Ducks, swans, seagulls, geese (yes, I said geese)…these have all given me occasion to smile muchly over the years. I have a special place in my heart for a certain flock of Canada geese, but that’s a story for another time. (And no, it did not involve me zipping around in an ultra-light in an attempt to get them to fly.)

Water birds seem to have a certain stigma attached to them. Swans and geese are ‘mean.’ Seagulls are ‘vermin.’ I’m here to say I take a different view, and this is despite the fact that I happen to know first-hand how many shampoos it takes to get seagull poop out of your hair (Eleven. And for all I know, this is precisely where the term ’sham-poo’ comes from.) I still find them vastly entertaining. I bet even the most die-hard seagull detractor has at least one story about a time one made him laugh.

I’ve lived a lot of different places, as well, but I’ve always lived near water in one form or another, so I’ve had a lifetime of experiences with various water birds.

In all that time, however, I have to admit I never dreamed that one day I would hug a pelican.

Ya know, voluntarily.

I was living in the Bay Area in California at the time, and spending the weekend at one of my favorite places on earth: Monterey, California. I’m not even sure what it is about the area that resonates with me on such a deep level — there are so very many seaside towns along the coast –  but trying to define it may take away some of its magic. Let’s just say I can breathe there in a way I can’t anywhere else.

image by Paul Jimerson

One afternoon cruising the piers, I took in a vast array of sea life: seagulls, ducks, pelicans, and a large number of very large, very loud sea lions (or as I prefer to call them: comedy gold.)

Suddenly further down on the dock I was on, there was quite a commotion. I wandered over to see what the source of the ruckus was. It became clear immediately upon closer inspection: a pelican was hopelessly tangled in some fishing line. It was flopping around, panicked, and one foot was completely wrapped up in it, not only bound up but shot completely through with a rather evil-looking tri-tipped hook.

Nothing makes me leap into action faster than someone in distress, animal or person. This was no exception. My heart was completely melted by the sight of this poor, struggling bird, who now had a crowd of people around it besides, and one gallant fisherman who was desperately trying to do what was clearly a two-person job: hold the bird still and try to extricate the hook and fishing line.

I didn’t hesitate: I walked right up like the bird and I were old friends and with a nod to the fisherman indicated that I would try to hold the bird while he did his thing. And yes, pelicans have mighty large beaks, it has to be said…seeing one up that close wasn’t something I’d ever personally envisioned, but it was kinda neat, too. It very much resembled a folded-up sail.

photo by Paul Jimerson

I tried holding the bird not unlike a football (or shall we say…how a girl envisions one holds a football), but that wasn’t working. Those wings are rather large, too, and flapping was being attempted. The more shuffling around we did, the less easy the bird was feeling, so in the end I sort of let instinct take over. In a calmer moment, I eased closer and simply hugged the bird. I slowly sat back and gently hefted its weight sort of half into my lap.

Then the strangest thing happened.

Not only did it stop struggling, it laid its birdy chin on my shoulder and calmed right down. The fisherman went around to my left side, pulled the bird’s injured foot gently towards him around my back, and went to work. I murmured what I assumed were soothing noises to this pelican resting on my shoulder. The operation, such as it was, took quite some time. I dared a glance sideways at one point and saw a rather beautiful eye staring back at mine. I even made out some delicate eyelashes. I ventured some light patting, and that seemed to go over well. It was a lot softer than it appeared, especially in the neck area.

Moments like these, if you are lucky enough to have them, make you realize the connection in all things. And the need for simple things…tenderness, and comfort, are universal. The bird felt lucky to be getting some help (though from the very species that got him into this pickle, it must be said), and I felt lucky to be sitting on a dock, hugging a pelican.

photo by Paul Jimerson

I am a dork.

This is not news.

In the end, the hook was extricated, but it was clear the foot was broken beyond repair. It hung uselessly under the pelican. I worried for the bird and what the future would hold. The fisherman assured me that he would look out for his new charge, here, and not to worry. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but we’d done a successful transfer and the bird was now calmly tucked under his arm…perhaps wondering, like myself, what happened next.

The next day, before leaving town, naturally I wandered down to the pier again. I looked around for the fisherman, but his boat was out. I may or may not have been wondering how one would keep a pelican in one’s Bay Area apartment. I wandered around for several hours, pretending I wasn’t waiting for the very thing I finally saw: his boat coming back into shore. As it got closer, I saw something that was also new to me: a rather largeish pelican half-propped on deck by an Igloo cooler, catching the breeze, getting tossed the occasional fish.

Upon docking, I was guaranteed that this pelican had a new career as first mate, and would want for nothing. I looked at our new friend and I must say, I’m pretty certain I witnessed a pelican looking rather smug.

I left with a spring in my step and a huge grin on my face.

There’s a lesson in here, somewhere.

Can we hug and make friends with water birds?

Yes, we pelican.

many thanks to Paul Jimerson for letting me share his wonderful photos

She sort of appeared out of nowhere in my life one day.

Almost like magic.

We traded a joke or two and had some smiles, but it was pretty apparent early on that there was a particular brand of kismet here. Almost as if missing pieces were shifting into place. Surfaces were scraped. Layers were uncovered. Yes, there was more here than anticipated. Much more.

