tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73920490452646728312024-02-20T04:04:31.994-06:00Sensitiva McFeelingslyHaving fun with feelings since 2007.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-13209754194708778382009-09-29T11:52:00.006-05:002009-09-29T15:50:58.076-05:00Learning to Begin Again on a TuesdayLet's be honest: I am a horrible blogger. Seriously, heinously, offensively bad.<br /><br />I swear, I've tried. But, I am always failing: failing to find anything good to write about. Failing to see what seems to be seen so easily by any number of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bloggers</span> I follow - the story. Is it that I don't have one? Can I not see the subject matter because my life has none?<br /><br />Before you think I'm about to take a nose dive onto Michigan Avenue or something, don't worry: I'm only writing that stuff to make a point! I am, in all honesty, troubled by the fact that I can't seem to make the same connection to writing that others do, but I feel primarily concerned about the failure stuff. So I don't have anything interesting to say every day of the week - does that mean that I've failed?<br /><br />The short answer: No. Absolutely not. That's crazy.<br /><br />But knowing the truth and embracing the truth are two different things. And the crux of the entire situation rests on the somewhat disturbing fact that these feelings of failure are 100% completely, absolutely, without a doubt self-inflicted.<br /><br />I'm doing it to myself, yo. And that's why it really hurts. (Somebody cue Thom Yorke!)<br /><br />So, in the interest of self-improvement and my continuing (albeit somewhat desperate) efforts to write a blog that won't bore people to tears or lie dormant in the wasteland of my creative drought - I decided to start my journey (again) with a solid dose of self-assessment and a challenge:<br /><br />You see, I've always had this strange tendency to begin any new regiment or project on a Monday. It always seemed logical to my slightly-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">OCD</span> brain to start a new pattern on the first day of the work week (because I'm a slave to the system like that). And because I just can't seem to derail myself fast enough, I add the extra rule that these new lifestyle choices not only must begin on a Monday, but they also must be executed to perfection - no failing. No setbacks.<br /><br />Let's not even get into the fact that Monday is not some magical reset button that clears the slate of last week's activities (because that would just be more truth than I can compute at the moment), but it is becoming obvious to me that there are many embedded issues within this one personality tic that are severely damaging to my hopes of becoming this better, faster, model of myself that I frequently daydream myself to be.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Issue #1: </span><span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">No one is</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> perfect.</span><br /><br />How can I ever expect myself to live a fulfilled life when I am jinxing myself like crazy right from the get-go? With each new pattern that I put into place come any Monday morning (seriously, any Monday. You pick. I'm always starting something.) I am also instilling an impending sense of doom. For example, let's say I decide to start exercising after work every day. Monday evening I do some crazy workout video (like the evil, evil 30 day shred), and come Tuesday I have sore muscles. Well, I can't work out with super sore muscles, right? I might hurt myself or something (which is probably not 100% true, but I live in a particular slice of reality where facts just bend themselves to my will - it's awesome). So, Tuesday I don't work out and in my book you can suddenly chalk up the entire experiment as a failure. With that one slip-up: FAIL. And then! When I think about the concept of getting back on the horse (BURN, Jillian!) I set my jaw, determine I will be victorious and plan to start on Monday.<br /><br />Let's summarize this: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">no one is</span> perfect. Got it. But, I set my goals at perfect and quit when the path deviates even slightly. Two things: 1. See how I'm the one creating all this drama from thin air? 2. See how messed up that is?<br /><br />I do.<br /><br />So, from Issue #1 comes <span style="font-style: italic;">Lesson #1: Be more realistic about what you can achieve.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Issue #2: Einstein said it, and you know that guy knew everything!</span><br /><br />Albert Einstein once said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”.<br /><br />!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br />Um, that's totally what I've been doing. Over and over and over again. Same thing. Same result. But each and every time I am somehow able to convince myself that it will be different - THIS time will be the winner. Yeah, it's pretty close to crazy - too close, in my humble opinion.<br /><br />What did we learn from this, kiddies?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lesson #2: Don't be a bloody lunatic, for crying out loud!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Issue #3: This has got to be bad for business. </span><br /><br />There's no way this is not damaging behavior in some way shape or form. I mean, constantly feeling like I've failed? Constantly striving for unattainable goals (i.e. Today I'm going to try to be perfect! FAIL.)? Repeating this same cycle of disappointment in an seemingly endless loop of mind games that creates nothing but problems and negative energy?! I've heard it said a million times, but it is a fact that a large portion of successes can be attributed to a positive outlook. Don't know if you've deduced as much, but the aforementioned feelings of failure and subsequent personal brow-beatings do not, a Pollyanna make.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lesson #3: Lighten up. You're ripping yourself to shreds over NOTHING.</span><br /><br />I think it's safe to say that it's time for someone (points to self) to actually implement the lessons above instead of just nodding politely at them and moving on (which is also how I handle panhandlers, but that's beside the point) - contrary to popular belief, self-analysis (although always a hilariously good time) is only productive when you actually put the lessons you learn to use (this is earth-shattering stuff, kids) - SO!<br /><br />I'm writing this here as a beginning and as a <span style="font-style: italic;">realistic</span> challenge to myself.<br /><br />Here's to starting things on Tuesdays....Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-41494665620333051562009-01-07T15:20:00.002-06:002009-01-07T15:51:21.814-06:00Promises and Chiropractic Hijinks!Hello.<br /><br />It's true, I've been gone for a while. And, no. I don't have any really good reasons aside from an overwhelming sense of inadequacy as a writer and a general sense of "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">meh</span>"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ness</span> that settled over me for a couple of months.<br /><br />I needed some time to think. I needed some time to just be a person and figure out what I want and need. The good news is, I think I'm pretty damn close.<br /><br />So, on to 2009! The year of purity in all its forms (because I have deemed it so!). I've always had this picture of the life I want to lead someday, a peaceful life, a pure life. And just this year it finally occurred to me: DUH! I could live that life now if I gave two shits about it!<br /><br />So I am. Done and done.<br /><br />In other news, I survived the holidays with limited social despair (which inevitably sets in after the umpteenth Christmas get-together), and have resolved to move forward with self-improvement and all the horrifying, awful things that may require me to do.<br /><br />List of horrifying, awful things I am doing:<br /><br />1. Working out. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Blech</span>. Hate it. BUT! I am starting to get into the whole endorphins thing - I can sense a true addiction forming. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Hoo</span>-rah.<br /><br />2. Eating healthy stuff. BO-RING. BUT! I am also starting to embrace this as a good thing. Healthy food is good... for me. And good. (for me).<br /><br />3. Going to the Chiropractor. (Cue gut-wrenching screams and that crazy eyed <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHjFxJVeCQs">prairie dog</a>).<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Ok</span>, so the last one probably doesn't seem that horrible, but trust me. It is. You have never known terror until you've seen my reaction to my sister trying to pop my back, OR WORSE, my toes. I HATE IT. I start laughing uncontrollably - but not it a good way, more in the I'm being forced to do some that I find completely repellent and I have a totally improper reaction that masks my complete and utter revulsion and terror.<br /><br />Oh yeah, it's that kind of laughter.<br /><br />But, I went. Because apparently my back is similar to that of a 60+ year old person (sciatica and all) and I'm only 27. In fact, my x-rays show that I have two lovely curves in my spine and a seriously disconcerting neck angle that defies explanation (kind of like that guy who lived with a broken neck for like, <a href="http://www.purpleslinky.com/Offbeat/Five-True-Urban-Legends.165063">60 years</a>). With all this in mind I said to the Doctor, "OK. Let's go for it. When should I come in for my first adjustment?"<br /><br />As a side note: When I'm really really scared of something, I need some time to mentally prep for it. That's why I don't mind <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">rollercoasters</span> with long lines... they scare me, I need some time, the lines are perfect.<br /><br />"Oh, no need for a separate appointment!" He says, "Let's just do it right now."<br /><br />Like it's nothing! WHAT!?<br /><br />I will say that I tried to handle it better than I did. I did try not to immediately break into a strange, and probably completely off-putting, display of crazy clown laughter mixed with shaking sobs (plus real tears!), but I kind of failed. A lot.<br /><br />He was a real professional, though. He talked me through it all, and barely paid attention to the copious under-arm sweating and PSYCHOTIC emotional reaction. I only felt like 99% idiot, which was better than the alternative. He got me into the adjustment positions and worked his spine-cracking magic, and...<br /><br />I loved it. Seriously, in two minutes my back felt better than it had in ages. The neck cracking part was pretty awful (the SOUND, my GOD, THE SOUND!!!!), but all in all, I'd do it again.<br /><br />And, I am. Tonight.<br /><br />2009 is going to be a great year - with more posting, I promise!Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-40765715111326093842008-08-26T21:44:00.008-05:002008-09-09T14:32:29.791-05:00The Wanderer - Part 2There was no telling how far he had fallen. The ravine that claimed him had come from nowhere, and he landed in its valley with a bone crunching halt. The world swam as he tried to gain some point of perspective, some glimmer of his surroundings. All in all, it had not been a good few weeks. His health had fallen steadily along with his remaining hope of survival. A ragged cough had set in, and now each <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Velcro</span> breath took every ounce of remaining strength to be separated from his raw lungs.<br /><br />He attempted to sit up and found that his right arm had either been broken into shards or had suddenly refused to cooperate with him. He struggled upward with his left. The effort took longer than he had concentrated on in ages and finally, he was hauled into a sitting position against the tree that had bloodied and threatened his skull.