I have unexpected company. She is from Iowa and she is visiting California for the first time. Her name is Flat Bridget and it may be obvious, but she is flat. Not flat in the way my sister complained about throughout her teenage years, but flat as in 2-D.
One of the things I have noticed about Flat Bridget is that she is always in a good mood and is quick to offer a smile. For example, this weekend as I struggled with the vaccum cleaner attachments I attempted to use for the very first time in the 10 years since purchasing said vaccuum, which resulted in the expiration of a very fine and repulsive dust forcefully shot out all over my person.... SMILE! Later, I tackled the complicated task of "Eating with Utensils" and I dropped a heaping fork-full of salad on the front of my shirt leaving an oily splotch. Twice... SMILE! Stubbed my toe.... SMILE! Got toothpaste in my eye (again!)... SMILE. SMILE. SMILE.
Thanks, Flat Bridget, for witnessing me in my natural habitat as my less than perfect self and for thinking that that is OK by you. It reminds a clumsy, goofy, messy girl like me that there is a lot to smile about even when you are slightly blinded in your right eye due to toothpaste poisoning.
*When you share explicit details about your friends and family's dirty laundry, adding it to the public record in the process of avoiding your public duty, you sure do look trustworthy, for sure. *When you continue to say "coon't" instead of "couldn't", the tips of your fake french manicure simply glimmer. *When you reach into your purse, how many plastic wrappers are you finding in there? According to my ear, it sounds like a couple hundred. If college lecture halls have taught us nothing, it is that swiftness is key in this situation. In-n-out. And CornNuts? Unforgivable. *Is "Freaky Friday" the most appropriate movie we could be watching in anticipation of participating in a trial? Disney comedy or not, there is a whole lot of law breaking going on, not to mention La Lohan's arrest record. Just sayin'. *Hey, a free pen. Oh, lucky day.
Do you love BOSSY? Because I love BOSSY and BOSSY just stopped in San Francisco on her excellent road trip. And I missed her because well kids, some times things don't work out as planned. But my sister and her husband went and took emu chili and strawberries and chocolate and drank lots of wine in my place. Check out my sister's account and then go see what BOSSY has to say about all of this.
Now even though I wasn't there, in true BOSSY fashion I was in pursuit of finding a solution to my on-going hair issues. My hair issue being that for some time my hair has been a shade that does not occur in nature: not blond, not brunette, not red... maybe tortoise shell? Anyway, thanks to Garnier Nutrisse it is now THIS color:
It is still somewhat blond and brunette and red, but at least now it looks a little more intentional and not as if I am a new breed of woman... the American Brindle Sheasy. Not a pure-breed of course, but easily trainable with minimal shedding.
It only cost me 3 and a half dog treats to get these guys to admit it turned out fabulous. See their reassuring expressions? Woman's best friends, indeed.
A rundown of a recent dream I had (please feel free to interpret):
I arrive at a small party and a mysterious "good friend" is eager to introduce me to one of the other guests - she's positive we would really hit it off. I am skeptical and not really interested but indulge my "good friend" and she guides me to the backyard. It is dark outside and there sitting on the lawn is an old, yellow roller coaster - not the rails, just the cars of the coaster. In the front car, sits Seth Rogen. The "me" at the party is not aware that this person is in movies, so I am not sure if I am "in" a movie or what. His hygiene seems suspicious, like maybe he is clammy? I sit next to him in the roller coaster car, which is uncomfortable as it is made of a very hard, cold steel. There is a safety bar and we pull it closed onto our laps. There is not much room so while we are having our conversation, we speak not facing each other but looking straight ahead. The conversation is pleasant but not overly impressive. After a while, I excuse myself and return to the party.
A couple hours pass and I am about to leave the party. My "good friend" asks if the guy that looks like Seth Rogen is taking me home and I say, "Sure". We leave. We are walking down the street and when I look over the guy no longer looks like Seth Rogen, but Hugh Jackman. He is wearing a leather jacket with the collar up and staring intently at me. I am very creeped out. He leans in to kiss me and I can't avoid him. He starts kissing me. The kiss is the worst kiss I have ever experienced in a dream or real life. He is getting spit all over my face. He tries to be playful and nibble on my lips but he is actually biting them and it pinches. He stops kissing me and looks at me and grins. He is very satisfied with himself. I am speechless. I wake up.
