork and root system. The grass tore open, oozing mud and there the mighty root lay, fighting tooth and nail, stubbornly refusing to give up it's happy home.

As Husband wrestled The Mighty Tree Trunk, me and My Eldest picked up plums from the grass that had fallen off the tree on the other side of the yard. Most of the plums have rotted, molded, been eaten by birds or become the home of some insect's eggs (ick). Little One is tromping round the yard like a godzilla. She stomps the soft, rotten plums so they squish and gush between her toes, all the while smacking her lips working on the meat of a fresh pick I managed to find directly from the tree just for her. She is wearing only a Sesame Street-tagged diaper and a smile that exhibits a mere 3 pearly white teeth. (Poor kid looks like a hillbilly, God love her...) She smiles up at me so proud of her fruit and frolick. I squirt her with the hose. She's both frightened and exhilarated at the same time. She pulls the plum from her mouth, bats her eyes like flies are dive bombing into them and wobbles her stance. My Eldest laughs out loud and manages to request, "Mommy! Squirt me!! Squirt me!!"

So, me, in all my Mighty Momminess, empowered with a pregnant hose, lets loose the water. I spray the girls and they run in circles, laughing and carrying on. They try to eat their fruit in between laughs and squirts. My Eldest is soaking wet in her tshirt and shorts, while My Little One's diaper is increasingly bloated. Their legs are covered in freshly cut grass shavings. There is mud and plum on their bare feet. And then it hit me.

I froze this moment in time. I stopped and took a mental picture.

*click*

I watched my daughters having the best summer fun. And I was the source of it...this time. I pray at least My Eldest will have this memory vividly emblazed on her consciousness, too. I hope when she's 14 or 27 or 66, she'll tell someone a story of "summers in Texas were so fun!! One time...i was eating plums and getting squirted by my mom wickedly with a water hose...."

I couldn't help but be moved by this blessed moment and think: Well, ain't this plum nice?

Wishing you sugary summer child-laughter filled days,
WW