Songs to remember

I think that music is powerful. Sure, that sounds cheesy. Britney Spears probably has said that same thing in some heartfelt interview with Barbara Walters, and that detracts from my statement. Roll with me though...


I use music to brighten up bad days and to get myself out of a "funk". It is also very mellowing when I am hyped up or anxious. Singing "I Have Confidence" from the Sound of Music really does give me confidence. I actually sang that song the day I left home.


"What will this day be like? I wonder.

What will my future be? I wonder.

It could be so exciting to be out in the world, to be free

My heart should be wildly rejoicing

Oh, what's the matter with me?

I've always longed for adventure

To do the things I've never dared

And here I'm facing adventure

Then why am I so scared..."



Those lyrics were so true that day. That same day, as I was leaving home to strike out on my own a thousand miles away, my dad played the Dixie Chick's "Wide Open Spaces" for me. It was the most fitting song--and everytime I hear it, I get a little weepy!



Who doesn't know what I'm talking about

Who's never left home, who's never struck out

To find a dream and a life of their own

A place in the clouds, a foundation of stone



Many precede and many will follow

A young girl's dream no longer hollow

It takes the shape of a place out west

But what it holds for her, she hasn't yet guessed



She needs wide open spaces

Room to make her big mistakes

She needs new faces

She knows the high stakes



She traveled this road as a child

Wide eyed and grinning, she never tired

But now she won't be coming back with the rest

If these are life's lessons, she'll take this test



She needs wide open spaces

Room to make her big mistakes

She needs new faces

She knows the high stakes



What a pivotal day in my life. I still think about the whirlwind that swept me away and the results of my choices. It's amazing!

Mailman v. Canine

This afternoon, while I was finishing up with dishes in the kitchen sink, the doorbell rang. I dried off my hands on a paper towel, tossed it in the trash and approached the door with my westie sidekick, Brian. Now, being only 5 feet tall, I am unable to see through the peephole on my door without the aid of a stool so I just opened the door. There was a man in blue at the door, with several packages. (Textbooks, it's that time of the semester.) I opened the screen door to retrieve the packages from the friendly postal worker, and he said "You'll have to sign for this one."

At this time, Brian really wanted a chance to see who was speaking to me. I held my hand down, and firmly told Brian to "sit". He sat, let out one small groaning whimper, and then accepted his fate of having to sit. I signed for the package with the door ajar, and Brian sitting inside
.
The postman asked me, "What kind of dog is that?"

"He's a westie," I responded. "Isn't he the cutest dog you've ever seen?"

"He's definitely handsome. I was just noticing what a well-behaved dog he is."

"Thank you! Hope you have a good weekend."

"You too, thanks!" The postman waved as he headed down the driveway.

I balanced the packages in one arm as I closed the door and swooped down to pat Brian's head.

"Good boy," I said.

End of story, beginning of commentary.

First of all, I will forever love telling this story because I can begin it with "I was washing the dishes". That makes me look really good!

The real reason I love this little occurance is because as you all know, from the inception of what we now know as the United States Postal Service, there has been an ongoing feud between mailmen and the canine population. The blame for this bad blood between the two is generally placed upon the canine population. Dogs often bark incessantly at the first sign of the postman, they chase them down in the streets, and often steal the mail from them. (Or at least that is what happens on television shows, cartoons and comics.) With the proverbial dog-mailman relationship so negative, it was a real honor for the postman to compliment Brian.

There is no greater accolade about a dog than one that comes from the mailman.

Grievances

Have I ever mentioned how much I love Seinfeld?

It has been a while since I blogged, and I thought tonight I would list some grievances and get some petty things off of my chest. Notice that I mentioned petty. Don’t judge me, just realize this is meant to be funny, and I am feeling pretty cynical tonight. Also, I don’t think I am better than other people. I just like to say it a lot. So, just enjoy the following, and don’t judge me.