And see this person has dark spaces as we all do. This person is not perfect. She still thinks she needs to apologize for the very things that make her human.

She does not know that she is beautiful just the way she is.

She makes excuses, as we all do, for perceived flaws and imperfections. She’ll just as often retreat and implode as burst forth in a brilliant beam of light.

She does not know that even in darkness, she is light. That she glows from within and even when she thinks she is invisible, I can still see her.

She does not know that she is beautiful.

I think the biggest task of any friendship, perhaps, is to hold a mirror up to the person who shares your heartsong and say “Look. Look at you. This is what I see. And you are wonderful.”

I hope that I do this for her.

I hope she knows how big I smile every time I see her name in my inbox, or on my computer screen, or on my phone.

I hope she knows how much she does for me, just by being exactly who she is.

I hope she reads this whenever she is down, like a prescription for her fragile heart.

I hope she knows how much she lights up the world, just by being in it.

I hope she knows how much I don’t remember what I ever did without her.

Hello, friend.

You are beautiful.

photo by Chris Rowland

Do me a favor. If you’re lucky enough to have a friend like this, tell them they’re beautiful. You’ll be glad you did.

Hmm.

I can’t seem to keep a single…..dang! There are those jeans. Been looking everywhere.

Ya know it’s funny….when Finding Nemo first came out, six different people (who don’t know each other by the way) told me immediately that I reminded them of….what’s her name again?

Blue fish….Ellen’s character (you know Ellen is my hero, right?)….she had that problem with…

DORY! That’s it.

Yeah, Dory.

Anyway I was totally flattered because…HELLO…it’s ELLEN’S CHARACTER..and also because….there was another reason. Really. It’ll come to me (or not!)

I feel it necessary to interject, here, that I promise you although I *am* trying to illustrate a point, from the time I began typing that sentence, til the time I got to the second reason, I plumb forgot what I was going to say. True story.

The point I’m trying to make, here, gentle readers, is this: I understand that we are all operating under ‘auxiliary power’ as it were…using only a fraction of our brain’s true capacity but man…can’t we enlist some of the other parts? We have so very many things that kill brain cells…can we not have a few that create synapses for those stray thoughts that disappear, never to return?

Where do they go?

Where do they go?

(And by that I mean, of course…where do they goooooooo?)

Because I’m me, I have visions of some all-encompassing Thought & Found. A sort of limbic limbo (saaaay…is there a connection there?) for misplaced musings. I mean they leave…surely they must end up somewhere. They come from brain activity and brain activity is energy and energy can neither be created nor…hang on…I know there’s more….

You know when, like, you fiiiiirst wake up in the morning, and you can remember every single detail of that crazy dream you were just having….whoa….wonder where all *that* came from…?….until you hit the bathroom and then POOF. It’s like you had no dream at all. Can’t even recall what it was about, suddenly.

I feel like that ALL THE TIME.

Good grief. I had enough problems before I got hit with pregnancy brain (twice) and now the chronic sleep-deprivation brain on top of it?

Pffft. It’s like…..hmm..ya know….one of those things with the wheels….that go around that turny thing….(hint: don’t try to guess I have NO idea what I mean but it sounded fancy.)

Also I am completely clueless (yes, I *could* end this sentence right here…hush) as to what occurs when you have that thought….that you have juuuuuust teasing the edge of your brain….waiting to be recollected…..and you get those moments of OMG I GOT IT I GOT IT!..no wait…..DAMMIT!

Those thoughts.

Where, oh where do they go?

Are they floating around above our heads like cartoon bubbles, or do they dissipate into the ether, mocking us in their particulate form?

Don’t get me wrong…I don’t want all or even most of them back. Can you imagine? Got too much crap on the ol’ hard drive as it is.

Apparently.

Wait, what?

All images courtesy of the incomparable Alastair Cook

Yeah, me neither.

I’m so Zen I went back in time, just so I could invent yoga.

I’m so Zen that when I space out for large chunks of time, staring at the blinking cursor, it’s never because I’m plotting a spectacular, Falling-Down moment when I finally decide that pacifism can pucker up and kiss my patootie.

I’m so Zen that when my black sheepery makes me a pariah in my family TWICE in one week, despite being ill, and when two family members hang up on me in as many days, (neither of whom has called back or apologized, mind you) that I let it roll like water off my back, flowing into the big Zen river of all things, and I never, like, stew in a fury of righteous indignation or anything. And I certainly don’t have dreams about yelling all the things I would never have the nerve to say in real life.

Be-leaf me: I’m breezy (photo by Dan Ibabao)

I’m so Zen then that when you call me up and invite me into your drama, and make it mine by telling me about how someone I love in in serious trouble, and then get mad at me for trying to help, and call me up just to tell me how mad you are at me and hang up on me, for breaking the deadly code of Family Secrets (which in this case may have actually turned out to be deadly), that I don’t get upset. I am filled with a radiating light not unlike a nuclear morning, and the mushroom cloud of my explosive LOVE for you all spreads outward like a big ripple in the giant toilet bowl we all swim in.

