Or not. Having just said, "wow, I found all kinds of cool things for my blog", I'm now OUT of cool things... but decided to blog anyway.
Amanda Fucking Palmer. Okay, I lied. I did find something cool to share with y'all. I think I enjoy Amanda's whole being as much as I enjoy her music. She has a video posted on her site of her goofing off with her feet. What an enlightened personage. I love how she tattooed her eyebrows. When she gets older, she can let her eyebrows grow back and no one will know she had a tattoo. Not that I can imagine her ever being the kind of person who would deny her tattoo-ed-ness. She'd just be Amanda Palmer, not Amanda FUCKING Palmer. Check out her blog. Even better. I want to grow up to be like her, although I don't believe anyone will thank me for shaving off and tattooing on new eyebrows. The effect would JUST not be the same.
Elise is sick today - hacking cough, fever, lots of snot. She's so wonderfully matter-of-fact about it; she just came into the kitchen, saw that Shar the Gargantupuppy had cat litter on her muzzle (which can mean only one, very repugnant thing - that I don't need to bother scooping the cat box today) and promptly threw up. No fuss, no screaming and yelling, just barfed, then took herself off to the bathroom to clean up and brush her teeth. In response to my shouted "You okay?", she just said "Yup" with a bit of a laugh, and that was it. Eight years old. Already has shit under control. Now she's in the bedroom, having a careful lunch and watching Godzilla. She's laughing her head off about something, screaming at Godzilla to be careful.
I only mention this because my daughter is a blessing of contradictions, all of them unashamed, and because it's a dang hoot, sitting in the kitchen while the sixties music and Godzilla sound effects and really weird dialogue come rumbling down the hall, along with Elise occasionally shouting out "look OUT, Godzilla!!" I look up, and the Gargantupuppy is sacked out on the living room floor, her huge long legs sticking out like tree roots. Godzilla means nothing to her; his safety is not her concern. She dreams only of tonight, when she will get to see her Rottie friend Holly and play until she too is ready to barf.
Posting what I have of the three elf stories I've been writing, I think to Google Docs. In fact, I'm sure of it. Let me know if you're family/friends and want to read it, or any of my work. I think I'll put all my work up on Google Docs.
Dying my roots - my hair roots. On my head! Get a grip, people, sheesh! Chose a REALLY red color, and I'll have to reapply my blonde streaks. It's been, wow... 15 years since I was this red - and now there are not one but many shades of red to confuse and delight. The big four-six is a month away, give or take a smidgeon. How else is one to respond? I'm also thinking tattoo...
On that note, I hadn't realized how much the black hair had been depressing me, but it had. I felt old. I felt grayed and careworn and utterly unlovely. Okay, I weight 245 lbs, it's hard to feel lovely at the best of times, but the black hair WAS NOT doing all it could to be of assistance in this area.
The day I used the paint-stripper and removed it to reveal the shocking tri-color red, a million years and a thousand pounds lifted off my soul. I felt silly again, immature and goofy and is there really any other way to feel when one is staring down the business end of 50?
Okay, anyway, putting stuff up on Google docs now, and then I'm going to take off for errands and Morgan Hill. Ciao.
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