SassyBlonde

Just created my own nation-- we'll seehow I do when I put my money where my mouth is.

Found over at Donna's site.

I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why my fingers smell like garlic. ????

Sorry I've been so silent of late guys. It's been a crazy week. Sis left Wednesday, I was up 'til 4:30 Thursday doing quintet transcriptions, and then Easter weekend, which is for musicians like tax day is for accountants. All recovered tho, and will be writing more shortly.

I. AM. SO. EXCITED. Hubby's taking me to see George Carlin tomorrow for my birthday. EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! It's almost like having a day-early birthday!

Since today's my birthday, I'm taking the day off. Talk to y'all tomorrow!

Very excited here. Just found out we're getting a Borders one block over in a month or so.... yeeee-haaaaaaaaaaa!

Sorry so long without a post guys-- just dealing with a bunch of crap here and kinda needed a vacation--- I'll leave notice next time!

Had a nice visit with my Mom last week, and got to go se my aunt's house in Kitty Hawk, NC. It was fabulous! We picked strawberries at the u-pick field across the road and went to the beach... ahhh.. I got a new pair (2 actually) of Reefs as well. They are the closest you can get to heaven in a shoe, I swear.

This band popped up on my BlogSnob rotation a minute ago. Any band with a song called "Soap Me, Shave Me, Shag Me Till I Scream" is at least worth a listen in my book. teehee

LJ Barcode LJ username:

Who knew I could be quantified into a bunch of little black lines? No curves to be seen there, tho. Gotta check out the real thing!!

Courtesy of Morgaine LeFay, who now owns a crap-load of shares in SB.

Our house is beautiful, but geez, I'd love to live in this one, eh? Yipes. Gorgeous.

Tag! What a great idea Natalie had-- to leave a comment on every blog you visit today, just so they know you were there! After all, not every commenter is necessarily a regular reader, and it's always nice to get a howdy from new folks, so TAG, YOU'RE IT!!!

NOT WORK SAFE, but funny as hell. 'Nuff said.

Courtesy of Jessica.

Went to the beach today. Such nice weather! And I managed to keep from getting sunburned in the bargain.

Oy. F*&K. I have the world's worst headache right now. Heh. Any good remedies for headaches out there?

Found a great new book to read- Sappho's Leap by Erica Jong. Jong is the author of the highly controversial (for its time) Fear of Flying, which was truly a groundbreaking work for its time since it dealt openly with the truths and questions every woman goes through concerning her sexuality.

Sappho's Leap is full of the same kind of ruminations, and Jong writes powerfully beautiful prose about the nature of love, be it between a woman and man or two women, as well as about other kinds of love such as that between mothers and daughters or sisters and brothers.

The ancient Greek poet Sappho is the main character, and through her eyes Jong paints an intricate and intimate picture of how we experience love as human beings. She also creates a detailed fantasy of Sappho's life,about which very little is known, and much is legend, such as the tale that she leapt to her death after being spurned by a younger man.

All in all, I highly recommend it.

Ah well, no Powerball jackpot for me! Just have to buy another ticket for Saturday! Heh.

And speaking of sassy blondes-- who knew? We all knew she was synthetic. Now she's a toon. Stripperella, even.

Sorry for the hiatus. I kind of need a little break, so I'll be back in a couple of days. Got the piano, pictures are forthcoming. Also got the call for the Mantovani Orchestra tour, details also forthcoming. Y'all hang in there-- I'll be back Monday-ish.

Wow. I've just watched probably the most disturbing thing I've ever seen in my life, and believe it or not, it was on PBS.

It was all about The Donner Party, immigrants to California before the Gold Rush who , among many other hardships, became trapped by winter blizzards on the journey in the Sierras and were starved and forced to eat the flesh of their dead companions to survive. The most chilling thing is the survivors' pictures afterwards-- they look haunted, and almost posessed.

Eeeeehhh. Eeeew. No sleep for me tonight-- too many imaginary ghosts running around. *shivers*

So it's been a little while since I checked in. Lots of doings around here, for sure. Got new shelves, got a new piano, got a new gig, getting a new cat, and traveling to new and bizarre places. However, of all the interesting things that have occurred lately, nothing has been as strange as what I found in the driveway this morning.

A postcard.

From someone totally unfamiliar in Cairo.

Addressed to someone totally unfamiliar in Belgium.

Heh. Hang on kids-- it's going to be a bumpy ride.