<br /><br />Blood ran thick into his eyes, and using his good arm he continually had to wipe away the red smear that formed across his vision. The rain didn't help. It had caused him to slip and now it prevented his sight. He was sure that this was the way the Earth eventually undid you. Slowly it would wipe away your capabilities until there were none that remained. He sat there for a while trying to convince himself that there was something worth getting up and walking on for. Every cycle of his internal conversation was answered with the simple fact that getting up and walking meant you weren't dead yet; you might be damn close, but you still had a claim on life. This alone was not initially enough to motivate him. What was life anyway? He asked himself a million times and always answered differently. Today, life was a way to walk and air to attempt to breathe. All in all, he decided, that was better than nothing. Slowly and quite diplomatically, his brain tried to convince his battered limbs to lift his weight. They were not swayed easily, but eventually he garnered enough support to struggle upward and onto his feet.<br /><br />He remained there, leaned awkwardly against this tree blinking hard against the blinding efforts of his own body, his own blood until he could see well enough to move forward. Moving had brought him this far. His last hope was that it would continue to see him well. He staggered several feet. He had no way of knowing just how fragmented his skeleton had become, but even the idea of walking caused several places in him to mourn. There he was, all ragged breath and blood, trying in vain to keep living.<br /><br />It was the very picture of pity.<br /><br />He'd only gone a little ways when he saw an unfamiliar sight before him. There, in the distance, was a small structure. It looked to be some sort of outhouse. It leaned a bit in the downpour as if to protect itself from more exposure. He exhaled some sort of muddy laugh that reeked of internal demise and hobbled towards it, looking for a last place to lay that might be out of this damned rain. He wiped another fistful of blood and water from his eyes and willed himself again to move, but just as he began to lift his foot from the ground he halted in alarm.<br /><br />Suddenly, he wasn't alone.<br /><br />From behind the leaning shack, a din of familiar noise <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">leaped</span> out at him. And shortly after that, so did the dog. It cavalierly jumped out, barking, its hackles raised in alarm. His heart had almost ceased to beat, both in terror from the sudden appearance, and in joy for the slim hope that he'd found a companion who might provide some affection to a dying man, and who might possibly give him one last bit of happiness before the lights went out for good. He stared, all dopey and bloody at this welcome creature. But, just as easily as the initial smile had crept across his face it was replaced with doubt. This dog was not the type that he would see still living. It was some kind of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">house pet</span>, completely unequipped to survive alone this many years. In fact, it reminded him distinctly, painfully, of a dog he'd loved as a boy. This was no survivor.<br /><br />Slow tears found their places at the edges of his eyes. This was no friend and companion. This must be a hallucination.<br /><br />Then, even as his incredible grief fell slickly down his cheeks, he laughed harder than he had in a long time. It was hilarious, really. Hilarious, and terrible. God, or whatever it was, had brought him a last thought of his former life, a harbinger that would bring not terror, but would welcome him into what was to become.<br /><br />The dog yapped on as he approached, and his face contorted into a goofy scene of joy that foretold of madness and eventual death. It was at this point, when he was mere paces from the little, wet beast that he felt it: the swift, intentional touch of metallic coolness at the base of his skull.<br /><br />Immediately he froze, his arms went stick-straight at his sides in spite of the pain that shot through his every fiber at the action. Even though he had never been at its mercy before, the cool steel of the gun's barrel was surprising in its familiarity. There was no mistaking the severity and finality present in its touch. His mind scattered to the winds of panic, but somewhere inside the knowledge remained that guns do not hold themselves. No, there was someone here. A person. With a voice.<br /><br />"Who are you? State your name and business, or die in pursuit of nothing."<br /><br />The voice was as steely as the barrel nuzzling his skull. He searched for the right answer to the question and came up empty. Panic rose fast and hard into his entire being, he urged himself to speak, to say anything, and urgently forced an ejection of air that he hoped would say the rights things. If you'd asked him to, he never would have been able to recognize the horrible rasp that now passed for his voice. "I, I'm dying. Please. I need help."<br /><br />"Your name?"<br /><br />He paused. It had been so long, he wasn't sure it meant anything anymore, but managed to choke out, "Matt. My name. It's Matt."<br /><br />There was no pause in the gun's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">insistence</span> for use. But in spite of himself, he could feel his mind begin to journey elsewhere. It almost felt like falling, or flying, or just drifting away somewhere. He didn't mean to, but the stranger's voice was fading now, like a dream or a memory of something lovely. Lightness filled his aching body and flooded out through his skin. And slowly a tunnel of darkness appeared around his vision. It was quite nice actually, an interesting picture of mixed Autumn leaves surrounded by a shrinking black circle. He swooned with movement and watched dimly as the leaves <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">approached</span> him and the circle tightened to a close.<br /><br />He could not sense the unceremonious smack of his skin as it collided with marshy dankness of the forest's floor. He did not hear that one last painful breath driven sharply from his chest or the overlaying sounds of the stranger calling shortly to the still barking dog, "Logan! Shut up, you're driving me nuts with that racket!"<br /><br />Rain continued to fall, the dog continued to bark, and the stranger looked down seemingly apathetic to the mess of human being sprawled indelicately before them.<br /><br />Peace came. Blackness became the new world.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-51173735424792535512008-08-04T13:35:00.003-05:002008-08-04T13:45:26.356-05:00The LetterIt was one of those days that made you feel like you were suffocating, drowning, dying some awful death that made you feel too close to yourself. The temperature had risen steadily from an early 85 degrees to a stifling 102 by noon. She lifted the brim of her straw hat off her forehead and wiped away the slow rolling sweat that had formed too quickly. Stooped there, in her garden, she could feel the torturous sun peeling away her patience. Suddenly she <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">couldn't</span> stand to be there anymore. She had to get out of this heat.<br /><br />Her knees popped and creaked as she stood. 67 years of wear and tear had taken their toll on the cushions of life, and now every movement was a reminder of how old she had become. Stretching her back she glanced idly at the glare coming off the blackened pavement. If she had looked down the street she would have seen the telltale glimmer of an oasis, a simple mirage that pointed out, not that relief was coming, but that you were so damn hot you were hallucinating.<br /><br />She stripped off her hat as she walked up the back steps to her home. It was only just now becoming possible for her not to expect her husband as she walked in the door. It was only now that she was finally beginning to see that he was indeed gone and he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">wasn't</span> coming back. All of his jokes about death had been leading up to the day when she would have to learn to laugh at the real thing. He’d always said, “When I go I want you to have a big party. No one is to cry, and there is to be no sad music. Everyone will have a drink in their hand and you will lead a toast. You’ll say, ‘This is for my husband, the lucky son of a bitch who got to go first.’”<br /><br />And in the end she had done as he’d asked. But it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">wasn't</span> nearly as hilarious as he’d made it sound.<br /><br />The shocking cold of her air-conditioned home forced a grateful sigh from her lips. She slung the wide-brimmed hat over the coat rack and gingerly pulled her gardening gloves from each finger, the same way she had always done without ever having been told to. Simon snaked his way around her ankles, grating his angular chin upwards against her calf and revving his motor to prove he loved her. She, in turn, bent down to scratch his ears and say to him, yet again, the only praise she could muster: “Simon, you should thank God that you’re a cat.”<br /><br />In the kitchen, she poured herself a cold glass of water and sat down at the table to pay the monthly bills. The stack of mail stood tall before her so she settled her reading glasses onto her nose, inhaled deeply, and opened her checkbook. As much as she hated the depletion of her checking account after paying her bills, she rather enjoyed the ritual. She loved to feel a job being completed. She loved the idea of progress, of moving forward. Even in the past few dark months she had found some sort of joy in simple tasks; it was as if by completing one she had moved somehow further from her grief. So it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">wasn't</span> surprising that she found herself humming quietly and smiling slightly halfway through the pile of mail.<br /><br />It was just as she was sealing the electric bill that she noticed it. Here, among her pile of junk mail and bills, was a letter. It took a moment for her to realize what it was; after all, people just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">didn't</span> send letters anymore. And it took her even longer to recognize the lack of a return address and the use of her maiden name.<br /><br />The letter looked as if it had been traveling for years. At least twenty different postmarks littered the dingy envelope and several forwarding orders had been put into effect. But, somehow, even with all its stamped on bruises and signs of wear, this letter was the single most beautiful thing she had ever seen.<br /><br />Her breath became slow and shallow, the same way that, as a small girl, she would breathe in Sunday church service. It was the breathing of a reverent child. It was a sign of wonderment and innocence and all other things that had been lost. She carefully broke the seal of the martyred envelope, and she oh so carefully sidled the stationary from its pocket, laying it to rest in the light of her kitchen under the shelter of her eyes. She unfolded the pages and began to read:<br /><br /><br /><em>My Dearest Olivia, 9/22/1998<br /><br />Greetings from India! Oh Olivia, you would be absolutely smitten with this place. Everything here is so vibrant and rich and seemingly expensive…I cannot even imagine your face when I bring you here someday; you will probably do that thing where you light up from the inside and knock my socks off with how beautiful you are. Come to think of it, I probably <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">shouldn't</span> bring you here… the Indian government may be upset if I bring them the one woman who is more perfect and beautiful than their sacred country. </em><br /><br /><em>Work is going fine. Some of the action sequences have gone awry, and the narrator still refuses to learn the correct pronunciations of many, many words, but no one ever said being a hit documentary film maker would be easy.