I’m so Zen that when I dare to get excited about a little interview I did that got featured on CNN.com about my reluctance to get my girls the H1N1 vaccine until we had more information on how safe it is, and you tell me that I am stupid, ignorant, and an irresponsible mom, and hang up on me…why, I don’t get flustered at all. I give that giant toilet bowl we all swim in a courtesy flush to rid myself of the stink of your negativity, and I am filled with a post-dump sense of calm as I contemplate how difficult it must be for you to even sit with that sizable stick lodged in your posterior.

Who’s loyal AND can sit? Your dog, that’s who! (photo by Documentally)

I’m so Zen that I don’t wish anything requiring a courtesy flush on the folks at the ol’ Unemployment Bureau. It bothers me not that there are many weeks in between the running-out-of-the-old benefits and the commencement-of-the-emergency-extension passed by government. Who needs to worry about earthly concerns like rent and car payments and all those other pesky bills when you’re Zen? Zen means you get to speak like Yoda and think like a simpleton. All is all. One is one. Bills are tied up in the material world, and I am vapor (which is a much nicer term than, say, gas.)

I’m so Zen that when I’m reminded of how much some people can suck, and how badly they can hurt you, not through something outright but worse…through indifference…that I remember that we’re all connected…so when I karate kick the air in front of me, no matter where you are in this world, sooner or later that kick will end up connecting with your posterior.

The Tree of Knowledge sez: You, too, will get yours. (photo by Documentally)

I’m so Zen that when I get curious what a message I could have gotten from an 800 number on a Sunday night entails, and it turns out to be fraud protection alerting me to the fact that my credit card has been compromised, I am suffused with a level of calm that can only put me right back in that river of all things, white-water rafting towards the craggy junction of goodhope. And when I learn that not one but ELEVEN fraudulent charges were made, I am reminded that numbers mean nothing in the grand flush of destiny, and find myself thankful that I have so much more going for me than, say, furtive online purchases with a stolen credit card number like, well….a thief in the night.

I’m so Zen that now I’m going to get all sappy and grateful for all the wonderful people I have in my life…especially my two beautiful girls who are going to grow up and take the world by storm….a storm that will give a courtesy flush to all those floaters.

Chillaxin? Yes, please! (photo by Chris Rowland)

I’m so Zen that I can feel uber lucky to have such a cool support group of online peeps, who not only never call me out for using extremely dated terms like ‘uber,’ but send me messages of smiles and encouragement whose importance cannot be measured….especially, say, when I discover that juuust the right combination of tiredness and feverishness is not unlike having one too many cocktails and causes me to ramble even more than normal.

I’m so Zen that if I won the lottery, (after buying a huge chunk of land to fill with rescue animals to be used for psychic healing of all types), I’d rent a huge stadium and fly all my tweeps out from across the globe for the biggest Tweetup ever and it would be EPIC and unforgettable and we’d totally be in the paper-n-shit. If you know me at ALL, you know I’d do it, too.

I’m so Zen I don’t need to play the lottery. I’m rich in so many other ways.

(Suck it, haters!)

But back I be and somehow I’ve even managed to pick up a few new readers! With that in mind I thought I would do the ol’ blog fallback: 5 random things about me. I know I always enjoy reading those, but then again…I’m a dork. I’m not *quite* a professional dork..I try to maintain my amateur status in the event I make it to the Dorklympics, but the more I craft sentences like this one, I fear my experience level may preclude my amateur qualifications. It’s a very complicated Catch-22. are dorks born, or are they made? (photo by andrewatla)

Having said all that, I feel it’s only fair to narrow my randomness down to a more specific category. Lots of people claim to be dorks…but are they all….REALLY? Is there anyone else out there who, say, wonders why when lipstick sits around too long it smells dusty? Isn’t it pretty well covered?

Does anyone else know, without Googling it, what an aglet is? (Does anyone else even wonder if anyone else knows these types of things?) These are all crucial considerations for a dork like myself. (And yes, I am well aware of the alternate definitions of the word ‘dork.’)

I do hold a record for self-interruptions before getting to my point, so allow me to just dive right in, finally….I give you

FIVE REASONS I’M A GIANT DORK

1) My all-time favorite movie is The Black Stallion. True Story. I still remember seeing it in the theater at some fancy showing where they even sold programs (which I naturally still have.) I was a horse lover pretty much right out of the gate (haha) and I still think it’s an amazing story, with wonderful acting and incredible cinematography. I thought Kelly Reno was the coolest boy in the universe and the scenes on the beach still move me to this day…horses don’t know they’re acting. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that most of my readers haven’t seen it. If you have, then yay! If not, and you have any interest in the human-animal connection, do yourself a favor. I would be very surprised to get a bad review. (just so we’re clear I’m speaking of the one also starring Mickey Rooney and Teri Garr)

to me, he says ‘hop on!’ (photo by Sue Byford)

2) This segues nicely into my next one, and I can’t believe I’m about to admit this, but why not? Why not, indeed.

Again, I’ve always loved horses. Family lore has it my first photo of one prompted ‘What’s that? I want one!’ Turns out I wasn’t kidding. I’ve had my boy for just shy of 23 years now. Don’t get me started. I have no idea what I’m going to do when his time comes.

