*Sunny Girl peeks out from her Happy Place and looks around for a sec....

Humm...lessee....

Apparently our eyelashes aren't thick enough, so we need to buy medicine and/or some kinda cosmetic fix for that.

Some guy...a Captain in the U.S. Navy made smutty flicks for the troops aboard his ship. What's his name? Honors...? Hey...that's pretty funny!

OO. This isn't good. A man shot and killed a bunch of people and no one seems to know why. Looks like he was trying to assassinate some politcal girl. Wow. A lot of talk about that.

Because of this shooting, a couple of political boys are saying they are carrying guns to protect themselves. Really? What are they gonna do? Pull those guns after they've been shot? I don't get it. Even if they aren't dead after being shot, wouldn't they be in shock? Are they gonna have the wherewithal, if they aren't dead/unconscious, to be able to draw a bead and return fire? Protect themselves? I'm confused.

Hmmm. People are saying a woman named Sarah Palin said something about "cross-hairs" and "lock-n-load" so she's responsible for this other woman getting shot. But then, someone speaking for her said she didn't really mean those things relating to a gun. What she really meant was relating to a tool used for surveying land. Heh, heh. Sounds a little like "wardrobe malfunction". You know, what you saw or heard really wasn't what you saw or heard. No really. Because WE say it, you must believe it!

Now that I think about it, I saw this Sarah Palin on TV down in my burrow. I saw her hunting caribou for food. She must be using those terms from what she knows: she lives in a place where a bunch of people hunt. With guns. But I can't figure out why that makes her responsible for this guy's actions. I thought if someone commits murder, THAT person is responsible.

And while I'm thinking....heh.....thinking.....can't ol' Sarah say what she wants because of Freedom of Speech? Don't we still have that here in America? Don't we still have the right to bear arms? I know the intent of the right to bear arms was when our militia in the early years of this country needed arms to protect us from the British, but isn't that right still around? Did something change? If one person uses that "right" for evil, is someone else to blame?

I'm so confused and my brain hurts now from looking around and trying to think and figure this world out. I'm looking around now and I see my shadow, so I think I'll just go back underground; to my Happy Place where there are bunnies and funnies and laughter and leave all this important stuff to others who can figure it out.

I Gotta Get Me One'a Those.

Funny, but I was just thinking today that I'd love to drive one of those lawn mowers. You know, the kind you sit on that has two arms....and they whip around real fast in a tight little circle. I bet it's like riding a Tilt-a-Whirl while mowing the grass. Rather like being an adult with permission to play. Because playing is not dignified, you know.

My neighbors are a delightful family from El Salvador. Being the only English-speaker in the building, they asked me to tutor their six-year old son. And so I did. Amazingly enough, and with much advice, help and love from my friends, the boy passed his kindergarten year with a little help from me and we've become friends. So when he knocks on my door and asks if I want to play, the answer is, of course...YES!

Tonight the boy knocked on my door with the familiar question. Honestly, I really wasn't up to riding bikes.....but then I saw it. The boy had a brand-new scooter!! Oh, maaaan...I've always wanted to ride one of those!

So off we went. We raced. I rode a pony. He rode a rocket. We shot each other with invisible ray-guns. Flames shot from the rear of his rocket as my pony put her shields up and avoided the oil slicks and water canon he shot at me. We made up the rules as we went along.

...and then he said it. "You wanna try?" The boy proffered his scooter. 'well duh!', the kid in me said. The adult in me hesitated. We were in public. That would be sooo undignified. The kid in me won out. MAN, can that thing move!! Then he said, "are you gonna get one? They're for little kids, but you could get one."

I'm gonna think about it. No guts, no glory, right?

We All Know Joe Pesci's Observation Of The Drive-Thru From Lethal Weapon 2

....so this afternoon at lunch I drop off a script at the pharmacy then do a drive-thru at McDonalds. I really didn't think my order was that hard. Quarter Pounder with cheese with NO BUN. I enunciate, because I know this can throw people. Especially through a speaker. The order is read back. Great. Of course, back at work, I open the box which holds a bun with cheese and some pickles, onion, ketchup and mustard. Wow. Did they really think I was going to pay them 7 bucks and some change for this meal?

I used to just order the whole sandwich to save myself from just this kind of hassle, but, see, here's the thing. The cheese sticks to the bun. Then you're left without your cheese and white bread crumbs stuck to the burger. This requires scraping. So the dilemma at the drive-thru is, ...do i want a QP with no cheese I gotta scrape, or should I risk it, hoping to end up with a glorious burger w/o the bun? Picky, I know...but I can't eat bread. And ordering fast food is only done on a rare occasion in the interest of time.

I save my sad sandwich and, with the receipt, I head out again after work. At the drive-thru PHARMACY, I pick up my volatile-mood-calming-meds. I show pharmacy guy my sandwich and tell him the story. He thinks this is funny and says, "yeah, well, that's why they are over there, and we are over here."
oooo you better hope this order is right, my good man. we ARE at the drive-thru here....I think to myself.
I hold up my volatile-mood-calming-meds to him and say, "they are lucky I don't care."