</em><br /><br /><em>I know it’s probably strange for me to be writing you this letter. I mean, I have only known you a couple of weeks now, but there’s just something about you that I can’t stop thinking about. I am hopeful that when I get back you will still be willing to go on that date we talked about. I am hopeful that at the end of it you may let me kiss you goodnight. I am hopeful that at the end of everything you’ll be my girl and we can celebrate the apocalypse together. I am hopeful that my blatant and, perhaps, premature declarations of love will not scare you away.<br /></em><br /><em>I will be home in three short weeks. I cannot wait to see you again.<br /><br />Beyond Love,<br /> Jack<br /></em><br />Time no longer existed.<br /><br />How could it exist when a letter from 42 years ago, from her dead husband, had found its way onto her kitchen table? She felt disconnected from the present. She came unhinged from her senior citizen status and flipped around until she was 25 again. She flipped around to the day they’d met, to the day she had found out what living was really for. She landed back in the late summer heat, back in time, back to the moment she’d stumbled across perfection in the public library.<br /><br />He was nothing she had ever expected to deserve. She saw him standing amongst the stacks, comfortable, as if he had been grown from that very spot, as if he belonged there exclusively in a world of leather bindings and beauty. He was flipping through a copy of some peer-reviewed scholarly chemistry journal and smirking, looking thoroughly amused by a diagram of something too complex for her to fathom. She was impressed, not by his choice of literature, but rather by his nature. He seemed to glow somehow.<br /><br />She had never been one for flirting with strangers, but when her search for Ernest Hemingway found her standing only inches from his frame she figured it might not be a bad time to start.<br />“Have you read this one?” she barely whispered as she held out a copy of “The Old Man and the Sea” for him to regard. He turned to her. His hands dropped casually into his pockets, and his angled frame rocked back on its heels. He seemed to consider his response for a moment, casting his eyes towards the ceiling and sucking in a deep breath. A knowing smile spread slowly across the fabric of his face, and he locked his eyes on hers and said, “I’d like to ask you for a date.”<br /><br />And that was how it began. That was how it began for them, suspended in a library in a moment too great to be real, waiting for time to clip their heels and tell them to get moving, to tell them that daydreams can’t last forever. But when time’s pursuit never made itself known they both realized that this must indeed be love.<br /><br />But time most certainly did exist. It caught up with them eventually; it caught up with them as cancer and it killed him as punishment for happiness. Time kills us all eventually. Time wraps its icy hands around your ankles and makes you slow and encumbered. Time takes you away from the bookshelves and summer heat and beating heart you had at 25 and turns you into an old woman clutching an ancient piece of stationary in an outdated kitchen. Time had turned her into this seated statue with the wide, glazed look of a terrified animal. She felt the rising bulge of grief edging up and out of her eyes. She let it all consume her. Slipping from her chair, she collapsed to the linoleum. Pounding, aching sorrow drenched the ancient olive tiles. Ferocious loss, impossible love, and undeniable hurt racked her widowed body. Incapable of speech she seemed instead to hum her pain, the sound of brimming over, the sound of finally breaking and not knowing what else to do.<br /><br />And Simon, who remained settled on his perch, squinted his green eyes and felt nothing.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-41059072710132842672008-08-01T09:38:00.007-05:002008-08-01T10:41:10.305-05:00The WandererMany nights were passed there, huddled up as tightly as he could beneath his jacket. This old tree had become his savior in a world where salvation seemed impossible. He'd lost track of the days now. There had been a time when he'd marked them down in a notebook he'd brought with him, but an unfortunately timed fall had brought him down hard into a swift stream; and his last piece of normalcy, his sense of time, had been swept away in its torrent. Now, he just walked. He walked and tried to find food and waited for death to come to him just like it had done for all the others.<br /><br />The end had come just as no one had expected. They should have known it could never be predicted. The Earth makes its own decisions and follows no known time and pays attention to no creature's will or want. The plaguing population that had burdened it was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">eradicated</span> by its wrath. And it had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">cleansed</span> itself, leaving very few people behind to experience its rebirth. In truth, he often felt he might be the only one left. Even the sense of loneliness he'd felt so intensely at the beginning had waned. Loneliness, like any feeling, requires fuel. And without the reminder of others, without hearing a voice or seeing a face, there was nothing left on which the feeling could burn.<br /><br />The sun shone brightly and warmed him through his jacket. Even though the days had grown a bit cooler, and the nights had become close to unbearable, the mornings still brought warm relief. He knew this wouldn't last long. Last winter he had managed to find a small house with a wood-burning stove. He'd made due in spite of nearly succumbing to hunger many times. At the remembrance of this a stab of panic brought him out of his slumber. He keenly realized that time was running short. He would need to keep heading south quickly if he wanted to survive that dead season again. Even more <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">acutely</span>, he knew that the blind luck he'd <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">stumbled</span></span> into last year would most likely not repeat itself. He would not likely find another antiquated cabin like the one he'd left.<br /><br />He had laughed until he was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">delirious</span></span> when he'd found it lingering there in the rough. Although unimpressive to look at, he could see it was solidly constructed and it's window panes remained in spite of all the rage the Earth had poured out onto it. He lurked outside it for several hours, hiding both in fear of an occupant, and in hope of one as well. When his voyeuristic <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">surveying</span></span> had born no fruit, he scurried forth in the dark to try the door. It had swung open easily, and unlike most of the homes he'd entered on his journey, the only scent to greet him was the distinctive plea of staleness. He sighed in relief. No matter how many times he encountered the remnants of death he could never quite pull back the sting of his own fear nor the heavy pool of disgust and grief that immediately gathered weight in his gut. The moon was in its height that evening, so searching the small space had been easy enough. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">iridescent</span></span> beams broke through the darkness and splashed <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">irreverently</span></span> across the contents of his new home, revealing the plump blackness of the stove, and sending waves of sweet relief streaming into his heart.<br /><br />At the realization of what he saw, he'd laughed until he cried. He laughed until he was rolling around on the floor and clutching at his sides. He laughed for his good fortune until rivulets of tears poured forth from his eyes. He'd laughed until he sobbed and then he sobbed again for all he'd lost.<br /><br />Hard time was passed there, but the inevitable spring had taken hold. And as soon as the weather felt consistent enough for travel he had taken what he could and continued south. Now, it was time to keep on with the trek. Now, the green was fading and falling. The autumn was taking its turn, and the deathly ice of winter was lingering on its breath. Now was a time for motion. So he thanked his arbor <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Christ</span></span>, grabbed his things, and walked on again.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-89757903952000646262008-07-29T13:15:00.003-05:002008-07-29T14:55:51.893-05:00Know My HeartI picture her flying.<br /><br />I see her surrounded by coolness, by dark blue skies; cutting through them and swirling up around the stars. I see her here, in my breath, in my heart; unmaking the little tangles of grief that have caught up there and selfishly refuse to go. I see her and know her. I can feel her spirit singing with peace.<br /><br />But I miss her, too. I miss her warmth and life and stubbornness. I miss hearing her bellowing voice. I had pushed it all away because it hurt too much. I had pushed her away because I couldn't see her there anymore. And now she's everywhere at once and everything always, and I remember how much I loved her.<br /><br />In this universe, I am just a small piece. I am a separated piece that has fallen from the whole. I believe in this part of our lives we all are. We're little parts of the bigger picture, but we've lost sight of where we once belonged. Death brings back the longing to find that place again. Death allows us to remember that to pass on is to rejoin the celebrating center of this glorious Earth.<br /><br />A person I loved is gone. <a href="http://havingfunwithfeelingssince2007.blogspot.com/2008/03/so-far-away.html">My Granny</a>. She fought the good fight and served her time as one of us. She lost everything to this petty world and its cruel devices. She died a mere shadow of the warrior she was.<br /><br />But now, I hear that roaring spirit cascading over this good Earth with whooping enthusiasm. Now, she flies.<br /><br />Free at last.<br /><br />And in spite of my sorrow, she knows I'm laughing with her. Laughing at the silliness of it all. Laughing in delight at the speeds she can now conquer and the freedom that can only come when you are reconnected to the whole. The freedom of pumping in the veins of Mother Earth and kissing creation in each silver moonbeam.<br /><br />Know my heart, Granny. Know that I hear you. Know that I see your presence in everything I do. I will hold on forever. I will hold on in the hope that in my dreams you'll take me flying with you.<br /><br />I can almost feel it now; diving through the substance of everything. Holding your hand and rejoining the pulse. Understanding. A little piece reconnected. A little wave in the ocean of time.<br /><br />Miriam West<br />March 30<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span>, 1917 - July 19<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span>, 2008Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-17244441922497448772008-06-27T13:21:00.002-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.590-05:00Indiana SummerSo, the weather is finally muggy. God love the midwest and its muggy-ass summers!<br /><br />Husband and I were walking to work yesterday from the train, and we were both sweating our respective parts off, when it dawned on me that before I became an adult, I used to LOVE this weather.<br /><br />I used to love the sweaty feeling of summer days, and the cooler (yet still humid) weight of summer nights. But, something has changed... oh, I remember, I've changed because I no longer get to enjoy it like I did. I am what is oftentimes called "a grown-up" and in many respects this is a good thing: I get to live without my parents, and drink alcohol. I get to order pizza whenever I want. I get to stay up late and watch whatever movies or TV shows I want. AND, I have the added bonus of living with a boy full time. Joy!