"Baby, baby, don't get hooked on me" --Mac Davis

So, hypothetically, of course...

You're amongst people you know. In the room, there are, among others, a young couple and their few-month-old baby. The baby has a good disposition and is generally the star in the room. Lots of 'oo'-ing and 'aa'-ing and you do a bit of "aww, isn't that sweet" yourself. Eventually, the baby gets offered up for holding. People clamor to hold the baby. Eventually, Young Parent turns to you, expectantly, and says "Would you like to hold the baby?"

Thoughts that come to mind:

No.

Not really.

This outfit isn't drool-resistant.

Why? I've been watching it for the last hour. It doesn't do much.

I'm fine without that responsibility, thanks.

and similarly (apparently) inappropriate things. It isn't that you have a problem with the baby, you just have no desire to hold it.

Question #1: Does this make you a mean or cold person?

Question #2: What do you say to Young Parent?

and, finally, Question #3: Is it rude to not hold the baby?

"The Internet is for porn" --Avenue Q

So, porn.

(Catchy opening, no?)

Back in the 80s, I went to Munich on business trips several times. At one hotel we stayed at, I flipped the channels on the TV and found soft core porn. Just there; no payment required. But it was soft, soft stuff. It consisted of five minute vignettes of women starting to undress. That was it. You'd see a woman in a silk robe and she'd flirt with the camera and slide the robe over one shoulder and back up. Eventually she'd drop the robe and she'd be in a bustier. Maybe you'd get to see her unhook her stockings or twirl her necklace before it switched to a different vignette. Um, okay. If that's the kind of thing that does it for you, I've got an old Sears catalog you're going to love.

These days, with porn so readily available on the Interwebs, I worry for the mom and pop porn shops.

Okay, maybe not.

Tangential questions: Do porn shops get handed down, generation to generation? What does teacher say when Billy's mummy or daddy comes in for career day and talks about the porn shop they run?

It's amazing that porn shops still exist but they do. Every city has them. The sketchy newsstand shops with the "no one under 18" back room. The movie rental stores with the blacked in windows. The lingerie stores with the back rooms, the front rooms, the display cases, the outfits, the gear. (What? I hear things.) The stripper bars. If anything, this is a growth industry, pulsing with life.*

Which brings us to the question of the day... Since we've been hanging out together for a while, tell me: How comfortable are you walking into a porn-related establishment?



* "heaving with possibility"? "exploding with potential"? Fine. Be that way.

"I'm not pristine, I'm no queen" --Fergie

Hi there. Yeah, I'm back.

It's been a wild and woolly coupla weeks. I won't bore you with the details. Suffice to say there's been laughter and tears. There's been hospital visits* and glitter cards**.

There's been Cabernet with a head on it, too. I took this shot after a few minutes, when, even though it had subsided considerably, that bubbly froth continued to hang on, unwanted, like a Seth Rogan project.


Sorry, it's a little fuzzy. The wine glass is actually a wine plastic.***

At least I didn't have to skimp on the foodstuffs. Mmmm, Land o Lakes Butter... Wait, what?

Wow, that's pretty blurry, too. Let's try again...


What do you mean, you still can't read it? Have you been drinking Cabernet with a head on it? That says "Fresh Buttery Taste Spread" ...mmmmMMMMmmmm, nummy.



* If you're looking for inspiration to get back in shape, go visit someone in the hospital. Nothing will inspire you to exercise more. Unfortunately, as unfancy as I am--even I won't drop and give you twenty on a hospital floor. I have done push-ups on a hotel room floor. Disgusting? Sure. But probably not deadly. Hmmm, sounds like a good question du jour: Would you exercise on a hotel room floor?

** Can we stop with the glitter encrusted holiday cards? I keep trying to wash this stuff off. It's like it's two days after I've been at a club with a sixteen year old. I've said too much.

*** What does one call a glass made of plastic? Oh, yeah: "tacky."

"A change would do you good" --Sheryl Crow

We wind up out of pocket a little longer than anticipated,* and while we are away, we spend some time with some aging relatives and see how their lives are changing, shrinking, getting much harder. Want some perspective? Spend some time with people that are up in years. Your troubles will float away.

We stop for lunch and we put down two twenties on a $27 tab. The waitress comes and asks us, "Do you need change?"

"Yes, please."

