Dream Man

The other night I had a dream about my latest crush Clive Owen. We were standing on a deserted boardwalk at the beach, the winter ocean waves breaking hard against the cold sand. A chill breeze ruffling through his sexy hair pushing a stray curl across his forehead. I reached over to brush the curl away. He grabbed me up into his arms and stared deep into my eyes.

"Run away with me," he said with his sexy British drawl, "forget about everything and let's fly to Paris."

"But Paris is full of sh*t!" I replied in despair. "You know how deathly afraid I am of stepping in dog crap."

"So what, it's just semantics. We'll go to Singapore instead," Clive replied. "I hear their streets are real clean. No dog is allowed to poop there for fear of being sentenced to death. Plus they have wicked chicken and rice."

Be still my beating heart, I swooned, he is tempting me with food. In my dream, I actually looked over and saw my husband's sleeping form snoring peacefully away as the boardwalk behind me morphed partly into my bedroom at home. Da Man slept on, unknowing that his wife was contemplating running away with a sexy phantom man.

"Alas," I sighed, "I can't go for that. No-o-o No-o-o. No can do." Oh yes, I blew off the incredibly sexy Clive Owen by singing the riff from that famous Hall and Oates song, but with a sexy Indian accent. "No can do. I'm so into you. But no can do. Can't sleep with you. Sucks for you. And me too. Chicken Vindaloo. Lobster stew." Suddenly, I had turned into Dr. Seuss, and I was hungry.

He walked away disappointed, dejection clear in the way his head hung low, sorrowful brown eyes gazing back at me in defeat. His leather trenchcoat blowing with the wind as he left me. And as he began to disappear in the mist that began to form in my bedroom/boardwalk, he turned one last time in silent entreaty, I waved back despondently and hollered "NO CAN DO! I LOVE YOU! BABBALOO!" From Dr. Seuss to Ricky Ricardo. Dreams are weird.

Still in the dream, my husband wakes up all sleepy and wondering why there was mist in our bedroom and asked me "Whas sup?"

I gazed down at his sweet dopey sleepy face and said, "I just gave up Clive Owen for you, now where the hell is my god damn big ass ten year wedding anniversary diamond ring already!"*

He blinked and said, "She-e-e-et, I'm not the one who gave back a perfectly good diamond ring that fate and fortune tossed right at your feet." **

And then I woke up.

Dreams are so bizarre. I hope Johnny Depp shows up tonight. I may not be caring about a ring then.

* FYI - we've been married fourteen years and I never got a real engagement ring because he was a student at the time. As you can see, I'm still waiting.
** Never tell your husband that you found expensive jewelry only to give it back. They'll never let you forget, even in your dreams.

Random Stuff

Merry has tagged me with an interesting meme where you have to sum up your life in 6 words, like that famous Hemingway story. "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

I came up with two:

Once I suffered, now I’m blessed.

and

Be careful! Watch out for crap.

And while the first one is actually quite a succinct write up of where I am now in life compared to where I was previously, I think I gotta go with that second one cause it has so many meanings. For example, this is like my most famous motto to the kids whenever we are walking in the park or in certain city streets famous for people unable to pick up after their dogs. Since I have already done a long blog post on my hatred of dog poop, I will restrain myself now. But an interesting perk from my irrational fear of stepping in dog poop is that I find quite alot of lost stuff on the ground. You see, I spend so much time with one eye on the ground that I hold the world's record for finding the most lost money. I have found wallets, purses, jewelry, and cash just about everywhere, from singles and twenties to once a fifty dollar bill. In my younger days, when I was broke and no one was around, I would keep the money. Nowadays, I give money found to the homeless or to the church cause honestly, found money is usually not lucky money. And you get better luck if you give it away or return it to the rightful owner (not always possible).