Across the street I go to Mcdonalds and walk into the restaurant. I can see this just won't work at the drive-thru. I will now shorten this story to say that it really was a tragic experience. Three employees and one manager later, I see them all standing with their gloved hands, heads bent over my sandwich, conferring with one another as they assemble a QP with cheese and no bun. They are discussing and shaking their heads in uncertainty as they make this foray into uncharted territory. For the world, they looked like 3 surgeons standing over a patient and sincerely struggling as if they'd never assembled a QP with cheese in all their lives. The "no bun" part really threw them.

It was so painful to watch that, from now on, I PROMISE, I will be eating scraped burgers.

Ah, Yes, One Step Closer To The Straightjacket And The Padded Cell....

Wow, okay, so I haven't posted in 6 months. That's because I discovered I could fit everything I have to say in a status update on Facebook. It also took me that long to figure out how to import this blog to my FB page. Well, I've figured it out. I still haven't much to say, so I thought I'd update you on my sleep thrashing. It is getting ridiculous.



As I said before, I'm not aware I'm doing this but I wake up to total destruction of the bed and sometimes anything near the bed that happens to be in the way of this phenomenon. I'm not sure when this started, but I've decided it's most likely the result of the FM. I lie too long in one position and the painful trigger points are causing me to flop around like a fish out of water. It's the only thing I can think of, short of asking someone to sit up all night to watch me and take notes....and that ain't happenin'. Neither is a video camera.



Waking up is always interesting. I'd just gotten used to the fact that the bedding, including the bottom sheet are strewn all over the floor, but lately I've been waking up across the bed as well. One morning with my head and pillow on the nightstand...another morning, my head on the floor and my body on the bed. I finally had enough when I woke up across the bed facing the headboard and wondering who moved my bed next to the dresser. Really. I thought that.

So today I saw a long pillow in a catalog and ordered it. A really really really really long pillow. Eleven feet long. It's billed "for FM patients" and it wraps around your entire body for support, much like the wee-tiny ones they use on preemies in incubators at the hospital. Either it's gonna work, or it will be just one more thing to sleep-pummel and land on the floor in tatters. I sure hope the workmanship is good.

I Really Need To Learn To Use Smaller Words

"Hi, I'm with Direct Energy...."

"Hi, I don't want to be solicited."

"Oh, I'm not soliciting, I'm just signing people up....."

"I still don't want to be solicited....."

"Um, yes ma'am. Have a good day."

I'm not sure which is worse...being solicited or being called Ma'am.

Wisdom Trumps Experience.

"HOW does an American WWII veteran reach 83 yrs old and not know Rock, Paper, Scissors?!" , I asked my stepfather in amazement.

"I don't know. I've seen it, but never knew the game."

"Ok, fine, here's how it goes. You only need to know 3 things", I say demonstrating with my hand the shapes it needs to make and explaining the meaning of each one.

And off we went. We made decisions the whole Christmas weekend in this manner.

READY? ONE! TWO! THREE!.....Cool! I win ownership of the remote control!

ONE! TWO! THREE! Dang! Guess I gotta say grace at dinner.

ONE! TWO! THREE! Sweet! I get a shoulder rub.

So last night at 11 p.m. Stepdaddy says to me, "time to put the rabbit away."

"Oh, right. Forgot."

When I am home at Mommy's, the rabbit lives on the porch. He doesn't run away, he just makes his home there and in the interest of his safety from the nocturnal creatures that roam the night, he gets locked into his cage from 11 p.m. when Stepdaddy goes to bed until about 5 a.m. when Stepdaddy gets up. He willingly does this chore since my normal bedtime is 9 p.m. and I don't get up until around 8 or so. When I am home, the boy gets the run of his fenced off world indoors and there is no lock down time for him, so he's a little put out when we go to Mommy's, but oh well. At least he gets to remain free for as long as he does because Stepdaddy is so good to him.

So there we were at 11p p.m. last night. I was still up because T.V. was too good to put down, so Stepdaddy reminded me of the chore.

"Ok, you wanna put him away?"

"No, he's your rabbit."

"I know, but he likes it when you put him away."

"Then he's going to stay out on the porch all night."

"Fine! READY? ONE! TWO! THREE!" I held up my 'rock' for him to see and looked to see his hand held out and his middle finger extended.

.....out into the cold December night I went to fetch my rabbit.

I'm Having Trouble Envisioning Spitting Amish.

My first quilting class. Who knew you could sew your finger to the back?

"It's okay, honey, you'll get a callous there."

Oh Yeah! That's why I signed up! I hear the guys totally dig callous-ey finger tips.

"And if you get blood on your quilt ladies, just spit on it right away and that should take care of it!"

She's kidding, right? RIGHT??!

Should I decide to throw my work in frustration, the quilting hoop will give it a nice frisbee effect.