<br /><br />BUT, I miss summer vacation. I miss the feeling on the last day of school when everyone would sing that Alice Cooper song while walking down the hallways towards the exits. I miss that feeling of having the whole glorious summer ahead of me. I miss jumping off the bus at my stop and thundering down the street towards my house for the last time that year with all the carefree joy and abandon that my heart could possibly hold.<br /><br />Mostly, I think back to long days at our neighborhood pool. I was lucky enough to grow up in a awesome subdivision. We had a big lake in the center where we could go fishing, tons of kid-friendly sidewalks to ride our bikes on, and a glorious pool (complete with a deep end and diving board) that was open to residents anytime, day or night. We'd pretty much go there every day, all day - even when it was cloudy. And we'd stay until our bodies got tired or the need for a mom-made sandwich drove us back onto our bikes and back home.<br /><br />Even with all the daytime swimming, we were not satisified. And sometimes, at night, when dinner was over, our Dad would agree to take us back for a nighttime dip. I am confident that even when I am old and gray, I will look back on those precious times as some of the happiest of my life, and most certainly, I will look back to those times and remember my father incredibly fondly. He is an excellent swimmer. He was actually a lifeguard as a teenager, and he would delight us with incredible feats of underwater swimming, and allow us to climb onto his back and be a passenger on some of his trips below the surface.<br /><br />Afterwards, we'd tumble home in the dark and rinse the chlorine from our bodies and hair and climb into warm pajamas. Even now, my nostalgia is no match for my incredible need to provide these kinds of memories to my children (which I will hopefully have someday). They're so precious. Those moments in life that elevate you and open you up to happiness are the most treasured possessions anyone can have. In spite of all the shit that we have to go through everyday, in spite of all the times Husband or I feel trapped or depressed or futile, I always have memories like that to go back to.<br /><br />So, when the man's got me down, and the checking account balance is surprisingly low, and work sucks, and I look around and realize how far I still have to go, I just think about summer vacation. I think about the quiet beneath the water and the way it felt to joke with my sisters while we rode our bikes to our favorite spot. I think about my Dad's smile when he'd climb up the side ladder after a perfect dive. I remember us. And it never fails to give me back some of what adulthood takes.<br /><br />Just a little good, old-fashioned joy. No responsibilities. No impending collapse. No worries.<br /><br />Just us, a pool, and a summer to spend by it.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-72050412969701705082008-06-19T10:23:00.004-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.591-05:00Me. In Pictures.I'd seen this on a couple of other blogs and thought that it was very interesting. So, I am jumping on the bandwagon. The way it works: Answer the 12 questions below and then type each answer into a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Flickr</span> search. Take one of the pictures that comes up for your word and paste it into the mosaic maker at:<br /><br />http://bighugelabs.com/flickr/<br /><br />Then, when you're finished, post it for the world to see you in pictures! Here are the questions:<br /><br />1. What is your first name?<br />2. What is your favorite food?<br />3. What high school did you attend?<br />4. What is your favorite color?<br />5. Who is your celebrity crush?<br />6. Favorite drink?<br />7. Dream vacation?<br />8. Favorite dessert?<br />9. What do you want to be when you grow up?<br />10. What do you love most in life?<br />11. One word to describe you.<br />12. Your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Flickr</span> name.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213615479996903570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lSIWiUai4r-TcsajlFTwSLZZAo_HeUkxX9RYGiwrZj-1KxfaCTa5EcVZEv-Kxcu4t34m3gfOQRk3cnZ5IKrAPYNL2dzKhT5ivotOyaWQkNPA_iJuFSA0RReLVzKDmW4xm4BKh4uQ8cQ/s400/mosaic3110102.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />1. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/blackcustard/104210671/">Van Dyke: Allison, after Picasso</a>, 2. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/labimposter/452535999/">Homemade Pepperoni Pizza</a>, 3. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/zachklein/53254256/">Homestead High School</a>, 4. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rostev/366578114/">Verde no Aquarius</a>, 5. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ediehats/2301575346/">Harrison Ford</a>, 6. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/orangelica/2584535829/">8pm landscape</a>, 7. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/22658121@N00/452223272/">The Night City</a>, 8. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mwhammer/2172085313/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">kahlua</span> chocolate mousse</a>, 9. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/95815538@N00/292940488/">Young student with his teacher</a>, 10. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/djames1313/67358761/">return for refund.</a>, 11. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/goosegoddesss/2210222215/">eyes so tender</a>, 12. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bullish1974/178382565/">Going Up And Down</a><br /><br />I do find it hilarious, that the picture for #10 was found on my search for Husband's name (as he is the thing I love most in the world). Return for refund... hmmm. :)Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-294825166169117782008-06-18T10:14:00.004-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.591-05:00Fumbling Towards a ChangeHello friends. I'm so sorry it has been a while since I last posted. In truth, I have been pretty darned busy and blogging definitely fell out of the limelight and into the background.<br /><br />What was I up to?<br /><br />I threw a successful and fun shower and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bachelorette</span> party for my best friend last weekend. I was pretty consumed by making sure that everything went well and in addition to that, Husband and I had been entertaining <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">houseguests</span> for basically the entire week previous. Needless to say, the combination of those two things left little time for anything personal.<br /><br />But, the guests have all left, and the party has been thrown, and Husband and I are looking forward to a blissfully open weekend (aside from one family get-together on Saturday afternoon). A little "down-time" is definitely in order.<br /><br />In addition to these little events, I have also been feeling a larger event in the making deep inside of my heart. For a long time now I have been struggling with making the transition into being the best version of me possible. Although I know that becoming the best you can be takes a lifetime and is probably never really accomplished (because we are just human, after all), I have felt on the brink of making a huge stride in the right direction for some time now.<br /><br />I have spoken before on this blog about my deep affection for all living creatures. I do indeed have very intense feelings about animal rights and about fighting cruelty and about becoming closer with nature and the Earth, but I realized the other day that I'm being a total poser. Yes, my feelings are legitimate, but I'm not really doing anything about them. The most overwhelming part of the realization was the fact that I had never even thought about that before. It had never really occurred to me that all of my rambling and my hurt feelings and my love for my dogs meant basically nothing on a larger scale.<br /><br />I needed to take action.<br /><br />So, I started. I decided first to begin replacing all of my beauty/hygiene products with ones made from natural ingredients by companies who conduct no animal testing. Because I wasn't sure who these companies were, I went looking (where else?) on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">internet</span>. I found a website called <a href="http://www.caringconsumer.com/">http://www.caringconsumer.com/</a> and another (which I found the most helpful and easiest to use) at <a href="http://www.navs.org/site/PageServer?pagename=ain_pt_whois">http://www.navs.org/site/PageServer?pagename=ain_pt_whois</a>. The Caring Consumer page is run by PETA and gives a list of all the companies that do and do not conduct animal testing. The second page is run by the National Anti-Vivisection Society and allows you to search by company or product to see if they are using animals for research there.<br /><br />I was surprised both by how many companies have shunned the practice and by how many companies still refuse to see the light. The truth is that there are many ways of testing beauty and household products that do not rely on dropping chemicals into the eyes of a bunny. Companies that carry on these practices DO NOT NEED THEM. They are completely without merit and oblivious to the plight of the poor creatures trapped in their labs. Yes, some animal testing is required by law, and although I do not like it, I do understand that when a new medicine is released testing on animals can show the possible side-effects that might mean death for those taking it. Companies that do this type of testing are required to do so by the government, so my beef is not really with them. What I am protesting here is the fact that animals are losing their lives because I want to wear make-up. It's a simple and as ridiculous as that.<br /><br />I urge you all to consider going to one of the websites above to check out which of your purchases are involved in this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">atrocious</span> practice. You may be pleasantly surprised that you already buy products that are created by enlightened companies. For example, make-up companies like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Almay</span>, Revlon, Bath and Body Works, Bare <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Escentuals</span>, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Smashbox</span> are all created without the use of animal testing. However, companies like Cover Girl, Procter and Gamble, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Aveeno</span>, Johnson and Johnson, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Neutrogena</span> and many many others are still employing this barbaric technique.<br /><br />Another line of products that are easy to replace are your household cleaners. This one is a little bit tougher as almost every single cleaning product that is commonly used is created by one or two archaic corporations that refuse to give up their lab rats. However, please keep in mind that not only are these types of products hurting defenseless creatures, they are also hurting all of us by polluting our Earth and ruining our natural water sources. You can check out the lists, but if you use Windex, Clorox, Tide, Pledge, or any of their associated products (plus TONS more) you already own an Earth polluting, animal abusing product. And I'm not trying to make you feel bad about it - I personally have all of those products in my house (much to my dismay).