Anyway! Lifetime love of horses is the reason behind this one: a song that makes me alone cry because I’m such a giant dork. You ready? You sure? Okay here it is: Run For the Roses by Dan Fogelberg. (I think I should just wave my amateur dork status goodbye with that little confession.)

Here’s the thing though: horses are horses. They do what they are born to do and people make fortunes off of them and bet on them and gamble on them and mistreat them and do sneaky things for insurance payouts with them and in the end, they ask for so very little. A nice, warm place to sleep and some hay. Perhaps some oats. They could care less about that blanket of roses (and in fact balk from it more often than not.) They give everything they have for the sake of someone else’s glory. So yeah, that song makes me cry. I’m getting misty just typing that.

WHO’S A DORK? I AM, THAT’S WHO!

Who loves the horses? The jockeys. Talk about trust! (photo by winterdove)

3) Speaking of crying…here is a list of silly things that make me all verklempt: (and I’m way worse now that I’m a mommy)

* ANY Olympic medal ceremony…even if it’s not ours. I see those athletes up there choked with pride and emotion and I just lose it. Every time.

* ANY example of a person performing well…be it music, acting, art, athletics, etc.

* Those commercials. You know the ones.

* Those songs. You know the ones.

* Not even going to get into all the no-brainer universal mommy stuff. This blog would never end. But I will say I may very well be the only person on the planet who gets nostalgic when watching Cash Cab. I watched it for the first time during my endless labor the first time (there was a marathon on…in oh, so many ways) and I can’t watch it without remembering that, and thinking about how fast time flies, and how big my baby is now…..gulp….

Call the plumber….thar she blows!

4) One of my favorite moments in my entire life (apart from the obvious ones) happened with a lizard as tiny as two knuckle-lengths on my finger. Yeah, I said it. They’d be scampering around everywhere outside when I was managing a boarding kennel for dogs (what, are you surprised? It was really cool too….a huge play yard for the pups and they even had their own pool!) I’d sit outside on my lunch hour (this was in California, where there is SUN) and like a little kid, I kept trying to catch one. As if. They were super tiny and let’s face it…I have no idea what I look like to them but I know it can’t be appealing.

Then, wonder of wonders, one day the littlest one yet hopped right onto my outstretched hand. I kept thinking it would realize its mistake and leap off, but it didn’t. It even came in with me when I had to answer the phone and was still on my thumb when I came back out again. Verrrry tentatively I reached my other index finger up and ever-so-gently tried to stroke its tiny lizard head. Not only did it not leap away, it did the most incredible thing: it closed its eyes and settled down a bit and I swear I heard a teeny tiny little ‘ahhhh.’ This went on for a good several minutes and it didn’t make an exit until I coaxed it back onto the dirt. (Who would? Free massage!)

Naturally I got all misty just thinking “Wow..you really like that?” I ask you, gentle readers, could I *be* a bigger dork? Lizard ever make YOU well up? Didn’t think so.

Fabulous…a little to the left, please….(photo by GlennPeb)

5) If you know me at all, you know Ellen Degeneres is my hero. There is no celebrity I want to meet more. She has the greatest spirit and does so many wonderful things. Who doesn’t love Ellen? When everyone told me after Finding Nemo that I reminded them of Dory, (and believe me, they did) I was tickled beyond belief. I still have a concert t-shirt from her ‘94 stand-up tour. I have this fantasy that somehow we will meet (I enter lots of her contests to facilitate this), become fast friends, and I end up playing her possible-sister (who remembers?) in Finding Nemo 2 (which she is always pushing for!)

Hey, I can dream!

Anyway, last season she had a contest for her bathroom concert series. Long story. If you watch her show, you’ll know. Since I am nothing if not different, I decided to make a video for that contest…with a twist. Instead of singing a regular song, I wrote an homage to her and about her..to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody (not the whole song, just a minute or two’s worth.) I incorporated several things she talks about regularly on her show, including a picture of me with my worst perm ever. And no, you may not see it. It was hers to broadcast nationally. She did not. Who am I to go against her wishes?

If all that isn’t dorky enough, I got so emotional thinking about the fact that maybe, just maybe my video was unique enough that the woman herself might actually get to see it, that I sang over a huge lump in my throat and finally cracked a bit when it was over and I was giving my shout out to her personally.

Oh, who am I kidding.

My name is Mary and I’m a professional dork.

But I wish I did.

I love her body of work….from Liar, Liar to ER and everything in between.

She’s an amazing actor and I was really looking forward to seeing her in NBC’s adaptation of Parenthood as a series this fall.

image by tygustus

I’m a big fan of her career, and she has that down-to-earth approachability that makes her one of those people I’d like to know in real life. Especially now…I could use my powers of the dork side for the ultimate good: to try to spread some laughs and cheer.

I’m also a very empathetic type, and hearing about her breast cancer treatment was a blow…that has to be one of my worst fears. I think all women must have that fear somewhere, and I’m sure we all know people who have had it. I know I do. A few of my readers may have even experienced it themselves. My heart goes out to all of those people.

I’m not going to get into all the devastation of cancer itself, because that will just turn this into a whole other type of blog, and I don’t want to be a downer. We all know. Some of us more than others.

Suffice it to say that I wish Maura the very best, and sincerely hope she recovers completely and quickly. Parenthood won’t be the same without her.