All righty-- to all of you internet-communication addicted peeps out there--

If, when spotting me on IM, you see my away message up, do not IM me. I AM WORKING OR OTHERWISE INVOLVED. Should you decide that details such as "I'm tired-- I'm going to bed" or "I'm getting offline now" are urgent and I need instant notification-- don't flatter yourself. I'm more perceptive than you think. If I see you drop off (and I can, in fact, see you online) I will assume that you had more pressing business to attend to, like, say, a life. I take no offense in you leaving me alone. In fact I appreciate it.

This information is also taboo when you decide that since I can't be IM'd, I must read the email that you send me to that effect. DON'T DO IT. I don't have the time to put up with that BS. That's a really good way to ensure I never talk to you online again.

Oh, and IM-ing me to tell me how busy you are and can't talk? Also a huge no-no. If you're that busy, get the hell off and do the shit already. You're wasting your valuable time. I don't care.

This has been a public service announcement of the SassyBlonde website.

Boy, I've had a lot of rants here lately!! I'll try to lighten it up a little. :)

Woohoo! Day off tomorrow! Yippee!

Whole Foods's whole bean Decaf Expresso.

Go get some. Now. Run, do not walk.

Yay!! Happy one year to me!! I wish I could say that I've been a good read, but hey-- we all could be a little more regular, no? :) ::smoosh::

Mornin' all-- time for a little computer maintenance. Meh.

Weeell... it's been a pretty hard-core day. Shopped for pants at Old Navy, taught a piano lesson, and shopped with Hubby for a new chess book. Time to go dig out my suitcase and the rest of the Halloween stuff.

Just FYI, in a month this site will be the home for my ramblings from my orchestra's Christmas tour, along with pictures. Already I'm making packing lists and practice-packing. Bleah. But y'all will be the first to see the ongoing adventures of Sassy (moi) and the whole crew!!

::smooches::

What a day, what a day. Started off this morning by grabbing brunch at Savory in Takoma Park. Best damn waffles in DC, and where else can you get a Sunday brunch serving vegan sausage? Rock ON.

Then shopping with Luc, in search of luggage, which we found, and in the process scored a majorly hot little pleated skirt. Rock. Just a little more Pilates and I'm good to go on those legs, friends.

However, the really fun part of the day (brace yourselves folks) was, when leaving, I stepped out of my car to check something and closed and locked the door. With the car still running. Poor hubby. He had to drive all of the way up fom Silver Spring to bail me out, then we had to kill 2 hours of time before call for our show. All smooches go out to him, though, for major knight-in-shining-armor goodness today!

K. Gonna have a little game goodness then grab some Zs. Unruly parents to deal with tomorrow.

Ever wanted to be a vampire? Click here.

Would you like to go to eternal rest with the chicest of the chic? Then check out this story-- unfortunately this is the only unused plot and the only one to go on sale in a LONG time. Wouldn't it be interesting though? Very gothic and nifty I think.

Hi guys-- sorry so long no talk. I'm woefully behind on tour stories, no? Hope you all are having a fab New Year. My resolution is to post more often... LOL.

Anybody remember those horriffic high school bullies that forever damaged your self-esteem (the "cool kids", the cheerleaders, etc.) When I was in high school, my last two years were made particularly traumatic by a special group of assholes that we liked to call the "Band Mafia". They specialized in making my and a couple of my friends' lives a living hell in so very many ways. As cliche as it may seem, they really did very nearly ruin my life.

It's really funny how karma can come back and bite you in the ass, huh?

I found out from a friend not long ago that, of the five of them, each one has his or her own special hell.

The backstabbing bitch that got me grounded for the better part of my senior year is in a mental asylum.

The ringleader is currently in jail for murdering two men during a racist hate crime.

The yes-man contracted herpes from the college marching band whore and was recently jailed for grand theft and second degree murder, and is currently being treated for crack addiction, after which he will return to jail.

The sidekick is living with his parents and penniless after losing $40K of their money to a gambling addiction.

The spineless ride-along contracted herpes from the same band-whore and flunked out of college after getting a fat former cheerleader preggers with twins. He works the night shift at a liquor store making minimum wage.

I, however, am a successful musician who plays gigs with groups from major orchestras to famous theater bands. I have a gorgeous husband, a beautiful house, and two wonderful fuzzy kitties curled up on my feet.

Karma's a bitch, isn't it? :)

I have come to the decision that administration work is definitely not for me. I can't take the stress.

After weeks of trying to work out some issues with an administrative so-worker over a job we're supposed t be sharing, I've thrown in the towel. That job doesn't pay enough to offset the self-hatred I've dealt with the past few weeks. All of this because I actually give a shit about the workings of the show we're in the middle of and have to deal with a fat pathetic whiny individual on a power trip from hell. Well, no thanks, miss whiny-pants.