<br /><br />The important thing to remember is that there are alternatives, lots actually. It may take you an extra trip to a different store, but there are a lot of Earth-friendly, natural cleaning products that are also never tested on an animal of any sort. The products I plan to purchase are found at my local Target store (and I'm pretty sure can be found at any Target):<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBrMBM4NeQDm0cL3mpcB3jNm4Pn3bUVT9lNbcffO8UZsa9Jjy87lyJhS967XY0RG4O-ASts3H96PlxMpa8vOuDdfcT-H6L7N3io1VleB69GPb1txdu6LvIEqIqu3Mk1BPV9VckaQhCeY/s1600-h/method.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213248098866656754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 132px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 152px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="133" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBrMBM4NeQDm0cL3mpcB3jNm4Pn3bUVT9lNbcffO8UZsa9Jjy87lyJhS967XY0RG4O-ASts3H96PlxMpa8vOuDdfcT-H6L7N3io1VleB69GPb1txdu6LvIEqIqu3Mk1BPV9VckaQhCeY/s400/method.jpg" width="109" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Method, Inc is an AWESOME company that uses totally natural, biodegradable ingredients and has never participated in animal testing. They are very down-to-earth and all of their products are very reasonably priced. Some other suggestions I've received for similar types of products are Holy Cow, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Ecover</span>, and Third Generation. I know that Holy Cow can be found at several grocery chains and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Walgreens</span>.<br /><br />The last bit of change I'm making for now is cutting back the amount of meat I eat. This is not just for purely cruelty-related issues. This decision is actually <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">primarily</span> based on the environment. The meat industry in this country is one of the single largest contributors to environmental issues - not to mention the fact that we could be feeding our country and others much more efficiently if we were using our land for raising crops rather than cattle.<br /><br />True, if I were totally prepared for this endeavor, I would cut meat altogether. But I'm trying to take my Dad's advice and make "little changes that will stick rather than drastic ones that won't." I do see myself hopefully cutting meat completely from my diet altogether (as this is what my heart is telling me to do) but my head knows that 26 years of meat-eating won't be easy to break. So, rather than eat meat every day of the week, I'm going to cut down to 2-3 times a week.<br /><br />Also, when I am purchasing meat I am doing my best to search for organic, free range chickens that have not spent their lives in a tiny cage with half their beaks cut off (which is actually what they do). It may be a couple dollars more expensive (example: I paid $15 for four organic chicken breasts at the store, while their non-organic counterparts would have cost me $12)but that price is worth it to me, if it means that the animal was able to live a more natural life before its death. I have also been buying the free-range, vegetarian eggs for quite some time and have been paying attention to which milk brands do not use hormones in their cattle. There are lots of options out there, so if these causes are near to your heart they way they are to mine, very few sacrifices have to be made in order to make a difference.<br /><br />I apologize if I seem like I'm on my soapbox, but my mind has really been consumed lately with the fact that our environment and our world really are in trouble. We hear it all the time, but we do need to wake up and begin doing our part to ensure that future generations have a viable planet to live on. What's most exciting for me is that I get to establish a lifestyle now that I can pass on to my kids (when I hopefully have them). It is our human responsibility to take care of our planet and the creatures that inhabit it. We may have been given dominion over it by God, but that does not mean we have the right to disrespect the Earth or its inhabitants or to bend them to our will. We have a responsibility for their well-being. We are the only ones who can turn our behavior around, and I'm quickly learning that just a few small changes from all of us is the way to begin doing just that.<br /><br />Thank you for reading. And please consider looking into some of these things for yourself. They are terribly important, and we would really be doing future generations a disservice if we continue on the way we are. I sincerely hope you are all having a great week so far, and I'll be sure to update you along the way of this journey. I'm certain it won't be entirely simple, but for once in my life, I feel like I'm really heading in the right direction.<br /><br />Kurt Vonnegut once wrote, "Life is no way to treat an animal." And even though I used to agree, I really think that with some hard work, we can prove him wrong.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-61649545119214439832008-06-11T13:45:00.002-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.591-05:00water,boat,blue<em>I stole this idea from <a href="http://http://www.slouchingmom.com/">Slouching Mom</a>. She linked to a <a href="http://sandiegomomma.com/2008/06/09/promptuesday-8-you-know-what-they-say-about-a-picture/">picture</a> and you were supposed to write down the first three words that popped into your head and then use those three words in a memoir-style story. Obviously, I am not creative with my word choices. But I do find the stream-of-consciousness style and the place my brain went naturally interesting. Do we all have a penchant to go straight for the melodramatic? Thought provoking stuff, kids. </em><br /><br />I suppose it was silly to get on this stupid boat. I was naive to think that just the act of climbing on a cruise ship would help me to relax. When, in truth, my anxiety has been worse than ever. But, oh, how they encouraged me!<br /><br />"You really should take a vacation, Julie."<br /><br />Right. Like a vacation is going to solve my problems. Like all my issues would just suddenly melt away as soon as I sat down in a deck chair. Like they would vanish as soon as I gazed out on all that blue water.<br /><br />The cabin is nice enough, I guess. And I haven't gotten sea-sick yet. And there is an open bar with which to attempt to dull the ache of worry. But, it isn't exactly what I was promised.<br /><br />No, it's not what I was promised at all. I was promised surrender. I was promised relaxation. I was promised that something about this stupid experience would help me to forget the fear clutching at my heart each time I hear a strange noise at night. I was told that a little fun in the sun would help to erase that feeling, and the memory of him standing over me, and the realization that I just might die.<br /><br />No, not what I was promised at all.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-14592837461949022992008-06-05T11:09:00.002-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.591-05:00Back in Action!Hello dear readers!<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Welp</span>, I'm back from the ole vacation and am finally caught up enough with work, life, and all that junk to remind you all of my existence.<br /><br />Aren't you glad? :)<br /><br />The vacation was a lot of fun aside from a serious case of car-sickness that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">occurred</span> just as we were about to view one of the most gorgeous national parks I've ever seen. (Good timing is not my forte). But, all the nausea aside, it was a wonderful time. I gambled a bit in Vegas and even won a bit of money on the video poker machines at Paris - which was a cool feeling.<br /><br />Husband and I were both very ready to get home and see our boys, so waiting for our 5:00 PM flight home from Vegas on Friday was torture, but it was definitely all worth it for the fun that was had. I'll try to post some pictures when I have them handy.<br /><br />In other news: I saw this today and just can't help but share it with all of you... personally, I laughed my ass off because I swear that the content of this video is ALL I can remember from Little House on the Prairie. Seriously.<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zfv-eMZ0-_U&hl=" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"></embed><br /><br />And for any Aussie friends who may be reading who seem to NEVER be able to see my videos, this one's on www.youtube.com under the title "The 30 Second Little House: I'll be Waving as You Drive Away."<br /><br />Love it.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-13440975431490344272008-05-20T13:40:00.002-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.591-05:00You're Welcome, In Advance...OH MY GOD, YES!<br /><br />I just discovered this today (thanks to <a href="http://trent.blogspot.com/">Pink is the New Blog</a>) and it is some of the craziest, funniest shit I've ever had the pleasure to see. Plus, there are unicorns in it. Enough said.<br /><br /><div align="left">PLANET UNICORN!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EQJD1ura7G4" width="425" height="355" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"></embed><br /><br />This is just the first installment. So, visit them at <a href="http://www.planetunicorn.tv/episodes.html">Planet Unicorn </a>to see more!Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-56947264145879416052008-05-20T09:37:00.003-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.591-05:00Vacation SituationWell, dear readers, in less than one week, I will be here:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMONLkClv5mlBrFSt9OhyQSiXOwzMAoLwvYZRvz3A09prxTGzOndehQMk70ELU0mFJEH8FoM6oJPXcXpD_pxxLAaNBkJ3Ul6XOHdbSgX5kki6NjvsQ6lu5DKt_3ieUOklb2wBfzMHtM9E/s1600-h/Vegas!.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202470445405584370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMONLkClv5mlBrFSt9OhyQSiXOwzMAoLwvYZRvz3A09prxTGzOndehQMk70ELU0mFJEH8FoM6oJPXcXpD_pxxLAaNBkJ3Ul6XOHdbSgX5kki6NjvsQ6lu5DKt_3ieUOklb2wBfzMHtM9E/s400/Vegas!.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And then, here:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjCnnAVjzn5mAFAe7Z31nevBqM2VLTw1urnvvuy5HRWUFSMtzxGnEqXfJAnJ7fC3_evJT7NchxJD9HxmvI0OfYsVr8bGqjPS4oOPFvbm4m4QFHNtq0VgSQYKqg4ExFiuNM9Sl5pM59aM/s1600-h/Grand+Canyon.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202470453995518978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjCnnAVjzn5mAFAe7Z31nevBqM2VLTw1urnvvuy5HRWUFSMtzxGnEqXfJAnJ7fC3_evJT7NchxJD9HxmvI0OfYsVr8bGqjPS4oOPFvbm4m4QFHNtq0VgSQYKqg4ExFiuNM9Sl5pM59aM/s400/Grand+Canyon.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And I am totally excited. Husband and I will be traveling with his parents and another couple to the expansive frontier of the West. We are anxiously awaiting our departure this weekend, and I am trying my best to fend off any creeping sense of anxiety. It always happens, but I'm trying to control it as best as I can.<br /><br />Am I alone here? I know a lot of people get nervous when they leave the house, but I feel almost ill whenever I lock the door and leave our pups behind to go out of town. Even though I am excited for the trip and know that it will be wonderful, I still have these overwhelming feelings of fear that something will go wrong and I will not be there to help or stop it.<br /><br />It's possible I should be medicated. Very possible.<br /><br />But I just can't bring myself to do it. I have taken medication for depression before, but have since learned that my depressive tendencies are almost purely situational, and because of that, I am not a prime candidate for medical help. But, this anxiety thing seems to be happening more and more frequently, and I am having trouble controlling it on my own.<br /><br />I despise feeling powerless. And this damn issue makes me feel that way. I feel terrified and nervous. I feel like I want to miss the fun and turn around and go home. I feel like all the precautions I have taken are not enough. I feel sure that our house will burn down and the boys will be stuck inside. I just feel like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">crap</span>.