And the trip is WHEN?

I'm really just posting to check that our new digs are working, but I do think we should start thinking about WHEN we might go to the universe's epicenter. My Mecca. See post below.

You know, it is the epicenter of my universe....

www.bullyhill.com

PSSWR Revisited

Once upon a time, many posts ago, we discussed the idea of going on a Point-Something Sexybitches Wine-tastic Roadtrip in June. We dwelled upon it, yearned for it, discussed the details of it, and then dropped it!

I officially reinstitute the discussion. Y'all may be employed and not have much time for blogging anymore (and that's okay... good for YOU, being dedicated employees! I'm proud of ya!), but I want this roadtrip. More importantly, I NEED this roadtrip, ladies. So, if we're still gonna do it, let's get to the planning. And if we're cancelling it... *sniff*... that's okay... *sniff* But it means I'm going to make some kind of other plans for MYself because I NEED something to cling to if I am to remain sane.

Discuss.

I Am the Doll

First, I'd like to say Hello, I'm back, and I did not run off to Barbados but am more than willing to when you all schedule the dates. Oh, and many apologies for my lack of contact. I will be posting on the Wingal blog later today and individual emails and phone calls will soon be made. I promise.

Okay, so I am the doll. I came to a realization recently and I'm going to share it. I AM on the Island of Misfit Toys, from "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." My program here IS the Island of Misfit Toys. And almost all of the people that surround me have things that are really WRONG with them. I won't go into details here or name any names, but there are definitely spotted elephants, cowboys who ride ostriches, birds that swim, trains with square wheels, and a Charlie-in-the-Box. But I am the Doll. The general mystery about the Island of Misfit Toys has always been, "What was wrong with the doll?" I read somewhere that Rankin (of the famed Rankin/Bass Christmas-program-making duo) was asked this question and gave an answer that I will now paraphrase. When King Moonracer (perhaps my advisor...?) describes the Island, he says that he flies around the world and, whenever he finds a toy that no little boy or girl loves, he brings it to the Island of Misfit Toys. So Rankin indicated that the only thing wrong with the doll was that she was unwanted... unappreciated... unloved.

I am on the Island of Misfit Toys. And I am the Doll. There's nothing REALLY wrong with me, but I'm not fitting in with the other Misfits here as a result of there not being anything really wrong with me and, therefore, here on the Island, I am unappreciated, unwanted, and unloved. I always used to feel sorry for the doll. I mean, she must have known there was nothing really wrong with her... she probably looked around at misguided cowboy and defunct train and the not-terribly-ambiguously-gay Charlie-in-the-Box (hmm... it explains why he was "in a box", doesn't it?). And, vexed and frustrated, she probably secretly railed within herself, "I AM NOT LIKE YOU GUYS! I'm not screwed up! I'm not broken! I'm not weird or in denial! I'm not LIKE you! But I'm stuck here, surrounded by you! AAAARRRGGG!!!"

I know that's what she sat there and thought sometimes... because I am the Doll!! And, as Yukon Cornelius says of Rudolph and Hermie, "Even among Misfits you're misfits." I am a misfit among the Misfits. I'm the one who doesn't have anything wrong with me. I think they know it. And so I am unloved, unwanted, and unappreciated. I am the Doll!!

*SIGH*

Merry Christmas Cookie!

So my sister, in her infinate luck, was on t.v recently. You might have seen her since it was on like um CNN? Oh sure, this stuff never happens to me, just her. Poor me. Lucky her. My life sucks. So there she was, out of a job, forced to move back in with mom and dad, so what does Cookie do? She joins the church choir. La de da you say? Humph! Well, so she joins the choir, former President Ford dies and guess what church he gets burried in? My parents' church. So Cookie got to sing for Ford's funeral after some extreme background checking by Secret Security! She was so close to political power she could have spat on it! And it gets better. She was the last choir member in. She sat in the FRONT ROW. The front row. THE FRONT ROW!!! She made the news. She made the paper. She may be holding down 2 part-time teaching jobs, but she's been on CNN and in the Grand Rapids Free Press. My claim to fame is that I know her and that the priest who performed the funeral married my husband and I. Oh the thrill. I wonder if I would have been a security threat, you know, being a rabid librarian from the west coast and all? Worst thing is, I'm going to be hearing about this for the rest of my life. Every chance she'll get she'll just slip it into conversation. She'll be 98 in the nursing home and I'll be laying next to her in my cot (because I'll be 102 and I'm pretty sure at that point I won't be doing much of anything) and she'll be rambling on about how she got to sing for Pres. Ford's funeral. This may be the only thing she'll remember at 98 and I'll be like "Hey you old bat, stop with the funeral story. Why are you telling me anyway? I don't know you!" (I'm also assuming by the time I'm 102 I'll be pretty senile myself). Oh God. I can barely co-exist with her for 3 days without fighting with her. If I have to room with her in the nursing home I might just consider "adjusting" her medication. Maybe that's not such a good idea...the nursing home thing anyway. Yeah, I think I'd like to keep my sanity. That's a good plan. I'll have to remember that if I live to be 102 I'll not be rooming with my sister. But then who knows what crazy I'll get. I don't know why I'm suddenly worried about this. Maybe my husband will be alive still? Better make him cut back on the fat if I don't want to room with Cookie! Although Cookie is better than any Heather I might ever get!

Would My Dog Eat This?

Okay, so my mother left a home decorating magazine for my viewing pleasure when she left after the holidays, and upon finishing my perusal, I happened to flip it over to the back cover.

What I saw was...whatever this horrifying thing is that has attached itself to this poor, otherwise relatively attractive woman's neck.

Ahem. Let me read you a bit from the ad:

"I saw a gorgeous sunset that reminded me of some yarn I had been given years ago. With my Janome Xpression needle punch felter, I turned my memory into something unforgettable."

Yeah. No shit.

Okay, first of all...wha-, I-, ya-, nrgh-

Okay.

Do sunsets resemble multicolored barf with unidentifiable fuzz and the half-digested remains of strangely colored bumblebees interspersed among the chunks in your necks of the woods? Because they certainly don't here in the great Southwest.

And even if they did, we certainly wouldn't be inclined to tie them jauntily around our necks.

I feel bad for this woman. Her modeling career really doesn't seem to be going all that well.


Oh well. I'm off to purchase my new Janome Xpression needle punch felter. Next year's Christmas presents are in the bag, baby.