From now on, I'm just going to show up, play the book, and go the hell home (or out for a beer). And the best part? Our boss (the musical director) agrees with me. Aaaaaah-- I love my life.

Day off-- heehee!!

It's amazing how a random sound or sight can conjure up memories so vivid that all of your senses become entwined in the remembrance.

OY. It's One o'clock and I'm just getting out of bed. Hubby and I have to stop staying up late watching movies. :P

K. Off to teach the kiddies! Feh.

It's raining today. Feh. And cold. My pretty potato vines on the front porch are protesting strenuously-- I hope they decide not to give up the ghost.

Sorry about the lack of posting here-- immediately after getting back from Nashville I got sick and have been fighting it off ever since. Nasty chest thing that threw my sugar into la-la land. Therefore the docs have been adjusting everything and waiting for the cough to go away so they can analyze WTF is going on. Anyhoo, more later on recent events.

"It's a mob! And they have torches!"
-spoken by hubby while watching me play Diablo II last night ;)

These 17-year cicadas can be really interesting, but they're beginning to get really disgusting, too. I ran out to get the paper today and discovered, quite literally, piles of dead cicadas and rotting cicada shells under our huge maple tree. What a terriffic stench. At least the sounds are neat. I'll post a clip later today, and some pics on ShutterBlonde.

This just in from my sister in the good ol' town of Nashville--

MOSES IS COMING TO THE NASHVILLE SOUNDS' GREER STADIUM THIS FRIDAY, JUNE
4!
The first of seven Faith Nights this year features a pre-game concert by
Denver & the Mile High Orchestra, Sounds game vs. the Iowa Cubs, a
post-game fireworks show and, for the first 2000 fans through the gate
at 5 p.m., a Moses bobblehead doll.

Group tickets are just $10 for a reserved seat, hot dog & soft drink.

And furthermore, friends, you too can have your own Jesus action figure-- complete with smooth-rolling walk-on-water action!

Did I just totally miss the whole Washingtonienne thing? Wow, I really need to come out of hibernation.

Imagine that-- sex for money in political circles. Who'd 'a thunk it? For those of you who missed it, you can find the archive here.

Do you ever feel like some days you should not have got out of bed, much less left your house? Feh.

Well, I'm back after a long hiatus. It's been a really interesting summer on the whole and busy busy busy. More soon.

December is finally here, and with it the need for the annual Christmas Wish List. This is a fixture of the holidays for my in-laws. Before I got married I never did this sort of thing-- my family kind of always just flew by the seat of their pants, apparently using their latent telepathic abilities to snatch from the minds of everyone else their idea for the perfect gift.

I don't know what I like better really-- the idea that I'm getting them something that they really want or the pride in knowing I picked the perfect gift on my own... what do you think?

Dear Santa,

I know I've been a very bad girl this year, but if you could find it in your heart to bring me any of these things, I can try harder in 2005!!! Kisses to you and all the elves,

Sassy

Happy Birthday to me!! Big 28!

Happy Birthday to me!!!!!!! Hubby got me an iPod!!!!!!

"I will not live my life in the shadow of regret of things undone. Better to regret things done, or done badly, than live an empty life while mourning its emptiness."

-Amy, domesticat.net

This is probably my favorite quote of all time. Nothing else I have read so succinctly sums up the spirit of how I feel life should be lived and I'm so glad every day that I started reading Amy's site a few years ago.

Seriously, I have no problem with panhandlers usually, but I had an experience today that really took the cake.

Scenario: My friend and I are seated in a booth at the corner pub, when we're approached by a blind man who doesn't speak English seeking money to pay for his prescriptions. Sounds pretty normal, right? Let's examine this guy a little more closely:

Item 1: Blind Man. The guy was carrying a cane and tapping it for emphasis of his condition. However, he managed to, in the process of getting to our table, completely avoid all the empty booths between the last couple's table and ours, step over a puddle of soda en route while dragging the cane behind him, and scan the room and head directly for the bathroom after our conversation. Not to mention looking up periodically to check out the basketball game on TV, which had no sound on.

Item 2: Doesn't Speak English. This is put forth by the crumpled notecard the guy waves in your face as he approaches you with hand outstretched, holding a prescription paper for his meds. It reads "Please help me. My name is John and I am blind and do not speak English, so I cannot work, but I need money to buy my medicine. Can you help me with some spare change?" If this was the case, he certainly learned quickly as he ducked out the door to answer his cell phone and ask when his ride was picking him up. In English.