<br /><br />Any tips? As I said before, I know that this is a common feeling when people are going on vacation, so maybe someone out there has some advice or a similar experience to share... if not, that's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ok</span> too. I have left town before, and can do it again. I guess I'm just wishing that it would be a bit easier.<br /><br />On a much happier note: I am actually supremely pumped for this trip and am confident that once we land in fabulous <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Las</span> Vegas I will be ready to flay my wallet and drop some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">cashola</span> on the old roulette wheel. Who knows, maybe I'll even win something. Or I'll just jinx myself by blogging about winning something and come home poor.<br /><br />PS: I have also decided that in addition to my successful bringing back of the word "rad" (Successful is defined here as, "I use it regularly and get weird looks/reactions") I am going to be endeavoring to bring back the phrase "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Sufferin</span>' Succotash."<br /><br />Yeah, I'm rad. Spread it around.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-13483664783801616582008-05-15T11:11:00.004-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.591-05:00RevelationsSo, I just had a shocking revelation the other day. No, really. It was shocking.<br /><br />My best friend is getting married on July 4th. When she and her husband-to-be got engaged last year, she called me to not only tell me the good news, but to ask me to be her maid of honor. Of course, I said, "Yes!" I truly believe it is a great honor to be asked to stand in someone's wedding, and so I felt all the more honored to know that among all the honor already flying around, I was going to be honored extra! (and now I can't write that word without pronouncing it "Hoe-norde")<br /><br />I was touched and very pleased, to say the least.<br /><br />Anyway, I was planning my own nuptials at the time and promised her that as soon as all the shenanigans with that were over, I would turn my attention full force to her big day. Then, the holidays happened. Then, New Year's happened. Then our dog got surgery. Then we went to Jamaica for work. Then we tried to relax a little bit. Needless to say, my MOHing had not been as good as I had hoped.<br /><br />In truth, the MOH's main responsibility is to make sure she leaves herself open to helping the bride whenever possible and plans a really kick-ass shower and bachelorette party that spotlight the bride and give her a chance to relax. So, all in all, I wasn't doing too bad for not having done much.<br /><br />We solidifed a date for the shower and decided to also do the bachelorette party that same night once the shower was over. Good plan. It worked for me, and we'd make it work great for her too. I started throwing the tenative details around, and with some help from my fellow maids, have finally gotten most of the specifics nailed down.<br /><br />But, I tell you what. I think I'm going through some sort of "wedding withdrawl." Here's why:<br /><br />I wake up in the middle of the night because I'm obsessing about getting the shower perfect and I have panicky thoughts that I've forgotten something crucial. I have made several unnecessary Excel spreadsheets that I eventually scrap because I have come up with "an even better Excel spreadsheet" to do my pratically self-explanatory job.<br /><br />Basically, I'm a nutjob. A big one.<br /><br />I was analyzing this yesterday and wondering what the hell was my problem? Because honestly, planning the shower and bachelorette party is nowhere near the headache of planning a wedding, and I haven't felt this way since I was deep in the throes of wedding hysteria. So, why am I treating it like it's the event to beat all events?<br /><br />In my analysis, I uncovered several possible reasons:<br /><br />1. I really love my best friend. She's great! And I want to make it a really special day that runs really really smoothly and allows her to relax.<br />2. I'm anal, and I have problems delegating responsibility (mostly because I've been burned with the whole delegation thing in the past. I will never forgive the slacker in college who read his portion of the presentation directly off of a sheet of paper and who did not bring a visual aid - which was <em>expressly</em> required - and who, therefore, pulled our group grade down to a B from the A it was suppsoed to be. Dick.)<br />3. I am having "wedding withdrawl." I am coining this phrase to mean: "The symptoms felt by a married woman who, in the face of planning an event of any sort, slips right back into her past wedding planning mode and the idiosyncracies that accompany it."<br /><br />Pretty good, eh? I think it totally exists, and I think I totally have it. But really, I'm pretty sure that all of the above are true in my case. Making me both really nice and really screwed up mentally. Great.<br /><br />In spite of all of it, I am pretty damn excited for the whole thing to go down. It should be a fun party. Or at least, it better be...<br /><br />One last revelation, and this is the one where I cry silently into my palms after my shrieks of horror have finally subsided:<br /><br />When she asked me to be her MOH, I was the maid of honor.<br /><br />Now?<br /><br />I am the MATRON of honor.<br /><br />Is it wrong that that phrase makes me feel incredibly old? I mean, MATRON?! I feel like I should run out and buy a bonnet and wire-rimmed glasses and start talking exclusively about how expensive everything is and how when I was a kid a movie only cost $3!<br /><br />Well, I kind of already talk about how movies used to cost $3. I mean, come on! They did! AND now they're like $12, and that's just, well it's ridiculous. Gee golly, gosh darnit! I'm going haul my old married ass over to my rotary phone and place a call to my congressman. $12!? Get serious!Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-65538230788061543462008-05-11T13:20:00.002-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.591-05:00Goodbye to a Friend<div id="ms__id10">One bright Spring day in 1994 my big sister came home from school with a puppy. She and a friend had been driving along one of the country roads that ran near the high school when they saw a "free puppies" sign that they could not ignore. They swung into the farmhouse's drive and walked over to see the puppies in the barn.<br /><br />They were adorable. There were several left, and my sister and her friend both fell in love with them all instantly. As they were playing with them, the owner of the dogs came over and asked, "So, do you want one?"<br /><br />Of course my sister wanted one. But she knew my Dad would be furious. He did not like us to bring home pets, and we already had a dog at home. He would not allow it to stay if she did bring it back with her.<br /><br />The owner continued as the girls mulled things over, "...'cause if you don't want 'em, we're just going to drown 'em."<br /><br />Horrified, each of them grabbed a puppy and thought about grabbing more. How could anyone want to kill such sweet innocent creatures!? They took the two puppies and rushed back to the car.<br /><br />No sooner had my sister sat down than the feelings of dread began. How was she going to spin this one? There was no foreseeable way that our Dad was going to relent and allow a second dog - especially one that would grow as big as this husky/collie mix was going to. No, she'd just have to beg. He'd see the light, he'd see they were saving her from certain death, he'd give in this time.<br /><br />Yeah, right.<br /><br />I was thrilled when she brought the little girl home. She was a sweet, wriggly little thing with beautiful coloring and bright eyes. We all loved her immediately. But, then my Dad came home and the arguments began. We tried our best, but we knew he was right... we couldn't keep her. There were a lot of solid reasons, chief among them was the fact that half our family is horribly allergic to shedding animals. We were all well aware of the fact that we could not have anything more than our wonderful, hypoallergenic poodle, Buffy. My Dad laid down the law: Find it another home within 24 hours, or I'll take it to the shelter.<br /><br />After our tears ended and our feelings mended a bit, the phone calls began. Unfortunately for us, and for our sweet little puppy, it didn't seem that any of our friends were in the market for a big shedding dog either. We started losing hope.<br /><br />And then my Mom stepped forward and grabbed the phone.<br /><br />And called our Granny.<br /><br />In all her years, my Granny had never paid one red cent for any of her pets. All animals that lived at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Chez</span> West were strays who were lucky enough to wander onto her yard. Her dog, Harry "Harrison Ford" West, had just passed on, and she only had Tweeter, her bob-tailed cat in the house, so my Mom thought that she just might be in the market for a new challenge.<br /><br />She said yes. :)<br /><br />She named her Heidi Savannah, and it was at this moment that little Heidi officially joined our clan. She was a challenging dog. She was highly spirited, and there were many years where she was so out of control, that we could barely walk her without running. But we loved her very much. She had this very long, very proud nose. And she had the darkest, most intelligent eyes. She was a beauty. And she'd communicate with little howls that would shape her big mouth into the tiniest little O. She was good-natured and lovely. And my Granny just adored her.<br /><br />Many of you know from past posts that my Granny now lives in a nursing home. When we had to move her there, she was allowed to take her cat, but she was not allowed to take Heidi. This was really hard for all of us, especially my Granny. The hardest part was that, for a moment, Heidi was homeless again. We still couldn't have shedding animals, and now the sanctuary that my Granny had provided for close to ten years, was no longer available.<br /><br />We spent a couple of days making the calls to the usual suspects, dog-lovers and people with other large pets, but no dice. My Mom had automatically begun to rehearse her speech to my Dad in her head where she somehow convinced him to let her stay with us, but it turned out, she didn't need it.<br /><br />In a highly unlikely turn of events, my mom received a phone call from my Granny's only living sister. In the call, my Great Aunt said, "I know you're looking for a place to put my sister's dog. Well, I think I'd like to take her. She'd have to stay mostly in the garage and backyard, but I think it'd be alright." My Mom's jaw just dropped. My Great Aunt had not only never had a pet of any sort, but she was the white carpet type. The type with plastic pathways through her house. They type that did not have anything that would cause a mess. The type that was ALL WRONG to have a big shedding dog.<br /><br />But our options were all tapped. This was the best offer we could get. And so it was that our Heidi girl moved into her new residence: My Great Aunt's garage.<br /><br />It did not take long for the boundaries to weaken and expand. "Just the garage" became "Just the garage and kitchen." "Just the garage and kitchen" turned even more quickly into "Just the garage, kitchen, and living room." Pretty soon there were no boundaries, and my Great Aunt was hooked. She was head over heels for our gal Heidi.<br /><br />What was most amazing to all of us were the changes we saw happening in our Aunt. She was becoming more sensitive and loving. She began expressing feelings and communicating more effectively with all of us. Our relationships with her began to grow. And it was no secret to anyone that Heidi was the reason. She had brought joy into her life. And it was so infectious that she couldn't help but share it. It was wonderful. And we all felt blessed by it.