Just last week, I was walking out of my favorite restaurant with my friend V and our kids after a nice meal. I came out of the front door at the end of the whole group and as I stepped out, I immediately spied something shiny on the ground. It was a HUGE ASS diamond ring. It was at least two carats, platinum setting with additional diamond bagettes on both sides of the solitaire. The thing was not only huge, but it was a heavy ring. It was easily a $20,000 ring or more. (V, if you are reading this, chime in and back me up on the size of this ring!) And since I consider myself a diamond connoisseur, I can assure you that it was a good diamond (not best quality - but good enough in cut and color to be quite expensive). I could not believe someone could have dropped their diamond engagement ring on the ground like that. The first thought that popped into my head was of a hysterical woman freaking out when they found that they had lost their ring. So I immediately turned around and went back to the restaurant and handed it over to the owners, who I know pretty well, and told them that I was positive someone would return that night to claim it. Turns out I was right, an hour later a panicked woman returned, claimed her ring and ran out. Although she did thank the owners, they were miffed on my behalf that she didn't want to try and contact me to thank me for my honesty and reward me. Now honestly, I was not seeking any reward of any kind. I was just thinking about how horrible I would feel to lose a ring like that and did not want anyone else to suffer. But the owners were so indignant that they comped me a nice appetizer with my dinner, which was totally unexpected and sweet of them.

The other thing I like about my 6 word story is that it also applies to life and the drama that can come with it. I dislike drama intensely. I don't like being dragged into other people's crap. If it isn't my business, I like to keep it that way. Recently a friend of mine was telling me how she inadvertently got roped into a huge dispute between two other casual acquaintances. I told her to stay out of it, she didn't listen to me and what happened? Crap exploded all over her face and now neither of these two casual acquaintances will talk to her anymore.

"Ha, ha!" I laughed at her and said "I told you to stay out of it! They still talk to me but now they hate your guts."

"Screw you," my friend says. Oh yeah, I deserved that, I was rubbing her nose in the crap. But hey! I did warn her!

See, you can't win with other people's drama. Unless your family or best friends and you can't help but get dragged in, you have to watch out for and stay away from other people's crap, because it will stick to you and leave a nasty stinky mark all over you. And that's all I have to say about that.

So if you can come up with a six word story that sums up your life, please feel free to post it and let me know. I came up with some more just as I was typing this like:

Ha, Ha! I'm better than you.

No I did not eat it.

Please try to go potty again.

So sorry, did I do that?

I know something you don't know!

Help! The wolves are after me.

I was lost... and still am.

These aren't the droids you seek.

I really, really stink at this.

Random Monday Story

Lana has tagged me for another random facts about me meme. I was thinking that I didn't have anymore random facts but how can that be true? I am a walking enigma after all. But I am not going to come up with seven random facts, instead I am going to tell you a funny true story.

When my husband met my father for the first time, my dad gave him a nervous breakdown.

We had come up to NY for the weekend and were having lunch with my parents at a midtown restaurant. Da Man was so nervous his palms were soaking wet. Arriving at the table, my dad positioned Da Man right in front of him and proceeded to grill him like he was applying for a job with the title "Possible Husband Material."

The first question he asked was "What are you planning to do with your life?" Da Man started to babble inanely about his plans to attend law school and get a good job, etc. Halfway through his rambling answer, my father cut him off with a sharply raised hand almost in his face as he stated, "Enough! Next question, ..." Frankly, I don't remember the next series of questions, all I can remember is the sheer look of horror on Da Man's face as he sweated his way through a series of probing questions about his past, education, family background, ambitions, philosophy of life and the state of his health. I am sorry to say that my mom, my younger sister and I sat next to the showdown trying desperately not to laugh. With every stumbling answer, my father would cut him off, sooner and sooner, impatient with Da Man's awkward babble and anxious to ask all of his questions. Nearing the end, as all of us, except my soon-to-be husband, enjoyed our delicious lunches, my father asked the following question:

"What are Ellen's three worst qualities?"

I looked up with alarm to see my dad smiling a very enigmatic smile.

"Um, she doesn't have any," Da Man answered with a strained smile in my direction.

Before I could smile back, my father announced in a near shout, "Wrong answer!"

"Hey, Dad!" I was indignant.

"You shouldn't ask him such a question," I said with a reassuring pat on Da Man's arm. By this point, a nervous tic has appeared under his left eye.

"No, I'll tell him the right answer," my dad said bombastically. "First, bad temper!"

I looked at my dad in open-mouthed astonishment. By my side, Da Man nodded his head eagerly.

"Oh yes, I've witnessed it many times," he said, relieved to no longer be the focal point of my Dad's attention.

"Second, big spender," my dad continued as he paused to down his sake.

Da Man, rushed to refill my dad's sake cup, at the same time nodding his head so vigorously, he reminded me of one of those large headed bobble dolls. I began to fume.