Item 3: Prescription Problems. I really tend to think that John Smith (says so on the scrip) has bigger problems as a non-communicating out-of-work blind man than his sex life. (The scrip was for Cialis.) Unless of course he's seeking work as a specialty worker in the sex trade.

I am a fan of bathroom fans. It's going to be the first thing I check on/install when we finally buy a house, because without the fan you can hear things that are better left unshared. Sometimes there's just not enough space in your life for the images such ambient noise brings, but trust your really good friends to be able to talk about them with you.

Like, for instance, when you have a date over to your apartment. The Muse and I were having dinner tonight, and recapping her recent date with the Hot Doctor. Now, let's be clear, any mention of the HD makes her giddy, so seeing her hop up and down in her Vaccaro's booth and squeak "He used my bathroom!" was nothing new.

"Well at least it was clean," I said, knowing how spic-and-span her place was for his first visit.

"Yeah, but I could hear it. Do you know what kind of image that causes to jump into my mind? I think that's one of those things women think about, but never say out loud. When you hear a guy going to the bathroom, automatically you get 'the image' in your head," whereupon we start laughing hysterically and the Muse drops her cannoli back onto her plate with a loud expletive, making the coiffed and proper lady at the next table give her a look. "Not exactly proper (for a Southern God-fearing girl) to be thinking about on the first date!"

"Oh, stop," I gasp laboredly. "Too much food-- no more laughing-- I'm gonna ralph! And now I have the image in my head." Further gales of laughter.

"Hey!" she says, "You're a married lady!" giving me that stop-thinking-about-it-he's-my-hottie look.

"Yeah," I giggle. "But I've seen my version-- that's why I'm laughing!" At this point, the lady is glaring at us nonstop as we howl breathlessly.

Lately I've spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of person I'd like to be. Like everyone I know, there are things I have done, said, or failed to do or say in the course of my life that I wish I could remedy. Things that make me feel, well, not precisely guilty, but that if I did them (or tried to do them better) I'd feel better about myself.

As I was tallying these items up in my head, I remembered Benjamin Franklin's Thirteen Virtues, which he actively worked on from the age of 20 and throughout his life. When I looked them up, I found that my list fell into many of Franklin's categories.

So without further ado, and in no particular order, here's my list, with Franklin's associated virtues:

I love kids. Other peoples' kids. Especially in public.

Today I was eating lunch at La Madeleine after going to visit my new laptop and as per usual on a Wednesday afternoon was surrounded by the requisite number of Potomac Moms Who Lunch. They were all daintily attacking their food of choice while attempting to keep their tiny progeny from launching bits onto their, or others' Manolos while gabbing about who got what nose job or how many sports and languages they had enrolled their four-year-olds in this year so they'd get into Harvard when they grow up.

THere was one particularly well-coiffed young mom next to me, about my age, with a particularly adorable little tow-headed boy in a high chair next to her. SHe was sweetly cutting up little bits of chicken friand and offering them to him on the end of the fork, and he was having none of it. You know, that pursed-lipped, head-shaking, no-way-am-I-eating-that-stuff face. Eventually she backed off for a while, and he began to happily play with his napkin. Seing an open opportunity, she started toward him with the fork.

At this point, he put both arms up into the air in what all of us Southerners instantly recognize as the touchdown sign and bellowed "FUCK NO!" loudly and joyously.

The poor mom was so shocked she dropped the fork in her Kate Spade handbag. The other Moms just peered over with looks of supreme amusement and total understanding, while the rest of us proceeded to snarf our soup in an attempt not to howl laughing.

All I'm going to say is look at the time stamp on this post. Insomnia sucks. Dammit. But at least you can enjoy the following:



From my friend Glendon.

Mornings suck hairy bear testicles. I need coffee... *repeats to self* "I love my job, I love my job..."

It's 4 AM, and here I sit with my cold feet and bleary eyes, trying to find a reason not to go to sleep. I have none.

To my right curls a passively slumbering ball of fur who waits patiently for my decision to move to a more sane place of rest for the night. To the left a fan calmly rotates and ferries air toward the paper bag in front of me, a discarded relic of the good intentions I had today of crossing off more items on my to-do list. The lights are dim, the television flickers with the images of something unimportant and uninteresting that I nonetheless cannot tear myself away from.

Nighttime around here is a largely silent affair. At three A.M., there are no sirens, no sounds, no movement, nothing to distract my mind from the distraction it already contains. No focus, no movement, just white noise.

If I sleep, I dream. If I dream, I wake. The waking world is a different place at night, cloaked in shadows and half-lights. Memories surface and become visible and tangible. Sometimes that's desirable. Sometimes it isn't. For now, the silence and cold is preferable to a warm bed, so I'll enjoy the flickering lights that come, in whatever form they take.