First of all, to Michelle Morales, who taught me what a split end is. She showed me how to spot split ends in her hair, and I am now an obsessive-compulsive-split-end-picker. I can even find them on my dog. Sheesh.

To my mom, who was the first one to mention to me how much she hates for the spines of her paperback books to be bent. I am now one of the most anal people you will ever meet when it comes to the care and maintenance of paperbacks. (I also like to be really careful with the dust jackets of my hardback books.)

To BamBam, my cat for 16 years. While I feel guilty for mentioning the departed in my list of grievances, BamBam deserves it. He used to hide under my bed, and when I turned off the light to go to bed at night he would attack my feet and ankles. Jerk. I guess it was pretty funny though, but when I go to bed even now and turn off the light I still think that he is going to sink his teeth into my feet.


And while we’re on the topic of feeling guilty for mentioning the deceased, my granny told me that I had “hefty legs”. I know it’s true, but now I know that other people notice too. Thanks a lot. Thanks also for the adage “A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips”—it keeps me from eating that 2nd dozen of Krispy Kremes.

To my brother: I still fear for my Achilles tendon every time I grocery shop. You used to slam the cart into my tendon on purpose, and for that you are a jerk. But I love you.

To the overweight football player in my Geometry class in high school: I do not have big earlobes. If you wanted to point out a flaw of mine, stick with the ankles like everyone else does, you fattie.

To the kid in my Anatomy and Physiology class who noticed my “cankles”. You didn’t ever have to mention it; it’s just my bone structure. If you recall, my BMI was lower than yours, and my great clavicles make up for my spread out tibia, fibula and talus. I am still better than you.

To my husband for becoming angry at me for eating the last of the cherries. Yes, I did eat them. No biggie, because they’re still in season for a few weeks. He wasn’t really mad, but still. I would like to eat cherries without a guilt trip. That’s the worst thing I can say about you, and for this I am thankful.

To Chuck Palahniuk. You are a talented writer, yes, you are. Fight Club is genius, as are your other novels. However, they are very vulgar and I am unable to read them in good conscience. You’re gifted, but you suck.

To the woman at Victoria’s Secret who downgraded me to a 32A. You’ll be thrilled to know that I am now a perfect 32C. Don’t ever call me an A cup again. I am bigger and better than that, so to speak.

To my fourth grade teacher, Ms. Crawford. That time that you told me to wait to go to the restroom, I peed in my pants a little. I was new to the school, and thankfully no one noticed because a simple untucking of my shirt solved the problem. You could have ruined my newly-established reputation. Thanks a lot. If you are a teacher reading this, please honor your students’ requests to use the restroom.

To the check-out girl at Toys-R-Us today: I wasn’t interested in hearing about your 21 month-old, your 3 nephews in New Jersey, or your sister-in-law who is expecting. Just because I was in a toy store does not make me a baby-talk craving individual. In fact, I am quite the opposite. You literally followed me to the door and were still talking as I ducked out.

P.S. No one cares that you are “the best coupon swiper”. Your co-worker didn’t care, I didn’t care, and even your manager didn’t care.

Also, why can’t people differentiate between to, too, and two and your and you’re? Please, learn to tell the difference between these when you write. Studies have shown that if you can differentiate between these few words, you’ll make 37% more per year than those who can’t. I made the stat up, but I am sure it is true.

WAL-Mart. Oh, WAL-Mart. You’re slashing prices? Is that right? You’re slashing the American public. Our citizens are afraid of terrorists and radical Islamic factions, but you, my friend are what we should fear! Your dirty stores with unsmiling, unhappy, unkempt cashiers and staff are a disgrace. The fact that you are so sub-par and continue to make money astounds me. Your business practices are foul, dirty, and underhanded. I will go no further, because I could go on all day. It’s shameful.

Oh, and last but not least, to the social networking websites (i.e. Facebook and Myspace)—what a waste of my time! And yet, I can’t stop. . .