But it got me thinking….about an actor’s point of view. Her character on the show was a single mom, trying to raise two teenagers. From previews, it seemed to be a stressful role.

I know that actors know they are acting. But do their bodies?

I’m not saying that a stressful role can cause cancer. But stress can cause all sorts of things..up to and including cancer. I can’t help but wonder what the effects are from sometimes working 12-18+ hour days in challenging roles. Can the physiological effects be much different, between acting stressed and being stressed?

You hear about ‘method acting’ too…total immersion into a character…how different can that be from *real* stress? Isn’t it beyond reasonable to expect that, say, losing 30 pounds and hanging out with druggies to prepare for a role as an addict doesn’t have adverse physical effects on an actor, beyond the psychological?

How well do our bodies differentiate between real stress and role-playing stress?

Maybe I’m just over-thinking things as usual. Even so…the mind/body connection is irrefutable.

What say you, gentle readers?

I close by wishing Maura all the very best and sincere hopes for a speedy recovery. I also never underestimate the power of positive thinking. So I’m adding my good vibes in with all the rest. Get well soon.

I don’t like Facebook. There. I said it.

I’m very passive aggressive about Facebook, as well. Sure I’m *on* it, only because there was this MASS MIGRATION over there, and I’d still like to keep in touch with my out-of-state friends, and if that’s my only option for doing baaaaaaaaaaaaa. Sorry, what was I saying?

Facebook? You ‘herd’ me! (photo by PsychoPxl)

And yes, okay, Facebook may be less VISUALLY ASSAULTING than MySpace. Their ads are more discreet. It’s a much simpler design, and I can dig all that. Really. But I gotta say for a ’social network’ it’s not very, well…SOCIAL. When’s the last time you met a new person on Facebook?

Exactly.

Nay, Facebook seems reserved for all the exes….ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, ex-co-workers, ex-frenemies, and ex-classmates. Oh, and let’s not ignore the random FAMILY MEMBERS that seem to be creeping onto the ol’ interwebs more and more at a rather alarming rate, in my humble opinion. (Though I gotta give props to my bro…he and I were both on Facebook like a guilty little secret for ages before one of us finally mentioned it out loud. *That’s* the kind of discretion I can get behind!)

By the way….thanks, Facebook, for taking away that whole anonymity factor, forcing us to use first and last names! I’ve seen lots of clever variations…maybe an extra space between John Sm ith, just to make it that much harder to be tracked down.

But for people like myself, who like to keep a low profile, sooner or later the gig is up.

You can click those little ’suggestions’ away as many times as you like…they’ll keep turning up like green potato chips.

You can change your privacy settings so no one can find you. But then, well, no one can find you. On those rare occasions I want to add someone, I’m not even look-up-able by email. It’s that private. So I change my settings to ‘only people on Facebook’ can search me. Then what happens? Green potato chip city.

Facebook. Find yourself here. Or lose yourself here. Look just pick one, alright? (photo by Lars Sundström)

Here’s the thing. I’m a nice person. No, really. People really do tell me all the time that I’m “too nice.” This phrase makes so little sense it makes me want to lie down, but that’s a story for another time. Calling someone “too nice” is like saying you had “too much fun.” As if there is some THRESHOLD OF FUN that we all need to abide by, and you totally crossed the line! Maybe next time you’re thinking about having some fun, you’ll be a little bit more cautious…as you delay the fun you should already be having, to make up for last time’s excess! That’ll learn ya!

Sorry. Had to run around the room for a minute there, chasing the elusive point I was trying to make. Ahem.

Yes, I am a nice person. I like people. Lots of people! I love meeting new people and socializing with new people. (Well, duh.) There are a few people I’ve met on Twitter that I’d love to add on Facebook. But it’s not like MySpace. Facebook is…personal. It’s the inner sanctum of social networks.

Maybe it’s just me, but I find myself hesitant to be the first one to bring up Facebook to a newer online acquaintance. Once *they* mention it, however, I’ll say “Oh, you’re on Facebook too?” as a sort of open-door lead-in. Not everyone is wild about sharing their first and last names. Those people will usually reply “Yep.” Others may say “Oh, yeah! Look me up under my email…purplesparklecat@wheemail.com!” and already, I’ve got more insight into their personality!

Psychedelic, man. (photo by Ivan Prole)

Conversely, and brace yourselves because this may shock you, gentle readers, but I don’t always want to be found. Oh, sure, at first I did the whole ‘holy crap I can’t believe it’s so-and-so!’ grade-school-on-up fest, but after about 5 minutes it became abundantly clear that most of these folks hadn’t changed one whit. Not only that, but I was being subjected to ’status updates’ involving trashing Obama for his ‘pro-abortion’ stance and it got to the point where just logging in made me grit my teeth, so I did what any sane person would do: quietly weeded out all the offending persons and felt much, much better about life.

Good grief, people! Am I now supposed to wrestle with residual guilt in UNfriending folks who were never friends to start with, I hadn’t kept in contact with, and didn’t know the existence of two weeks prior? I think not.

