I want to copyright "Duh. Winning."

**WARNING**  This post is heavily Charlie Sheen-ified.  Proceed with caution.

If it hasn't already happened, I am pretty sure I want to copyright "Duh. Winning."  Because, you know, obviously.  Duh.


Actually, I hate when people say duh.  Sorry if you're an offender and now I have offended you with my offense.  But I can't help it.  I think it is so condescending.  Which I assume is the point of saying it in the first place.


If one of my kids said duh to me they would be marched right up to their rooms.  Quickly.

But seriously, Charlie Sheen?  He is definitely having a bit of a breakdown I think.  It's like watching a train wreck that's about to happen.  You just can't look away.  The funny thing is though, through all of his weird, wired, crazy freak show interviews and stuff, he has said some of the funniest things I have ever heard.  Things that people will seriously copyright and make money on, if they haven't already.  Like Tiger blood and Adonis DNA?  Really?  I think I want to put "Total bitchin' rockstar from Mars" on a t-shirt.   I'm pretty sure it would sell. 

I also particularly like, "You can't process me with a normal brain," and "If you're a part of my family, I will love you violently."  Uh.  I'm scared?

Or how about, "Resentments are the rocket fuel that lives in the tip of my saber."  That's my personal favorite.   Because, wtf Chuck?  Like what are you talking about?!  You couldn't make that stuff up.


Trust me, I don't seek out his interviews, but he is like, everywhere. 

Nobody can escape Charlie Sheen.  He's a Warlock.

I'm posting this at Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday.  We are on W. Winner.  Duh.

 

Six Degrees to Monica Lewinsky

Speaking of Bill Clinton, I know Monica Lewinsky.

But not really.

In fact, I only know her through the tangled web of my mind.

And I really believe the whole Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon thing -- we really can connect ourselves to pretty much anyone.  I decided to connect myself to Monica Lewinsky because I thought about her the other day.  And she is pretty famous in a household name-ish way.

So my cousin Greg traveled in her circles back in the day in NYC, mostly because he is kind of a hot shot.  His partner Scott also had a questionable cigar at our party over Labor Day, and that is where I drew the connection.

Cigar at a party at Scott + Greg's house = my connection to Monica Lewinsky.  Because Greg knows Monica.  And I know Greg.  And the cigar was the clincher.  Get it?

I have photographic proof of a "cigar incident," and even though Monica wasn't there per se,  there were a lot of shenanigans going on and a cigar was involved in many ways.

First off, someone in my family whose name begins with an M and ends with a om, was smoking that cigar.  And then one of my sisters may also have been smoking that cigar.  I won't go so far as to name names to protect their identities.  Since smoking cigars (or other things) isn't exactly something that either of them ever often do, and they do have reputations to uphold.  I do have the shocking photos to prove the entire incident though.  I can also prove that one (or both) of those girls and possibly my husband were dirty dancing with Scott after a few too many alcoholic beverages were imbibed.  Scott is rather hot though, so it's OK.  And we're practically family, so that makes it OK-er.  And I'm pretty sure that Greg didn't mind one bit.

So anyway, taking all of this into account: the cigar, the real live connection to Monica, the shocking behavior with the cigar at the party... one can only conclude that I sort of know or at the very least have a six degree relationship with Monica Lewinsky.

Can't one?

I am participating in Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday.  Letter S, of course. 

Hey! I said that!

So you know how I mentioned a while back one of my all time favorite mantras?  Well guess what??  Apparently, someone else believes that mantra too, and that somebody could actually be God.  Or more likely a church worker guy, because I saw it on a church billboard while I was driving through town the other day.  It was very exciting.

See?

I'm linking this favorite Quote of mine to Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday.  We are on Q.  Obviously.

A Wog down Memory Lane

Last January, one of my resolutions was to write on this blog alot more, and I really accomplished that goal.  I felt like it (this blog) was floundering and I was floundering and I just wanted this whole blogging thing to be what I wanted it to be when I started writing.  So I made an effort to post at least a few days a week and I really pretty much did it!  As the months went on, I definitely got on a roll and posted five days a week.  I certainly can't say that the content was super exciting, but well, it's definitely reflective of my life. 

Anyway, one of the coolest things about my writing more and more regularly, is that in looking back, besides the embarrassingly boring posts, I get a reminder of all of the things that really happened this past year.  I really do love having a record of it all.  Even if it is a skewed, in my perception kinda record.

So I was using this program which tells me what posts were the most popular based on the amount of hits and visits they received, so I decided to share them with you.  Because, well, I am all kinds of sharing sometimes. Even though in my opinion the results were kind of funny, because half of these posts have not one comment on them.  Of well.  As long as people care enogh to read, I am happy.

So let's take a little wog down Memory Lane...

JANUARY:  Streaking and Cell Phones

FEBRUARY: Things Moms Say

MARCH: High Noon

APRIL: Things I love Part 2

MAY: Wogging

JUNE: a tie between Crazy Indulgence and What I Got

JULY: I Hate Being Judged and Try to Avoid it Whenever Possible 

AUGUST: Eight Bad Dates Part Two!