Because, if we're going to leave a large tip, it's going to be our idea, not theirs. While she is getting our change, we talk about her question. Is it a reasonable question? I point out that I don't think the woman that picked up the check is the same woman that laid down the check so this woman doesn't even know how much the check is when she asks her question.

"So, you're not offended?"

"No. I could be. But I don't want to be. It was a decent meal and okay service. Let's assume the best."

We leave a healthy tip and head out, trying to simply be appreciative for what we have and not look for reasons to get insulted. (There are so many, aren't there?)

Which brings us to the question of the day: Is asking "Do you want change?" ever a reasonable question? Should she have just brought change and not asked?



* And yet I still manage to post. How can that be? Some sort of voodoo interwebs magic, I guess. OOOoooOOOoooo.

"Don't take me half the way" --Crystal Gayle

Today marks the half-way point of NaBloPoMo and it's been harder than I thought it would be (which was pretty hard to begin with!) I had to double up on the blogger supplements*. But, hey, I am nothing if not tenacious about things that matter little.

Perhaps the hardest for me is posting on the weekends. I gotta tell ya, I'm not a fan of the weekend posting. Weekends are cold, man. Cold! Way less hits, only a few comments... it's ego deflating for sure. If I didn't know better, I'd think you only read me to avoid work.

Oh.

Moving on...

There is sort of a chicken and egg thing here. (Tasty!) You don't tend to come around on the weekends so I don't put a lot of time into my weekend posts so you don't come around on the weekends so...**

Which leads to the question of the day: If there were gobs of high-quality posts on the weekends, would you spend (more) weekend time surfing blogs?***

And, thank you! Thanks to those that read! Thanks to those that comment! Thanks to those that encourage! Thanks to those that amuse! And, mostly, thanks to those that like exclamation points!


* Corn pudding and vodka collinses. Am I dedicated? Absolutely.

** Yes, it's still all about me.

*** And if you're reading this on the weekend, why am I asking you?

"Too many fish in the sea" --The Marvelettes

Good Frides, People. Good Frides.

Because anthropomorphizing is funny...

A classic Larson:


A cartoon I spotted this week that made me laugh out loud:




And, finally, from [Citation_Needed]*:


Which leads to the question of the day. Some people believe there is only one right person for them. Some people believe there are many right people for them in the course of a lifetime. Some people believe that there are many right people for them at any given moment. Like simultaneously.** What do you think? Is there only one right person for each of us?***



* That really is the citation. Clever, no?

** I do not subscribe to this theory. Still, I've decided to find your stalking charming. Carry on. Just try not to trample the flower bed next time.

** Please say it's not Alan Thicke.

"I got a rock" --C. Brown

So, all right, it's Wednesday. I have five meetings today. And those are just the planned ones. But, you know, I'll be in those meetings thinking of you. Totally you, my cheeky monkey. Because, let's face it, I'm not going to think about work no matter what they tell me and I can only think of jewelry for so long before I start to drool, and that's really bad form.

Anyway, I'm gonna get all metaphysical on you today. Because I've noticed a theme in the universe of late and who am I to ignore a theme? Yeah, in a book I read last week and the television show I saw last night (don't judge), there was a theme: that you always have a choice. That no matter how terrible your life may be, you still can choose a good path within the choices you have.

Question of the day: Do you believe you mostly have control in your life? Or that life is just something that happens to you? Discuss.

AlternateHeyLALightenTheHeckUpQuestion: Will there ever be as good an animated holiday special as the Charlie Brown specials? Discuss.

And, finally, is it wrong that I really do dance like a Charlie Brown character?

"Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done" --Fiona Apple

[Peep show.]

I am burned out like a toasty, crispy, ... piece of... um... ... ... burnt thing.

See? Yeah, I got nothin'. And still a week to go before vacation. *taps foot* What to do... what to do... Why, it's the perfect time to receive an award!

Yes! I've gotten an award. Well, my goodness! Oh wait... goodness has nothing to do with it. It's the You Shoulda Been a Stripper Award (pictured above) from Little Ms Blogger. Um, thanks!(?)

Please don't tell Mum.

I guess I'll go with honored. Not everybody has the ability to vamp a pole in blogville but, in truth, I would probably be the one working the pole with the Clorox spray bottle and the paper towels. Because, ew. I mean, really, can you see me in 6 inch heels and a g-string and... hey, why are you looking at me that way? Knock it off before I call jp to bounce your ass out of here.