There's just no two ways about it.

I. HATE. HOSPITALS.

Not in the normal, I-hope-I-never-have-to-stay-in-one way, but with an intense creeping horror and a strong OCD sort of go-out-of-my-way-to-avoid-them sort of violent aversion. As you might expect, every time I've been to one has been a pretty intensely unpleasant experience. Let's see... moving backwards:

• The last two times, watching my friend suffer through hours of a complex confusional migraine because either the doctors and nurses believed her and had no idea what to do or they acted like she was a total wack-job.
• I suppose the recent experience of going to see my cousin's baby wasn't technically the hospital's fault, but mental trauma ensued nonetheless. Don't ask. It's a family thing.
• Hmmm... the summer that I passed out at the theatre and the ER doctor assumed that it was my fault that Chick-Fil-A Guy gave me a regular lemonade instead of diet (this is one of the few cases where I can never tell the difference, and I used to work there. It's scary) and proceeded to lecture me on diabetic control because I keeled over with a BG over 700. (Ummm... hello, this should have been a clear indicator that I should have been on insulin. No amount of oral meds can control for that kind of reaction. It's a five minute process to test for Type I antibodies here guys.)
• I don't even have time to recount the nightmare that was my diabetes diagnosis trip. Asshole ER doctors, faulty stitches, and incompetent endocrinologists. &^#%@^*%$@(!
• Hold my friend's good hand as the doctor finished up a total of 219 stitches (the last ones were on her face) as a result of being pushed off of a landing onto a tile floor by way of a glass table during one of her husband's temper tantrums.
• Watching a friend get eaten alive by cancer all through middle school. (This is where the creeping horror comes from. I'll be honest. It was like a Steven King movie, I swear. *shudders*)

So here I sit in the ER again, waiting for doctors, waiting for nurses, waiting for relief, waiting for emancipation. Because no matter how much it makes me jump out of my skin, no one should have to sit in the hospital alone, and I love my friend. Think happy thoughts for her, okay?

... corned beef is not the dish for celebrating St. Patrick's Day. As much as I may like the dish, I hate having to rant about it every year, so now I will simply refer you to EuropeanCuisines.com, whose explanation is much more cogent and much less vitriolic than my own have been. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Courtesy of Diane Duane at Out of Ambit.

I know my posts have been rather sparse and definitely not very in-depth lately, but between my friend being back in the hospital this week and all of the preparations for the bash last week I haven't found the luxury of time for myself to sit and write. I have so much to say and so many things to talk about-- the hospital, the party, the little dove on my back porch, and the garden, not to mention music stories, work stories, and cat stories, but for the moment they'll have to rest wile I figure out how to help my friend. I'll be back writing real stuff shortly, so hang in there.

I so wish I could sleep right now. Two sleeping pills and still no dice. A little generally foggy, but still wide awake.

So here I sit, watching Heroes reruns on Sci-Fi, and hoping my husband didn't notice me get out of bed a few minutes ago. See, he had this horrible dream about me last night that was in part due to his worry about why my sleep schedule is so screwed up, and I wanted to try and go to bed around the same time he did to help ease his mind a little.

Dammit.

One sheep... two sheep... three sheep... fehhh.

UPDATE: How funny is it that I totally just remembered that the bed we have is, in fact a Serta mattress. Maybe we should sue those sheep for misrepresentation. Oy.

Hey y'all, I hope you've been having a great week this past week-- sorry it's been so sparse around here. I've been visiting the 'rents in Alabama since Monday, and since my internet access has been limited, I have a whole huge backlog of entries that will be showing up tonight or most likely tomorrow.

I'm not home yet, but I'm sitting in the world's greatest little out of the way coffee shop- Mill Mountain Coffee- off exit 150 on US 81 in Virginia. I stop here every time I drive to and from the 'Ham, and get their famous Redeye to ease the drive.

I'll be home tonight and hopefully will have some of those fabulous entries from this past week posted tomorrow, so tune in again post haste!

P.S. A Redeye is basically a tall cup of joe with a couple of expresso shots added. I'm vibrating like a violin string right now!!

1. If you're not familiar with Lindeman's Raspberry Lambic, your life is empty indeed. Go now, grasshopper, and be educated.
2. The English overdub of the House of Flying Daggers really, really sucks, no matter how many beers you've had.
3. I don't care if it's not real Chinese food-- Crab Meat Egg Foo Young is kick-ass.