Frankly, I find your sudden allegiance disturbing (photo by Gokhan Okur)

I think I summed it up best in an email to a long-time MySpace friend, explaining why I’m not easily found on there (though I did change my privacy settings just for her! Huzzah!):

“I dunno. I’m still not a huge fan of FB but everyone is ON THERE now, so..I’m just weary b/c now like a whole bunch of FAMILY is on there, ( so I feel like I have to censor myself, even though, hello? how old am I now?) and I am really NOT interested in ‘reconnecting’ with people who tormented me in grade school because I wore corrective shoes. I know, I know, forgive and forget blah blah blah but that doesn’t mean I have to LIKE and EMBRACE these people, now does it? Can *I* not decide now who gets to be in MY inner circle? Good gravy.

I am not BITTER.
I am HIDING.
There’s a difference

Frankly, accepting friend requests from people who were never ‘friends’ to start with, simply because everyone else from back then seems to be having some sort of STROKE FEST on FB, feels a whole lot like peer pressure to me. And rather than repeatedly ‘just saying no’….I’ve gone stealth so that they can all sit back and talk about ‘what the hell HER problem is’ at the next reunion I will not attend. Whee!”

Wine may get better with age. You do not! Friendship fail. (photo by Aline Dassel)

And I love how you can try to toss those chips back time and time again, but they keep turning up. Sometimes as a random ‘people you may know’ suggestion. I have a ’suggestion’ for you, Facebook: how about acknowledging that ‘knowing’ someone and ‘liking’ someone aren’t mutually exclusive?

It seems that no matter how many times I click that stupid ‘x,’ those *suggestions* not only don’t go away for long, sooner or later someone on my friend list will suggest that person as a friend. And although I may feel oddly bad about it, again, I will ignore the suggestion. I’ll do it! You may have tormented me in my younger days but I will click you now without compunction!

Any Friends fans out there? You know how Monica and Rachel had completely different experiences in school? One guess who *I* was. Huzzah!

I, for one, however, don’t let a few green chips ruin the entire bag. I like to keep in touch, and make new friends, so I will stay on Facebook. I have certain quirks about it, but those are for next time.

To sum up: yes, I will probably be happy to add you on Facebook. Baaaaaaa.

As long as you’re not one of my life’s green potato chips.

These are two actual error messages received by Shane and another friend of mine.

Nothing I can say will do them justice. Just….enjoy

Kinda small but the text reads:

“The following error occurred while the wizard was attempting to print your pictures:

The operation completed successfully.”

THAT….is some comedy right there.

Then there’s this one….I call it “Hang On…What Was the Problem Again?”

And when you’re done, go check out a comment from my buddy JD on the last one if you want to read another unique error message. Priceless!

I’d love to hear more….keep ‘em coming!

It’s not that I’m not a *positive* person. Far from it. Quite the opposite, actually. The thing I hear the most is “you’re too nice.” Whatever. I’m an unapologetic puppy and if that’s too high-energy for ya, then I’ll chew on someone else’s slipper and then…THEN who’ll be sorry? Thought so.

I’m a big believer in paying it forward…the definition of “it” just tends to veer one way or another depending on, oh, certain random factors *cough*hormones*cough.*

(Not to say that, like, certain days you should just RUN or anything, simply that the platform of ‘things people do that piss me off instantly’ can get weighty mighty quickly. Only sometimes. Drop in the bucket, in the ol’ grand scheme of things. Why are you looking at me like that?)

Ah, well…it all evens out. Men have their advantages. I still prefer being a woman, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that just once, it would be nice to have someone cut me off in traffic and then get a little bit worried I may pummel them at the stoplight. Ya know, have them peek in the ol’ rearview and be all, like, “Oh, oops….messed with the wrong car…crap, is that a BEAR?”

Grrrreat day for a drive, eh? (image by A Syed)

Now where was I?

Oh, yes…cheerful sort, happy dappy, Up With People, yadda yadda.

Alright, I strive to be. Doesn’t always work, but I do try. I’m the one who will actually come out and say “I really like that shirt…it’s a great color on you!” to a random stranger, rather than sneak furtive glances and make the person paranoid when I’m busted more than once gawping. And you know what? I big fat don’t care that many people nearby may be wondering “Whoa…what’s wrong with her?” or otherwise taken aback. My target usually hits home, and I like nothing more than that moment when a person’s expression changes…you know the one I’m talking about …”Really?” and they sort of puff up a little bit for that one brief, shining moment before getting all self-conscious again when reality crashes back in. Try it sometime. You may make someone’s day.

It occurred to me lately, however, that despite this new “spiritual awakening” movement that’s been going on in recent years, which I think is great in lots of ways, that there is still far, far too much negativity around us.

And now it’s not even just from Mr. Carbon Bigfootprint, or Mrs. Areyoufreakingkiddingme and her band of disrespectful children-who-break-things-and-walk-away. It’s all around us. Disapproval abounds.

Even *he* doesn't enjoy the smell of wet dog (image by V Fouche)

Remember my supersonic toothbrush from the last blog? What, do you suppose, is in parentheses there, if not (You can’t be trusted to brush your own teeth anymore?)