I'm supposed to list 7 of my personality traits, as evidenced on my blog and then pass the award on to 7 other blogs with notable personality. Me? Personality? Who knew?* So, before Kanye jumps up here and tells everybody that Lexa should have won it, I better get on with this...

1. Inquisitive. I've been told on a number of occasions that I would have made a good lawyer. Not because I'm eloquent. Not because I'm knowledgeable. Not because of the billable hours, dang it. But because I interrogate. I am forever asking questions and sometimes they're rapid fire and pointed and, really, you don't expect us to believe you were nowhere near the pint of Cherry Garcia when it went missing, do you?!**
   
2. Playful. I've been short of it lately but I'm on the brink of a vacation and I'll get my play back, I promise. *feels weight of water balloon in hand* *smiles* *wiggles eyebrows*
3. Incredulous. I am often unwilling to accept what is clearly true in the world around me. I am frequently in a state of "Wait, what did she just say to me?" Hence, my misfortune = your entertainment.
   
4. Impatient. Next!
5. Earwormy. I often title my posts with a snippet of lyric. Because life is a song. And just a bowl of cherries. And a highway (I want to drive it all night long). If you don't remember my ideas, you'll remember the snippet of lyric and it will slowly drive you and everyone around you quite mad because you can't not hum that stanza, can you? So, that's a cheery thought. My little gift to the world.
   
6. Artsy. Let's not forget the celery rose.
7. Confessional. You don't have to wear the priest's collar but if you want to... er, anyway, yeah, if I can't tell you, then who? Let's face it, you've provided me with enough material to create an effective double bind for any blackmail attempt. In a nutshell, you're deeply disturbed and I find that really comforting.
   

There. Enough. On to the next victi--proud recipients. And, because I am an equal opportunity debaucher, and because they're the minority here in blogland***, I'm putting the following men up there in the spotlight (can I get a boom-chika, boom-chika, boom-chika please?):

Al in the Country

Bowie Living

Bradford Pearson

Farm Fresh Meat

Malnurtured Snay

Sean's Ramblings

Toby or Not Toby

So, let's give them a big hand, shall we?!

*the crowd goes wild*

And, as long as we're on the topic, how about a question of the day: Are strip clubs sexy?




* What? Every award recipient demonstrates false modesty. You'd prefer I thank Jesus?

** Judge: "Mr. Kirkland, you are out of order."
Kirkland: "You're out of order! You're out of order! The whole trial is out of order!"
God, I love that scene.

*** It's terrible the way they only make 70 blog cents to every blog dollar we make.

"Beautiful liar" --Beyonce & Shakira

(Yes, yes, I'm still here. Thanks for putting down some newspapers and a bowl of kibble. Mmm, kibble. By the way, that whole thing about adding water to make a gravy? Pretty much just wet kibble.)

I recently had someone I work with tell me, in confidence, that he really admired Mary, because Mary might hate you and you'd never know it as Mary would give no indication of her true feelings.

I find that bizarre. First, because I've met Mary and liked Mary and worked with Mary many times and now I find myself wondering what the heck she thinks of me. Guess I'll never know for sure. Secondly, the fact that he really admired this trait was more than a little off-putting. At least I had enough political savvy not to share my negative reaction with him. But I wasn't about to agree with him.

The whole thing reminded me of Shakespeare:
"Why, I can smile,
and murder whiles I smile,
And cry 'Content!' to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions."

Where it is politically expedient to be able to do such a thing, I am not an admirer of all things political. Even in this town. Perhaps if I had developed Mary's capacity for duplicity, I might embrace lying more. Maybe.

But to what end?

I've had someone else tell me that no one sees the real her, except her husband. She told me this with great pride.

I can't relate. I am blunt. I am honest. Sometimes--oh, who am I kidding--often to a fault. Where I do at times exercise discretion, I don't really want to live a life where I'm hiding my thoughts constantly. But maybe that's a naive attitude.

Which brings us to today's question: How honest are you in your day to day life? If you had to put a percentage on it, what would it be? And, finally, if you had the power to be, would you be like Mary?

"So I might steal your diamonds, I'll bring you back some gold" --Gregg Allman

First, I've been taking a lot lately. I've been greedily grabbing up the goods. I've practically shouted like Daffy Duck "Mine! Mine! Mine!"