Bush may be the Idiot Son of an Asshole, but I'm the moron who left the freezer door ajar and accidentally thawed all of my food last night. *giggle*

I know, I know. Bad blogger. But I promise that I'll have my back entries from this week up soon. Just as soon as I finish the Harry Potter book and survive the DC Fringe Festival. More later. Including pictures of my new hair.

So, yeah. I've been working a little hard on the new project's concert series this week:

You Are 96% Burned Out

You are extremely burned out. You work too hard, and you're not getting the results you deserve. It's time for a life change, as soon as you can manage it.

I. REALLY. WISH. I. COULD. SLEEP. RIGHT. NOW.

But instead, I'm here watching YouTube vids. At least that maybe bodes well for the RoundUp, which will be making a reappearance tomorrow.

I'm hot.

I'm damp.

And I'm cranky.

Dammit, I'm taking the day off and going to the beach with D. Talk amongst yourselves.

This is just fair warning that since we're home and fed, I'm crawling into bed and may not come out for a few days except to work or drink. (Yes, that kind of drink.) See y'all later.

Good Holy Lord, people. I have got to get some sleep.

The problem with that idea being that I am in no way, shape, or form, tired. It's freaking 12:49 AM and I'm like a goddam ping-pong ball around here. I know this was supposed to be my vacation week (I will not, will not, say "vacay". It makes my skin crawl. Just FYI.) but I spent the day deep cleaning the bedroom, and now I'm wired. I didn't practice (bad clarinettist. no soup for you.) but I did systematically eradicate an entire population of dust bunnies.

(By the way, I have to pause to say that I love, love, love the sound of Jeff Goldblum growling. He's on Conan and seriously I had to stop typing there for a minute and enjoy the moment.)

Anyway, not one bit sleepy, which is going to completely suck tomorrow morning I'm sure. Not that I have anywhere to be, but still.

(Now they're talking about body parts touching body parts and touching eyeballs and it's just creepy, but that's Jeff Goldblum for you. Total 180 from sexy to creepy in under two minutes.)

At any rate, maybe I can get the kitchen clean and pick up the living room before 4 am, which has been the current cutoff point lately. Exactly one hour before D gets up to go to school. Good Holy Lord.

Broken toe, broken machine, broken plans.

I've been incommunicado because I've been endeavoring to make the most of the rest of my vacation week this week, which includes cleaning the house from top to bottom, practicing, and finishing the alterations on Red's bridesmaid dress for next week. Weeelll... let's just say that got right on the road to ruin yesterday when I broke my toe. Yup, broke it. 97 percent sure. After all, it's about 12 different colors and taped to my other toes, and no relief in sight until Tuesday at the earliest.

So I'm here popping Advil and swapping bags of frozen peas, working on Red's dress, when the tension knob on my lovely old machine pops off and lands in my lap. Fuck. The dress has to be done my Wednesday night. Fuck.

I seriously hope that wrong doesn't come in threes or I'm going to completely lose my mind, as we're at this very moment smoking some lovely pork for an itty bitty barbecue tomorrow. No pre-party fouls, please. I've had enough. Now I'm going to go and light a candle to whatever powers that be control little personal disasters and then pile on the frozen peas. Feh.

Every once in a while I'm sitting here reading my Bloglines list and I start to wonder why I bother reading all of those folks on the left hand list over there, other than a morbid fixation on other people's lives, when a post that is so real, so to the point, and so necessary for my sanity comes along and grabs me by the ears. This post is one of those. Depression is a big, hairy, scary and lonely bitch. (Sometimes in more ways than one In more ways than I an count.) If you've ever had a friend that suffers from depression, this is an important thing for you to know.

And before I move on to other things, I need to give a big shout-out to my Friends Who Know How To Deal With Sad People. Yes, you two. The two who came over and brought cookies last night just because I sounded stressed out on the phone. I freakin' love you both to pieces, just so you know. And it helped. A lot. Sometimes you just need to hang out with friends and do nothing, like sit on the kitchen floor and talk, to forget about your troubles for a while. Thanks guys.

This is Bob. Today is Take Bob to Lunch Day. Help a brotha out. Why?

Bob is a four-month-old Italian Greyhound. Bob has spent half his life in a glass box in a pet store. Bob’s only friend is the mucky-eyed Chihuahua with whom he shares the glass box. In the two months he has inhabited said box, Bob’s price has been lowered twice. He has also acquired a rough patch on his neck where his clear plastic collar rubs against his skin and scuffs on his elbows from roughhousing in the litter-covered cage with his fluffy-but-forlorn friend.

How do I know this? Because I cribbed the above from my friend, Jules who is actively engaged in an attempt to liberate Bob from his prison.