And don’t even get me started (I’ll start myself) on all the ever-loving ERROR MESSAGES I get all the livelong day:

*file not found

*page load error

*page no longer available

*image has been removed

*content has been deleted

*you broke the internet <–this may be just me

oh and my personal favorite:

*document contains no data <—Excuse me, isn’t that for me to decide?

Then there’s the subtly passive-aggressive messages:

*that is NOT a valid entry

*send email without subject? (the HORROR! Must. Label. Everything!)

*trouble retrieving data (Super. I would be more than happy to help you retrieve said data. Just need to know how. Help ME help YOU!)

PLEASE NOTE: just this VERY FREAKIN MOMENT, I *somehow* (with a single keystroke I might add, and no text highlighted) deleted an entire paragraph. POOF! I’m adding this here so you can laugh, but my face is actually kinda hot right now. Grrrrrr. I don’t even know what I did!

What the friiiiiiiiiig!! (image by Rene Asmussen)

Anyway, what I ALREADY TYPED OUT ONCE, is that it seems to me that we’re surrounded, daily, by messages both large and small, telling us “you’re doing it wrong,” and we wonder why people aren’t more POSITIVE. We wake with an ALARM and things pretty much deteriorate from there (though ‘alarms’ come in many forms, including tiny comedians yelling ‘MommyMommyMommyMommycanweplaywithPlay-dohnow?’ and/or even tinier sharks who are crabby when an entire row of teeth comes in at once.)

We get jarred awake by our electric toothbrushes…because we don’t brush right.

We drink coffee or Red Bull (which Puddin Face calls ‘Mommy’s juice’…is that wrong?) because we don’t sleep right.

We scarf a breakfast bar because we don’t eat right.

We road rage because we don’t budget our time right. (thankfully gave up on this since becoming a Mommy. Expectations get lowered. Yay!)

We have the worst internet connection speeds & service ever, because we don’t choose our IP right.

We have hiccups because we don’t swallow right. (<–may be just me)

We have headaches because we don’t see right (what else is eye strain if not looking incorrectly?)

And if all that fails to convince you, we’re completely bombarded by advertisements in all forms telling us we’re just…not….right…as….is. Color your hair. Walk in shoes that wreck your feet and back because they *look* cool. Fake tan. Whiten your teeth.

Newsflash: these aren't comfortable for anyone. (image by Anna H-G)

And the plastic surgery industry? Good grief. Get enhanced so you can feel GOOD about yourself! Newsflash: you know what would TRULY make people feel GOOD about themselves? BEING OKAY EXACTLY THE WAY THE FACTORY MADE THEM. Sorry nippers and tuckers. You suck(ers).

Probably my favorite example of IS IT JUST ME??? HOLY CRAP!-ism is for a certain product that has a tagline like “Brush your flaws away and let the real you shine through!”

GAH! Anyone else? Really? REALLY? And not only that…a TEAM OF PEOPLE had lots and lots of MEETINGS and someone decided that YES! this was the motto we wanted to go with!

Give. Me. Strength.

Do me a favor, gentle readers. Have a bad hair day. Go out without makeup, once, ladies…(I mean without fear.) Wear freakin tennis shoes because they’re COMFORTABLE. Wear that shirt you love even though it is sooooo 3 (or 10) years ago. Tell someone you don’t know you like their shirt. Or earrings. Or way of ordering a sandwich. Find something nice to say. Then, ya know, say it. The saying it part is really the key.

We have enough negativity. Enough ‘whoop defreakin doo.’ (Was saddened, rather than amused, when I heard this very phrase from a child no more than 5. It all starts somewhere.)

And sometimes it really is the little things that can turn things back around.

P.S. You all look pretty today

Edit: This blog continues to write itself! Trying to post this on Twitter and got a whole new error message:

“HTTP Server Error 503

No available server to handle this request”

THIS request? This PARTICULAR request? As in, ‘Everyone else’s requests are fine, but YOUR request is one too many?’ NOW….it’s personal. Whee

I mean the actual act of brushing my teeth. What can I say? Sometimes it’s just way too early, and I’m still more than half-asleep, and I’m not fully prepared for the ultrasonic vibratory assault that is my current toothbrush. I’m reasonably certain it “attacks plaque” by both physical throttling and verbal abuse. (Seriously, Oral B…does it have to be both orally AND aurally violent?)

Newsflash: I’m not a morning person. Even more-so now that I’m a mommy whose sleep is forever interrupted so much that more than half the time I’m not clear whether I’m changing a diaper or still languishing on some sun-drenched beach with Chris Hardwick, which for some reason is inhabited by a toddler jumping up and down yelling “Mommymommymommymommycanweplaywithplay-dohnow?” because she is very literal in her interpretation of ‘playing more tomorrow.’

But I digress.

I miss brushing my teeth. It occurred to me that I find myself missing *lots* of things, now that everything is “improved” to within an inch of its life. (That’s what she said.)

Ok great, I’m getting OLD. There, I said it. But whatever. I still refuse to grow up. And I still miss simpler times.

I miss answering machines. Voicemail has become just as much of a pain to me as never talking to a human customer service person without going through 17 automated menus and trying to push 0 and being told “Sorry, that is NOT a valid option. Dumbass. For trouble with your service, press 1….”