SEPTEMBER: there was a four-way tie in Sept.  Yow. The Free Kiss, I just Threw Up in My Mouth a Little, I Want and I'm Pretty Sure I'm Going to Start Swearing  

OCTOBER: My Top Ten 80's Movie Teen Crushes and Keeping it Real Wednesday

NOVEMBER: Yolanda Vega is Not my BFF

DECEMBER: Oh Ho Ho Karma Does Exist

So there you have it.  Read at your own risk!


*linking up to Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday

ten ten ten

Saturday Centus

I've been out of the SC loop for the past few weeks, but I am back to try again. 

I'm participating in Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

The prompt is in bold.

“Please?” She begged, using her cutest, most helpless look possible.



“I’m sorry Jenny,” he said emphatically, as he kissed her goodbye. “I have to go or I’m going to be late. I’ll do it later. ”


She watched as he ran down the steps to his car, dumbfounded that her “helpless girl in need” strategy didn’t work. She sighed as she looked at all of the pictures propped against the freshly painted walls. Narrowing her eyes, she felt the heat of a sudden surge of independence.


“Well, if I had a hammer, I would have just put them up myself.” She muttered, stalking inside and slamming the door for emphasis.

Saturday Centus 20

I'm participating in Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.


The prompt is in bold.

Exhausted, Jemmie sat waiting to be released for the day when she noticed the splotch from her perch on the edge of the wooden chair.  She smoothed her apron and pushed back a damp lock of hair, the disappointment clear in her dark eyes.

She quietly rose and crossed the room, hoping Mrs. Carrington wouldn’t come for her anytime soon.  Reaching for the familiar rag and bucket beside the kitchen cupboard, she sighed.  Her back howled as she gingerly got down on her hands and knees.

“This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.

Hot tears filled her eyes when she heard the familiar sharp footsteps echoing down the hall.

Saturday Centus week 19

I'm participating in Jenny Matlock's  Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

I understand that this prompt represents 9/11.  I just don't feel creative when writing about that day, just sad - and my words can't truly convey my feelings.  So, I wrote something else - something different.  Not about 9/11.

I have the prompt in bold.

I stood frozen in front of the flickering images on my TV monitor. The security camera mounted carefully outside the door was a housewarming gift from my father, who worried about my safety in this city known for its crime.

It was so dark, and the noisy static made their pale reflections dance on the paper thin walls of my apartment. I could see them approaching my door, hear their hurried whispers. I could feel the tension in the way they moved, glancing anxiously around the narrow hallway.

I fumbled for my cell, and backed into the shadows of an armoire, eyes glued to the screen.

There was no place to hide.

Saturday Centus

Writing for Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

I have the prompt in bold.

The wind whipped my face and I could feel the tears threatening to fall. My back pressed hard against the big oak tree behind the shed. It was a dark and stormy night, the kind of night always spent inside, surrounded by the warmth of loved ones. The fleeting thought that I should be wrapped up in Grammy’s quilt reading by the light of the fire pushed a lone tear slowly down my cold cheek.



I didn’t care that they were yelling my name. Flickers of the flashlights were getting fainter, and so were their frantic calls.


I imagined her soothing voice, “It’s alright Honeychild, Grammy’s gotcha now.”

Saturday Centus

Participating in the Saturday Centus again this week.  Check out the rules here, at Jenny Matlock's awesome site. 

WEEK 16 ASSIGNMENT

What I did over my summer vacation, 100 word essay.
 
 

 
summer bliss...

slowly wake with sun-kissed munchkins crowding my space. everyone makes their way to the kitchen for lazy breakfasts. warm cups of hazelnut coffee get things going, and we wait to see what the day will bring.


"Watch this, Mom!" from my dare-devils who have mastered swimming and jumping in the deep end. “Please?” they beg, and ice-cream truck treats turn faces sticky. “Look Mom!” speeding by on their bikes, summer streaked hair flying in the wind.


fresh garden vegetables grilled for dinner before early evening soccer games. pink skies, roasting marshmallows, quiet late night walks to the barn while listening to music and dreaming.


and then it starts all over again...

Saturday Centus - I listened to them cry...

I have been reading this blog for a bit now, and been loving Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus weekly themes - these are themed writing memes.  She gives the writing prompt, and you write 100 words or less and link it to her blog.  Guess I'll give it a shot...

I listened to them from my perch on the top step and didn't know whether to laugh or to cry...



Laugh because in reality, the thought of his leaving again was just so… predictable. Cry because, well, it hurts. It hurts that not one of us are worth his staying.


Cerra, blessed with his dark curls and pouty lips, Ruthie who longs for his attention, who thinks he hung the moon all by himself.


Little girls need their Daddies. They need someone to tuck them in at night snug as a bug, someone to squash the spiders and kiss their hurts away.


They talk in hushed tones in the privacy of their bedroom. Mother’s muffled sob escapes under the crack of the closed door.


He’s leaving.