Bob has spent the last six weeks languishing in a glass cage. His bail was originally $999.00, but they’ve bartered it down to $650.00, and they need the last $250.

How You Can Help:

1. Donate the equivalent of today’s lunch to Bob’s liberation via PayPal.

Whether it’s two Jack In the Box tacos for $1.06, or a $15.00 plate of Café Mare’s alfrado tortellini, it’s something, and Bob, from all indicators, is desperately in need of SOMETHING.

2. Link to this post or Bob’s MySpace page and urge your BlogEaters to Take Bob to Lunch in your stead.

FREE BOB!

Yeah, it's me again. And yes, I know it's two in the morning. I just wanted to pause and tell you guys a couple of things.

1. I had one of the meanest cases of food poisoning I've had in a long while last night. No sleep. And yet? Still awake at 2 am. Dammit.
2. My 7-11 sucks ass. Why? Because they don't have Diet Sunkist. At two in the morning when you have a craving that would bowl a cow over, that suddenly becomes very important. (And yes, it is my 7-11. After all, who else goes there at 2 am to get Diet Sunkist? Right.)
3. I drive to my 7-11 to get Diet Sunkist, even though it probably takes longer than walking. Yeah, I know. Sad.
4. Never ever buying a donut from that 7-11 again. Not after how many fruit flies I saw in the donut case tonight. Bleargh.
5. It creeps me out that the 7-11 guy totally undresses me in his head while I'm paying for my soda. And yes, I do know that was what he was thinking. That kind of smile means only one thing on a guy's face.
6. It does not, however, creep me out when the hot night beat cop says hello and does the same thing when he stops to talk to me. Because he's, well, you know, hot.

I love y'all, but it's a gorgeous fall day outside and my mom's off peeping the National Cathedral with her friend, so it's that hammock for me!!!

(I should clarify that lounger in my hammock in the photo on the left is in fact not moi, but the Muse.)

Lata gata.

I would love to sleep. Right now, in fact. But somehow that just doesn't seem to be in the cards for me. I'm so jealous of the little snoring ball of fur on the perch above me at the moment. *sigh* Tomorrow's totally gonna suck.

I got nothin' today, so here, enjoy this kitteh.

Well folks, it's been almost a month since my life got turned upside down, and I really feel like I owe you an explanation. Over here at Chez Sassy we're all in one piece, albeit a little worse for the wear and with a few more gray hairs. Thanks for your prayers and thoughts and good wishes from that last post and keep them coming. We may yet need them. I've got so much to say that I've been keeping close to the vest for so long, so I guess I should start at the beginning.

About a month ago, for reasons that I still can't really talk about here, D abruptly lost his job. Don't worry, no one's dying or dead or in jail, and no one did anything illegal or crazy or life-threatening. It simply was a decision whose time had come and had to be made quickly and unfortunately very very abruptly for the sake of everyone involved.

I know to a lot of you, this won't sound as catastrophic as I made it seem in that post, but there are a couple of factors you have to consider here:

1. Musicians don't come by steady jobs that easily, especially not ones with decent salaries.
2. Moreover, jobs with benefits are few and far-between, musician or not.
3. A cessation of said job means the cessation of both of the above perks.

Yeah, I know. It's really an ad for an online gaming site, but I still don't care. This game has sucked up countless hours of my free time over the years and I had to share the love:

It's been too long, oh dear Lord, too long. It's been way too quiet around these parts for the past six weeks, guys, but that's not for lack of things I want to say.

It always amazes me how sheer business can get in the way of getting things done that you want to do, like write something or finish that knitting project. What is all this work crap and why in Hell is it interfering with my life?

Ever since the shit hit the fan, I've been running around like a crazy person, taking no time off, and consequently actually became a crazy person. My response to my life turning upside down was to keep busy, but I really never intended it to go as far as it did, honestly. Being busy is great, and you'd think it would actually help get your to-do list whittled down to a manageable point, but sometimes more is just more. Between playing shows, putting on concerts, and trying to build up the studio, I managed to go for quite a while without a bona-fide day off, and by the time last Friday rolled around I was more than a little frazzled around the edges.

There are always a million things to do around here, and every project has its list. My checklist for last Friday's concert alone contained thirty-four specific items big and small to accomplish between January 9th and February 22nd. I made phone calls, placed ads, printed programs and flyers, scheduled rehearsals, answered emails, and generally micromanaged until I was sick of looking at the computer and ready to throw my cell phone in the toilet.