My first thoughts are of indecision: How do I break the news to my good friend, Jen, that her crush is such a lousy kisser? Will she be mad at me and accuse me of lying? Maybe I shouldn't tell her if I am a true friend, but what if she finds out anyway?
Then I remember that we don't know Hugh Jackman, so I switch gears to I CAN'T WAIT TO TELL JEN THAT HUGE ACK-MAN IS A SLOPPY KISSER!!!
My dog has fleas. Okay, maybe just one flea, last week. I killed it and even though I haven't seen another one since, I feel as if they are ON ME but invisible and gathering regularly to re-enact Dancing with the Stars on my body.
In order to soothe the dog (and my not-so-mild paranoia) I found some "natural" spray for dogs that repels and kills things that go "itch" in the night... and in the car... and at your desk at work. The ingredients include a bunch of stuff like peppermint oil and jfksj oil and jlsdfkjlj oil. OK, I didn't look that closely but it was all easily recognizable herby-type things and there was no skull and crossbones on the bottle.... SOLD!
I slightly mist the dog with the spray. Immediately I feel as if someone has stuffed each my nostrils with a tablespoon of a Ben-Gay and Noxzema concoction and sealed them shut with Duct Tape. I sneeze.
The doggy sneezes. The doggy sneezes again. The doggy starts sliding her body across the rug scraping her cheeks as she goes. Doggy does this again. And again. Doggy wants this smell OFF. Doggy slides her body along the mattress. Doggy crawls under the bed back and forth four times. Doggy jumps on couch and attempts to crawl under the couch cushion. Doggy jumps on bed. Doggy rolls around and around on blankets, sheets, and pillows. Doggy crawls under chair. Aaaaaaahhh... doggy is not happy, but doggy is calm.
Two hours later, the apartment smells like a warehouse for hanging Pine-Tree deodorizers. Doggy is staring at me and sighing deeply every 5 minutes. Time to go to bed. I give the doggy a cookie as reward for... um, not freaking out? I crawl in bed. I start to read my book. Doggy continues to stare. Doggy crawls under the pillow upon which I am resting my head. Ignoring doggy.
One hour later, no sleep for me. it's 11:00. Doggy will not sleep. I get up, run the bath, chase doggy all over apartment, plop doggy in bathtub, rub doggy with shampoo, and towel-dry doggy.
Hello! Um... you are kinda sitting in my spot. Yes, this is a public place. And yes, everyone is welcome here and no, my name is not on that chair. Nonetheless, that is where I sit. Ask Joe, the coffee guy. He likes to look over my shoulder particularly if I am uploading pictures. Joe is a photographer at heart, I am guessing. But he knows this is my table and well you are kinda in the way.
I lurve, lurve, lurve this Starbucks because during the day it is a virtual beehive, but at night it is a haven with nary a soul sipping on a latte. See, this particular Starbucks only has two outlets and my battery only lasts an hour and I got a lot of work to do. The other outlet is by the handicap table and well, I've just never been able to work up the nerve to sit there for fear of getting an evil staredown by someone for which that station is designed. It is tempting, but I imagine the anxiety alone would have me checking the door every 2 minutes waiting in anticipation of the moment I am officially a dirtbag. If it makes you feel any better, I never use the handicapped stall in the restroom, either, for the same reason.
So, right now, I am waiting not so patiently. Because I know from experience that in a matter of moments the soothing sounds of Paul Simon will put you right where I want you. Your eyelids are getting heavy.... you are nodding off... you are gently pushed across the store whilst in your chair only to awaken in the nice seat next to the newspaper rack. Sweet dreams, cowboy.
Remember March? A post for every day. Commitment, I gots it.
I know I've been neglecting you so far this month, but baby, I'm determined to make things right between us. Get ready for a posting marathon 'cause I'm about to rock your world with all the posts I'm about to put out there... ALL IN ONE DAY. That's right. Anything for my pookie.
I know it's a bit like skipping out on flossing until two days before you see the dentist, but please know that THIS flossing comes from the bottom of my heart.
sheasy is.... Sheila Dilling. Here I am, writing down my thoughts and using way too much punctuation. A slightly confused but charming gal looks to live life creatively, finish what she starts and get organized at the same time.