<br /><br />I spoke to my Mom today, and she told me that our Heidi girl is gone. She was 15, which is a very long life for a dog her size, and it was time for her to go. My great Aunt couldn't make the call on her own. She didn't want to lose her. But our gal could barely stand anymore, and previous to that she had lost control of her bowels which caused her to look and feel ashamed. It broke both of their hearts, but they took her to the vet to explain the symptoms.<br /><br />He agreed that it was time for her to leave us.<br /><br />So my Mom and Aunt held hands and watched as our beautiful and loving Heidi finally laid her proud head down to rest. It was very fast and painless, of course. But my great Aunt and my Mom were just heartbroken. They both hugged her and kissed her sweet nose. And then they quietly said their goodbyes.<br /><br />I'm trying not to be too sad about it. Heidi led a very full and wonderful life. I guess more than anything, I just wanted to pay her some tribute here. She brought joy to two old women who didn't have much before, and she brought our family together. She was a binding force in our hearts, and she is missed and loved immensely by many people and always will be.<br /><br />I love you so much, and I'll miss you a lot, old gal.<br /><br />Goodbye my Heidi girl, goodbye. </div>Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-44019198335268798522008-05-08T18:17:00.003-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.592-05:00MIA in MinneapolisOy!<br /><br />Aloha from the great state of Minnesota!<br /><br />I've been here for three days. And I'm ready to go home. It's nice and everything, but three days away from Husband is difficult for me. Three days away from home and my dogs and all my stuff... it sucks, to be honest. <br /><br />But, tomorrow, my ship sails! Well, really it'll be a plane, but it will be heading toward the great state of Illinois (home to world-class democrat, and my personal choice for el presidente: Barack Obama) and the fabulous city of Chicago (which, God love it, is one of the only cities still TOTALLY run by the mafia. Love it).<br /><br />It can't come soon enough!<br /><br />Oh, and what is it with people in Minneapolis being total A-Holes while driving!? I mean, I know how to drive in a big city, but this place is like an endless parade of complete mean-faces on the freeway. Don't get me wrong, everyone is perfectly nice (in that reliable Midwestern way that I love and adore) outside of their cars. But, magically, when they step inside their Toyota Camrys(would you spell the plural of Camry as "camries"? No way. It looks too weird like that - and PS there are like a bazillion of those damn cars in this place!) they all suddenly become rabid, shithead assfaces! I've been almost hit several times while trying to change lanes in traffic, and no one waves to say thanks when you let them in, and it's all a big mess. <br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />Good thing I don't live here, because apparently it would require that I become a jerky driver, and I am staunchly against that. Staunchly. <br /><br />Doesn't staunchly sound like a really good name for a mean, fat, sidekick character in a movie? Like a cartoon or something?<br /><br />Just a thought.<br /><br />So long twin cities! I'll be back later. Gators. <br /><br />Mean, bad-driving gators with big chips on their "driving shoulders."Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-59692892864519172622008-05-02T15:22:00.002-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.592-05:00Well...Nope.<br /><br />I'm never going to stop laughing at this. Ever. EVER!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7y-x2fWKbmo&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7y-x2fWKbmo&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Thank you, Husband! This is the funniest (and weirdest/potentially most scarring) thing I've seen.<br /><br />Happy Friday!Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-28389186680244639962008-05-01T11:20:00.005-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.592-05:00A Reminder...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJbKSEkSkQJ0AW_-Psfk6P_I50sSKiSDu3W4lKKQAu2autf5-XyPNZBQ88xI3Tgca4eBRpYYXPULMZE2tNpWSSJFOx_Q7RBVKBYn1DIwG0TUELbv4vaVMVt746tcvVmcXR_bm1e_C8mE/s1600-h/Gain.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195457539733144178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJbKSEkSkQJ0AW_-Psfk6P_I50sSKiSDu3W4lKKQAu2autf5-XyPNZBQ88xI3Tgca4eBRpYYXPULMZE2tNpWSSJFOx_Q7RBVKBYn1DIwG0TUELbv4vaVMVt746tcvVmcXR_bm1e_C8mE/s400/Gain.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was grocery shopping the other week, and I wandered down the household products aisle just to stand indecisively in front of the laundry detergent for a few minutes. I knew that we were almost out (so it was definitely on the list) but, as I am known to do, I couldn't decide which one to try.<br /><br />I rarely stick with any one product long. In fact, I frequently change all the products in my house and toiletry cabinet. I like to switch it up and experience new things. It's nice to have a change of pace - even if that change of pace is simply switching from lilac scented to lemon scented dish detergent. Plus, I'm a total whore for new and improved packaging (yep, I'm the sucker that remarks on how cute that bottle of ketchup is - I know, LAME).<br /><br />So, I was studying the different brands and checking out the options when I realized that I had actually tried most of them. I wasn't interested in any of the Tide products because Husband hates them for some reason, and I did not see anything earth-shattering happening with Cheer, so I turned my attention to one of the only brands I had not yet purchased: Gain.<br /><br />I'd heard good things about Gain. The commercials boast an impressive longevity in scent, and a college friend of Husband's used to finish her laundry, hold a piece up to her face, inhale dramatically and deeply, and say "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ahhhhhhh</span>. Gain." So, I decided, what the heck, I'll give it a shot.<br /><br />Life progressed and clothing got dirty and we finally had the occasion to use the Gain several days later. Several loads of laundry, and a special wash for my favorite "<a href="http://www.target.com/Simply-Shabby-Chic-Cozy-Blanket/dp/B000FE7GGC/sr=1-2/qid=1209659796/ref=sr_1_2/601-3508260-3648916?ie=UTF8&index=target&rh=k%3Acozy%20blanket&page=1">napping blanket</a>" were done without much incident (in fact, I had almost completely forgotten that I'd bought the Gain at all). I folded the laundry (because that's my job), put it away, and cuddled up on the couch with my favorite (clean!) blanket to watch some TV.<br /><br />As I was sitting there, I pulled some of the blanket to my face and took in the smell. It was lovely, fresh and clean, and over the next hour or so I probably smelled the damn thing 20 times. What struck me as strange, though, was that on that 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span> smell, something hit me as achingly familiar. You know that feeling? When life suddenly slaps you in the face with a memory? A memory so stowed away that it could only be convinced out with a smell or sight or incident? It was one of those moments. I smelled that blanket and WHAM. I knew there was something there to remember. Something that made me immediately feel safe, warm, and happy.<br /><br />It did not come to me right away. In fact, it was not until the next night when we had finished with dinner that I finally pinpointed it.<br /><br />Husband was washing the dishes (because that's his job) and I had just sat down to relax a bit. I reached over to grab my blanket, and as I wrapped its warmth up around me, the reason for the memory came rushing in so quickly that my eyes welled up with tears and my heart filled with happiness and comfort.<br /><br />It was my best friend.<br /><br />Her clothes. The sheets on the guest bed at her parents' house. Hugging her and being near her. She smelled like this. It was the detergent that her mother used to wash her clothes in high school. It was the smell of being close to her and seeing her everyday, and living in the same town.<br /><br />So simple. And so obvious at that moment that I couldn't believe I'd ever forgotten it. So many nights I slept in the double bed in her parents' guest bedroom. So many nights as teenage girls, we'd fallen asleep with this scent all around us and talked about all the stupid, simple, teenage things that we cared about.<br /><br />It sounds silly, but smelling that blanket brought her back to me for a minute. For just a minute I was 17 and I was sleeping over at my best friend's house. For just a moment I was back there in that safe little place that always calmed my teen angst and rebellion. Her home had felt like my own during those <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">tumultuous</span> years. Whenever I felt misunderstood, she understood me. And whenever I was scared, she comforted me. And all of that love and all of that friendship was all wrapped up in the way those sheets smelled and in the way the scent called back how I would finally drift off to sleep feeling secure again, feeling like I knew myself again, feeling at peace.<br /><br />Of course, we are still best friends. But, I don't see her or speak to her all that often. There used to be a day when I never doubted that we would always be as close as we were at 17. There used to be a day when I would have laughed at the idea of not speaking to her at least twice everyday. But that day is here.<br /><br />It's part of growing up, and I know that. So, the lump in my throat was brief but poignant. I love her and miss her. And I remember us then more clearly than I have in years. And I will not forget us.<br /><br />Thank you, Gain. Thank you.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-85851307222389329172008-04-29T16:48:00.003-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.592-05:00No Sooner Had I Promised...... than the corporate bandwagon of my company rolled into town. Argh. There can be very little posting whilst they watch us all like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFOXuRPbtQ8S1C-LHtqosXHyloEF42kRvho_AbLr7xgFS6OdKqNzKnxJw35Jt9N8M5pIkMXupDL3kYAHKbT5RXPkxZRwFjp9sIxSuwi_gA5a2bGms_UZLmcDS2kOMtJGmsopFKSd3jtlw/s1600-h/hawk.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFOXuRPbtQ8S1C-LHtqosXHyloEF42kRvho_AbLr7xgFS6OdKqNzKnxJw35Jt9N8M5pIkMXupDL3kYAHKbT5RXPkxZRwFjp9sIxSuwi_gA5a2bGms_UZLmcDS2kOMtJGmsopFKSd3jtlw/s400/hawk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194787872727319138" /></a><br /><br />Suddenly I feel like a little field mouse... and a dancing monkey... a dancing field mouse-monkey.<br /><br />Corporate bullshit. Love it.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-88548839525311928362008-04-23T14:06:00.002-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.592-05:00For Those Having a Boring Afternoon....I give you: Christopher Walken!<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.hulu.com/embed/JT14-vlfFLr0Q8QuNBXTCA" width="510" height="295" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed><br /><br />I'm peeing my pants a little. I love this man (even though he is looking rather corpse-like these days).<br /><br />GOOGLY EYES! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHH!Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-8384647350986158382008-04-22T10:33:00.006-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.592-05:00You Heard it Here First: Everything's Bigger in TexasIncluding the hangovers.<br /><br />Ouch.<br /><br />Free wine + Me = One hell of a good time (AKA: I got drunk). Which is fine, really. I don't go out to "party" anymore. I don't go to bars and tie one on or anything like that. I do enjoy some wine at home on a pretty regular basis, but I don't really cut totally loose all that often. So, going to a friend's wedding and getting smashed is totally ok in my book - and as far as I know I did not make an ass out of myself, which makes it all even better.