Now if I want my messages, instead of hitting ONE BUTTON like the good ol’ days, here is what I have to do:

1) enter #123

2) enter passcode

3) enter 1 for messages

4) enter 1 AGAIN for ‘new’ messages, even though those are the ONLY messages, and by the way we here at Vonage get a huge kick out of just the mental image of your huge sigh as you push button after button after button. Whee!

I miss Looney Tunes and Hanna Barbera cartoons. They worked on so many levels and had some adult humor thrown in. They were actually entertaining. Now I have to find excuses why we should watch Sesame Street (which RULES and still has so many of the original cast, including Maria and Gordon, though balanced out by gritting my teeth through the Little Red Freak…you know who I mean) instead of, say, Ni-hao Kailan (which as far as I can tell, teaches kids to succumb to peer pressure and/or learn everything the hard way, despite repeated warnings) or Dora the Explorer (WHY IS SHE ALWAYS YELLING?! DO YOU KNOW??)

I miss the days of my happy ignorance, when I had no idea what people wouldn’t do for a million bucks, or to be the next Top Chef/Model/Bachelor/Pop Star/Pop Tart/Celebrity Spokeman for VD. Newsflash: I lived in the UK 10 years ago, when this craze was first starting over there. And it almost seemed to be by accident. I don’t recall the name of it, but the first one I saw was about a middle-aged woman who was trying to get her first driver’s license. It followed her and her husband’s exploits around town…including his “coaching,” and it was everything I love in television: heart-warming and hilarious. When she finally passed her exam, the whole country was cheering for her and it was awesome.

But we have to take a good idea and ruin it, so reality TV: American style was born. (p.s. I’m really happy *our* version of Top Gear got scrapped, because there is just no way that show would work without Jeremy, James, and Richard.) Most of you have no idea what I’m talking about but there is a cult following here in the States and if you ever get a chance, you should watch it. I’m not even a car person. Nothing on there gets me sexually excited (well..maybe Richard…rawr)..okay, nothing MECHANICAL on there gets me sexually excited, but I still love the show. Top-notch entertainment, Top Gear.

I miss getting mail that isn’t bills or invitations to yet more debt. (You’re PRE-APPROVED for bankruptcy!) I miss writing letters. Now half the time I get e-cards for my birthday and I’m almost *certain* I’ve forgotten how to write. When asked to sign a form at the doctor’s office, I actually had to stop and think last time. But that may have been partially sleep-related. Only maybe.

(It may also have been partly due to the fact that I was signing a form saying that like a gajillion other families now, we no longer have health insurance due to that pesky economy/layoff thing, and the form stated that I was acknowledging that I STILL HAD TO PAY, and that SINCE THERE WAS NO INSURANCE TO BILL, I WOULD HAVE TO PAY ON THE SPOT. For all they knew, I could be one of those LOWLIFE TYPES WHO CLAIM YOU CAN’T GET BLOOD FROM A TURNIP and may not end up further lining their velvet pockets! Nevermind that I’ve been bringing myself and my family there for 5 years now, and that the clinic contains both our physician AND the doctor who delivered both my babies, and that I’ve never been remiss in paying my bills. No worries! I may have gotten shifty! I see your point! I’ll cheerfully sign your stinking forms and tamp down the sudden eye-tic I develop when I see the giant ‘NO INSURANCE’ stamp on my file now! It’s totally cool! I’m not even mad about your COMPLETE LACK OF GRATITUDE that I continue to come to YOUR clinic, rather than another, cheaper one..because I’m loyal to your doctors here and good care is hard enough to come by as it is! Give me the stink-eye and make me a pariah! It’s alllllll good.)

Ahem. Better wrap this up before I start sounding all political-n-shit <–and believe me, it *is* shit. Allow me to sum up by saying: we all remain healthy and that’s all that matters. Truly. Oh…and we better not pick up any BACON FLU germs when we go in for their annual exams and shots this month k thx bai. Luckily they stock lots of ham sanitizer now..I can disinfect immediately after signing Form 176B-for-Bitch-slap.

One more thing…I miss the cereals of my youth. Puddin Face still doesn’t get that crap, but nostalgia had me looking recently. You seen this stuff lately? Trix aren’t even ROUND anymore, Lucky Charms have a truly alarming array of marshmallows, and I can’t even find Frankenberry. (My original favorite, Booberry, for some reason was the first to get phased out years ago.) What gives, Cereal Czars? I gotta tell ya, I settled for Honeycomb and it not only scraped off the roof of my mouth, it tasted like a whole lotta nothing. No flavor at all. You wound me, Honeycomb <–literally, too! I thought it would be pretty hard to mess you up…but mess you up they did.

I dunno. Maybe I’m just getting old. Maybe that’s why I find myself wanting to take two steps back. Maybe it bothers me more now that I’m a mommy. I worry that their little brains are getting overloaded with too much stimulation. But at least those brains are more protected now, what with the helmet laws. In my day, cracking your head open was a rite of passage.

How about you, gentle readers? Anything you miss or am I the only one?

Hope you have a relaxing Labor Day if you’re from this side of the pond. If not, well, then chances are you have, like, 5 weeks longer paid holiday than we do over here, since just about every other civilized nation seems to care about overall mental health in addition to productivity, so I don’t feel too badly.