In the last few months, I've gotten a Nintendo DSi (which I play with every day!) thanks to LiLu, a pair of fabulous Gap jeans thanks to PQ, a yummy Hershey's with Almonds thanks to Spleeness, and a $20 Amazon gift card (which I've already spent with abandon) thanks to Just A Girl. Thank you all!! You rock!

Bloggers? They are in large part givers! And when I say they, I mean you! But, even better than the great swag, you give of yourselves. You share what's in your heart. You offer kindness and wit and insights daily. And for that, I heart you all!

Okay, enough with the shmoopyness.

While we're talking about taking and giving...

I was once in a relationship with a guy who told me a number of times that he thought I gave to him more than he gave to me. Yeah, I'm not in that relationship any more. Because it's all about me, right? Me, me, me.*

People say in an ideal relationship that both parties give and give and give. Or they say that both parties give but give in different ways. Mmmmmaybe. I look around and in most of the relationships I see, there is give and take but there's also often a clear giver and a clear taker. You know? 60/40 or 70/30 even. Now before you get your back up, let me say that I don't think there's anything wrong with that. If it works for the people involved, great.

Which leads me to the question of the day: Are you the giver or the taker most of the time in your relationship(s)?** And whichever role you're in, are you cool with that?

(Come on, you know you want to give me your answer.)



* Or you. Either way. You know. Doesn't matter. *rolls eyes*

** And if you still insist your dead even, then you are probably the giver.

"...and what have we done... another year older..." --John Lennon

Picador.


Tiger Woods started playing golf at age 2. H.P. Lovecraft wrote long poems at age 5. Wolfie Mozart did his first composition at age 6. Pablo Picasso painted Picador at age 8. Blaise Pascal wrote a treatise on vibrating bodies at age 9. Jean Piaget published a paper on the albino sparrow at age 11. Bobby Fischer won the U.S. Chess Championship at age 14.

Can we all agree these people are/were freaks? I mean, really, talk about setting the bar too frickin' high for the rest of us. Talk about messing up the curve. Talk about pressure!

Nobody expects you to be a success at 2. If you're getting your sippy cup to your mouth at 2, that's worthy of applause! In fact, knowing some of you as I do, that's still a pretty darn good accomplishment!

Ah, 2... Those were the days, hm? Your meals provided for you. None of that having to microwave your own ramen, gosh darn it. Anybody else remember the Gerber's Spaghetti and Meatballs? Mmmmm. But I regress.

The thing is, at 2, we know what is exceptional. As we do at 12. Even at 22, we have some markers. But at 32? 42? 52? Things get fuzzier. When we're little, we're told we can do anything with our lives. The sky's the limit. So, we all dream of being extraordinary in some way, right? Even if we aren't precocious.

And this leads to the question of the day: By what age do you think you need to be successful? Or, alternately, at what age do you say, well, I haven't done anything extraordinary yet, so I guess I won't?

"Down in the dungeon I'm having a hard time" --Billy Squier

The question du jour: Would you willingly blindfold yourself in a public place and put your welfare in the hands of strangers?*

From the Travel Channel's list of Extreme Restaurants...

Dark Dining San Francisco, California
At the Dark Dining Dinner party, diners will stimulate their senses -- by eliminating one. Don a blindfold and put your trust in the chef at this intimate rotating dinner party that seats 20 bold diners. Andre Crump brought the concept of dark dining to the San Francisco area in 2007, and since then he's been bringing the party to a different restaurant every four months. The party begins with cocktails before guests slip on their blindfolds -- after which only the wait staff, fitted with military-grade night-vision goggles, can see. The experience can be both scary and sensual and gives a whole new meaning to the term blind date.

The visual aspect of the meal--the colors, the arrangement, not to mention the anticipation--is such a big piece of it that I have trouble imagining I'd enjoy this style of dining.

Plus, having dined with a blind man on multiple occasions, I know it is no simple thing to eat a meal without the benefit of sight. Some of the things we take for granted: we don't have to remember that the potatoes are at 4:00, we don't have to wonder if the water glass is filled to the brim, we know when the peas have slipped off our fork, etc.


* And if you would, what are you doing Saturday night?