<br /><br />But, damn. Waking up at 6 AM the next morning for our flight was rough. After we left the hotel and were up in the great blue sky I realized that I had almost zero recollection of what I had done first thing that morning. I was just going through the motions (which, and I'm going to credit my <a href="http://havingfunwithfeelingssince2007.blogspot.com/2008/04/death-by-embarrassment.html">sleepwalking habit</a> here, I apparently do pretty well). You know, shower, brush teeth, get dressed, throw shit in bag, walk around to make sure there is not additional shit to put in bag... things like that. We made it out on time and did not forget anything - score for us.<br /><br />We ate a pretty fulfilling breakfast of eggs, toast and hash browns at the airport - which, in hindsight were probably crap but they tasted like am-freaking-brosia (the nectar of the Gods - in case you did not have Greek/Roman mythology shoved down your throats at some point in time like I did). I was loving the eggs and was feeling much much better.<br /><br />Then we flew.<br /><br />And I thought I just might die.<br /><br />Southwest (which, please don't get me wrong, they are definitely my favorite airline) does not have any direct flights from Dallas to Chicago. And that blows. Both there and back we had to do a short layover where we sat on the plane and waited for the new passengers to come aboard before continuing on. Fine, I don't mind waiting. it was the whole "let's take off and land TWICE" thing that made me want to toss my proverbial cookies all over the place.<br /><br />Like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggg3oVjSugzhYO1I2pLrMl9DXWWc2hY4YBawjr-aiaisCkUtuaXdf0GnaMAdLMWqjR2UbYV6yfgKstyXTDzg_wiKFR5g6832i9nIkgadw8UrUw8BcrWb0TwDliocJ3ClzUZpnVNndAih4/s1600-h/cookie_monster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggg3oVjSugzhYO1I2pLrMl9DXWWc2hY4YBawjr-aiaisCkUtuaXdf0GnaMAdLMWqjR2UbYV6yfgKstyXTDzg_wiKFR5g6832i9nIkgadw8UrUw8BcrWb0TwDliocJ3ClzUZpnVNndAih4/s400/cookie_monster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192097221745263186" /></a><br /><br />Cute, eh?<br /><br />But, we made it without incident, ordered a big pizza (which I ate most of - regrettably) and then proceeded to partake in our individual relaxation activities. Husband played his computer game, and I laid, sloth-like, on the couch and watched the Golden Girls. <br /><br />Bliss. <br /><br />Next weekend, project "let's clean out the garage so that it can fit both our cars" and project "let's clean up our dirty ass house" commence. Spring cleaning has never seen a fury for cleanliness like the one currently residing in the depths of my gut. I will conquer all disorganized closets and scour each surface. Even the dogs will be getting makeovers (ok, they're just getting an overdue grooming out of the way). The goal is that by Sunday evening I will be able to sit down and victoriously look upon my spotless home and well-manicured pups, smile with the deepest sense of satisfaction and then lament the loss of my weekend to chores - which will, let's face it, inevitably happen.<br /><br />More on this later. And more from this corner of the blogosphere tomorrow.<br /><br />PS: I'm going to try to be more diligent about posting more frequently. I know how disappointing it is for all 7 of you to come over here and find nothing new. Don't you fret my dears, I'm on it.<br /><br />On it, I am.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-7087281591600995632008-04-17T13:56:00.003-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.592-05:00Blech.I just got back from the dentist. I left work and used my lunch break to get my teeth drilled.<br /><br />It was awful.<br /><br />Even with today's modern technology, getting your teeth drilled is still fucking horrible (sorry for the profanity, but I still can't feel my lower jaw or tongue and it's pissing me off).<br /><br />I immediately came to my desk, logged into You Tube, and found this video:<br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bOtMizMQ6oM&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bOtMizMQ6oM&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />Dirty bastards.Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-36427270176773909882008-04-17T10:54:00.004-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.592-05:00Texas, Here I Come!Watch out Dallas, TX!<br /><br />I will be prowling your streets by this time tomorrow, and I know how to prowl... believe me.<br /><br />Anybody know anything good to do in Dallas besides eating? I've been trying to find an activity to keep Husband and I occupied whilst we wait for our friend's rehearsal dinner to begin. We are slackers (it's true) so by the time we booked our flight all the good ones were gone, and we ended up on a 7 AM flight. Ouch. That means a 4 AM wake-up call and a 10:40 AM arrival in Dallas, so we have, oh, about 8.5 hours to kill before the dinner is underway.<br /><br />I looked up tickets to go to Six Flags down there, but we really don't have enough time to spend 2 hours waiting for a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">rollercoaster</span> that will probably end up sucking to then wait two more hours for a second potentially <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">sucky</span> coaster... it would hardly be worth our $60.<br /><br />Then I thought, Hey! We could go to a museum or something. And I found this one:<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbr9jhM2YW5sqazrAp8BYsIeBUWUHFzkdq9LnpIe7qYU2At4aLKjTmmVc1VnPOABFkjwVHc11dzYs1PcZ9i7LtOGkl9VwQAIqyX3y2ufSksYoeotbOjBojL8sWA1dQREOcOLIk-n3rd8/s1600-h/cockroachmuseum.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190248826176247250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbr9jhM2YW5sqazrAp8BYsIeBUWUHFzkdq9LnpIe7qYU2At4aLKjTmmVc1VnPOABFkjwVHc11dzYs1PcZ9i7LtOGkl9VwQAIqyX3y2ufSksYoeotbOjBojL8sWA1dQREOcOLIk-n3rd8/s400/cockroachmuseum.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Yep. It's the Cockroach Hall of Fame! Which, in spite of what you may immediately think, I think sounds AWESOME! However, it's in Plano, TX - which <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">doesn't</span> sound awesome. So, I kept looking and I found something called the:</p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>THE CONSPIRACY MUSEUM</strong></span></p><p align="left">Which, HOLY HELL, sounds rad! It should also sound extremely fitting for those of you who have the pleasure of knowing Husband - because he's TOTALLY into that stuff. But (and it is with a heavy heart I inform you of this) The Conspiracy Museum has been closed. Bummer.</p><p align="left">So, I'm kind of stuck! No cockroaches, no conspiracies. What are a couple of kids supposed to do!? Yeah, yeah, yeah they do have other museums of the more average variety, and there's an aquarium that we might check out, but we're from Chicago! We've got all that stuff right here! I want to do something that is quintessentially Dallas-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ish</span>. </p><p align="left">I guess for the time being we will just plan on walking around and looking at stuff. Fun. But the wedding that we are going there to attend should be tons of fun, so it will more than make up for a couple of hours of blah. </p><p align="left">Hopefully I'll have some interesting stories to share on Monday when we return from our mini-vacation to the warmer climates of Texas. At the very least I'll have a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">rockin</span>' wedding recap and an airline tale or two (because <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">something's</span> always happening at the airport).</p><p align="left">Here's wishing you all a great weekend. I'll catch you on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">flipside</span>!</p><p><br /></p>Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-40006787456580439132008-04-14T10:33:00.006-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.593-05:00Weekend UpdateHappy Monday, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">suckas</span>!<br /><br />I am in an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">unfathomably</span> good mood today, which is totally bizarre considering that when I woke up this morning I considered breaking my own arm to avoid having to come into work. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ok</span>, I wouldn't really break my own arm because that would involve having some crazy-ass level of determination that I do not possess. Quite honestly, if the zombie plague ever comes, I will be one of the first to die - and most likely it will be because I will just stand still and scream until I'm eaten - just to get it over with, you know?<br /><br />Anyway, I'm glad to be alive and not plagued by zombies or anything of that sort. This weekend was rad for many reasons too, so that is another contributor to my zest for being zesty.<br /><br />Husband is awesome and he painted our bedroom and bathroom this weekend. It's blue, and I L-O-V-E it. I promise I will try to post a picture of it so you can all be inspired by his painting talents. So, I was a happy homemaker and I went to Target (pronounced tar-jay (say it like you're French but avoid becoming conceited over your worldliness, please)) and had a grand ole time picking out a couple of new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">accoutrements</span> (also pronounced like a fancy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">frenchie</span>) for our boudoir (God, I am ROCKING the french today) - well actually, most of the time I was restraining myself from purchasing EVERY <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">knick</span>-knack in the damn place because everything is completely adorable (God! I love Target). I mean, there were at least 10 bowls and/or glass <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">thingees</span> that I HAD TO HAVE. Of course, I forced myself to pick just two... so I did. But then, I found this:<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mLDrzb915StbFj05UIKGHpXUDk44gBQH1Hu_l0-Q_x3MOdJKENVdKi6IQkISbqVpeKz5X4Qw5yzZ61w7Jv7slFqH-1ReLVga1NgYPjp5VaWptpeC5kvrGRM0t-390kQX823_pr9R6wk/s1600-h/Fish+Vase.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189211067588253122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mLDrzb915StbFj05UIKGHpXUDk44gBQH1Hu_l0-Q_x3MOdJKENVdKi6IQkISbqVpeKz5X4Qw5yzZ61w7Jv7slFqH-1ReLVga1NgYPjp5VaWptpeC5kvrGRM0t-390kQX823_pr9R6wk/s400/Fish+Vase.jpg" border="0" /></a> OH.</p><p>MY.</p><p>GOD.</p><p>This is the best thing I have ever SEEN! So, I quickly threw one of my selected items back on the shelf and lovingly carried this completely useless fish-shaped vase straight to the checkout line. I'm freaking nuts about it.</p><p>But, I also have no freaking clue what I'm going to do with the thing. I don't care though. It's cool and it's mine and I'm thrilled. Hoot!</p><p>God, I'm shallow.<br /><br /></p>Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7392049045264672831.post-35100664350697268742008-04-09T14:20:00.002-05:002009-07-27T14:32:08.593-05:00Aw, YEAH!Check it!<br /><br />The blog's got a new attitude, eh? I'm INFINITELY pleased with myself right now, so I'm not even going to ask for anyone's opinion. If you hate it, shut up about it! If you love it, feel free to sing my praises. :)<br /><br />And here's a funny clip to brighten up yet another ENDLESS Wednesday. Hump day, Schump day!<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Db5ukd6020Y&hl=" width="425" height="355" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"></embed>Sensitiva McFeelingslyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07041825389681834624noreply@blogger.com5