"Third, too stubborn," my dad announced, extremely pleased with himself.

"DAD!" I said.

"It's ok honey," Da Man said soothingly. "I still love you."

And with that, my Dad and my soon-to-be husband shared a smile of perfect accord for the first time.

Random funny commercial!

FYI - I so want to get that ring tone!!!!!

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 7

Although I hate shopping, I had to go to the mall this weekend to buy some presents. It was pretty packed, as the mall was having big President's Day Sales. We drove around and around with no luck. The only spot open was 1 of only 3 maternity parking spaces near the doors. Angus asked why we didn't park there and I explained it was because I wasn't pregnant and that the spots were specifically for pregnant women who would have a harder time walking into the mall from far away.

On our fourth go around, we finally spotted a space fairly close to the doors. All the kids were cheering when I pulled in and parked. As we walked towards the doors, we watched as a huge Hummer pulled into the one and only maternity spot left open. While waiting for a car to pass us, I got mad when I saw a short, tubby man jump down from the driver's side of the Hummer and walk ahead of us into the mall.

Oldest, who is the law enforcer of the house, immediately yells out in her high carrying voice,"Hey, he's not a pregnant lady! That's against the rules! He can't park there! What if a pregnant lady comes and there is nowhere to park?" Tubby man starts to walk faster. Ok - usually I hush the girls right up before they can say rude and impolite things to people, but here was someone who deserved it. So smiling evilly, I forced the girls to keep pace right behind him.

Youngest shouts out, "But he has a big fat tummy like a pregnant lady! Maybe he's pregnant too!"

This is too ridiculous for Oldest who then says, "Don't be silly, men can't get pregnant."

Angus yells, "I know! He's pregnant with too much food that he ated! And he has to go poo poo!"

"Ill, ill, ill! You are so nasty!" The other two scream and laugh as Mr. Tubby begins to speed walk/trot away as fast as he can. Hopefully a lesson has been learned, but I doubt it. I slow down, now that Mr. Tubby is too far away and I turn to my middle child.

"Angus, why is everything about pooping with you?" I ask.

"Because poop is funny!" she replies.

Pictures of Me

My department has requested that all faculty provide a picture to be placed on the department website. Problem is, I hate pictures. Hate taking them and am never happy with any that have ever been taken. Even on my wedding day, my photographer, a typical rude Korean man, announced that here was a wedding where the groom outshone the bride. But since he was gay, I put it down to jealousy until I actually received the wedding albums and realized the little fucker was right. Da man outshone me in every shot except for the one of me throwing the bouquet, and only because he wasn't in that shot. Even now, whenever a guest wanders over and looks at a wedding picture, Da man will shoot on over to point out how much better he looked than me. It was August, I was in a twenty pound silk dress sweating my ass off in a New York City park. He, on the otherhand, drank alcohol of every kind at every moment of the day into the night so that by the time we got in front of the officiant, Da man was actually swaying like a slighty inebriated sailor causing me to giggle furiously.

But I digress. I am not keen on the idea of taking a picture for the website. Why do they need a picture? What does plastering my face on a website do to further their academic experience? Think of the harm a disgruntled student could do with my picture? In law school, there was a nasty little bugger who lived in the apartment below me and my roommates. He had pretty much asked us all out in a row and after summarily being rejected by all five of us, he proceeded to cut out our facebook pictures and place them onto the bodies of animals and hung them up on the school student bulletin board. Apparently I was a donkey. We told everyone he had a small penis and wet the bed. He never bothered us again.

So what to do about this picture thing. I thought maybe I could draw a picture of myself instead.





Hmmmmm, this one was a little too cutesy. Too girly.









OK - I tried to add breasts and instead they look like I'm wearing one of those donut life preservers under my armpits. But I'm a pretty realistic artist as one breast is slightly larger than the other and apparently when not restrained they both point away from each other.









This one was better. I'm not really a dress girl. I live in pants. But it was still too happy.











Here we go, that's more like it. Wait, WTF? Is that a gun or a hair dryer in my hand? What the hell did I draw that for? I'm either going to kill you or give you a stunning hairdo. And why the hell am I dressed like a pirate?






Who am I kidding? I am no artist. I have a better idea. Why don't I just post this instead:
What's that? You don't like your grade? Come shake my hand...