"I like them big and stupid" --Julie Brown

[Editor's Note: Yes, word verification is back on. I took word verification off my blog about a week ago. I've been spammed on three separate occasions since doing this. Giant crapweasels. Enough. ]


[Love Pink.]


I once had a friend--let's call him Fred--who wasn't popular with the ladies. Fred was a nice, intelligent guy but not what most people would call handsome. Add in some awkward, plus a sizable helping of shy, and he was the perfect recipe for spending a lot of time alone and lonely.

I watched this go on for years. I even set him up with another lonely but pleasant friend but they were spark free. Then, he met and started dating a perfectly wonderful woman. I was happy for him. He broke up with her.

Me: You broke up with her?!
Fred: Yeah. It wasn't going to work.
Me: Why?
Fred: She works at a think tank!
Me: Impressive!
Fred: Try: intimidating!
Me: Oh, come on. You're incredibly bright.
Fred: Not *that* kind of bright. I don't want to date someone who's that much brighter than me.

I was astounded. He really was a very bright guy. He was well read. He was highly respected in his field. Still, he'd rather be lonely than feel intimidated/inferior/take a chance on looking stupid. At least there was a happy outcome. Fred eventually met and married someone he thought was more on par intellectually.

Which brings us to the question(s) du jour: Would you date someone you knew was dramatically smarter than you? Would you date someone you knew was dramatically dumber than you?

"I gotta be me!" --Sammy Davis, Jr., Part II

[Proving once again that sexy is all in the attitude.]


In a different form of limiting the real you...

I know someone who refused to let her boyfriend see her without make-up for a VERY long time. (Hi, Honey. :)) They were sleeping together and she would go to sleep in her make-up. Then she'd get up before him and rush to the bathroom to re-do her makeup.

Now, I have some understanding about wanting to hide bad skin. I keep my concealer close at hand.

It was still interesting to me that she had no problem with him seeing her naked from the neck down but not from the neck up. And, of course, this couldn't have been good for her skin.

We all have things about us (physical or otherwise) we are hesitant to share. (Well, except LiLu. Hugs!) We don't want to scare away someone we're falling for. We don't want to see that "God, you're amazing" look in their eyes flicker and fail. We don't want to lose all sense of mystery ...or do we?

So... the second half of the "what percent are you" question: What percentage of you are you on a first date? When, if ever, in a relationship, do you hit 100%? Is 100% desirable? How about from them?

Sex and death, but not in that order

See that? That's a hearse. For reals. So what, you say.*

Look closely at my crappy, in-motion picture. That's a hearse--With. A. Luggage. Rack.

Yeah.

Maybe you can take it with you...?

Maybe this is for all those people that you meet and you think, "Geez, they have so much baggage, they're gonna need a hearse with a luggage rack." Okay, I've never thought that part after the comma, but I will from now on.

Hm, if I was gonna customize a hearse I think there's better features than a luggage rack. Maybe a bar for the mourners?

Meanwhile, in a completely different direction, I was reading The Foggy Dew's** post and that got me to the question of the day:

Lingerie: A wonderful thing or just one more thing that's in the way?

Discuss.




* I love it when you're impudent. ( Come a little closer. I'll give you impudent.)

** A very cool guy to hang out with, by the way.

"Monday, Monday, can't trust that day" --The Mamas and the Papas

Pop Quiz! Because it's Monday and that's the type of horror that comes with Monday. Don't start sweating yet. Even though you didn't study over the weekend, you know this one. And, besides, Susie Derkins will probably let you cheat off her, again, but, at this point, you'll probably have to stop pretending you don't know her when she says "Hi" in the hall.

Here's the scenario:

You come to dine at a restaurant. Before you is a single knife and fork. Your appetizer comes and you employ your knife and fork. When you are finished, the wait-person heads over to collect your appetizer plate.

Do you:

• put your dirty knife and fork on the plate for clearing? OR
  
• retain your knife and fork for use during the next course?

And what is your reaction if you put your shmutzy knife and fork on the plate for clearing and the wait-person takes them off the plate and puts them back on the table in front of you?

What can you reasonably expect?

And now for way beyond reasonable...

"Mary Joleisa, Always the same, That's not my name" --The Ting Tings

The question du jour: When someone gets your name wrong, do you correct them? And, if so, how many times are you willing to do this? At what point is knee-capping acceptable?