In the middle of all this, one of my projects threw a tire in the form of a broken-and-around-the-bend sewing machine, putting the entire project on hold and generally driving me crazy. As if that wasn't enough, my theater schedule came through and I had to manage all of my conflicts and sub-outs and calendar dates, all without a calendar offline. It seemed like every time I got one fire put out, three more had sprung up in its place and were burning my shoes.

I began to wonder how all of this had happened and when the last time was that I just took time to enjoy doing something for its own sake, no schedules or obligations, and when the last time was that I had some free, unfettered fun. Even more to the point, I had noticed that it seemed like all of this chaos was putting a dam up in front of not only my general happiness, but my creativity as well. No projects, no time to practice, no time to take care of myself, and no will to do any of the above either.

Well, finally I had just had enough, and I declared a moratorium on work starting last Wednseday. I traded out my shows, went shopping with Heidelah and drank wine with Janna and Dan P, and spent the entirety of today watching all of the Lord of the Rings movies with Boo Berry and friends while knitting.

While I'm on that subject for a minute, it's amazing how much hilarity and conversational diversity can occur while having a movie marathon of that magnitude-- we managed to discuss everything from how to turn a sock heel to how the direction North is not the same as the direction up to what your terminal velocity and thought process would be when falling off a cliff in Middle Earth to what the optimal social setup would be to provide the most bad pun jokes per minute with the least amount of additional participants. Eight hours of knitting, eleven hours of movies, and I don't even want to know how many calories' worth of my favorite not-illegal-but-should-be addictive food item, my childhood neighbor's recipe for Chocolate Bark, apparently otherwise known today as Sassy's Crack. (As in "Hey, you have to taste some of Sassy's Crack!" So wrong, so very wrong.) Jeezy peach.

At any rate, I am now four days more rested and hopefully have managed to pull the theoretical cork out of the bunghole of my creative barrel. Maybe I'll even be able to get some stuff done!! It would be a miracle, but hope springs eternal I guess.

And now I'm so excited that I can't sleep. *sigh*

I swear to God I'm going to disinfect everyone who comes into my house from this point forward, fo' shizzle. Since I have no work to do today (yeah right) I am going forth to knit in my hammock and make an attempt at an Olympic-quality stint of reclining today. If you require me, I will be gently swaying suspended between two trees for the remainder of the weekend. That is all.

People, I know it's not news to anybody, but it's damn hot outside. Hot, hot, hot.

This kind of heat saps my initiative and turns me into a giant slug, not that I've been that far off from that anyway lately. No one is outside if they can help it-- my street is normally teeming with people on any sunny day, but not a soul passes by unless they have no other choice, and then they look positively miserable. Even the cats are lethargic-- they basically manage to stagger a few steps to another relatively cool spot in the house and then sprawl out and pant for a while. No amount of coaxing will interest them and even kitty treats get only a half-interested eye. This lethargy isn't doing me any favors, because I have insane amounts of work to do. And against my better judgment, I struck a blow for my goal to be less connected when I got my new toy up there.

Following suit, I have been perfectly content to sit in the La-Z-Boy and fiddle with my new Crackberry. Yeah, there's a reason for that name. I seriously stayed up waaaaaaay past my bedtime customizing and downloading and syncing and playing around (hence the iPhone looking screen going on over there.)

Lately I've been getting more and more overwhelmed with the amount of information I have to process and the amount of work I'm responsible for, and it's getting to the point that I kind of feel like I need to disconnect from the unnecessary technical insanity that seems to be assaulting me. It's kind of twisted that I've been so busy that I haven't even had time to finish all the pending entries I've started to write here-- this used to be as connected as I got in the course of a week and now it's emails and coding and meetings and shows. Learning to say no has never been a strong point with me, but it's rapidly going from a choice to a necessity.

And why is it that I find it so hard to let people help me with what I need a hand with? Frankenberry's going to laugh at this, I think, because we spent an incredible amount of time on Sunday night talking about the possibility of his becoming my boss for one of our projects, and one of his main concerns was getting me out from under the weight of all the work that's gotten piled on top of my head. To which I responded cagily and and with more reserve than I should have: next time I will nod and smile and say thank you and yes, we should let someone else handle that and swallow my fears that someone else handling it will make more work for me, because I can't even handle the amount of work I have now and it's a risk I'll have to take.

All of that is to say this: I need a vacation. I heard it from Frankenberry Sunday night, I heard it from my other boss today, and I woke up from my nap with the clear realization that they're both right and I'm trying to make it happen. The problem is, I've been consumed by work for so long that I think I've forgotten how to take a vacation.

So here's my question: If you had five uninterrupted days and a very tiny bit of cash to spend, where would you go? What would you do?

New favorite movie quote:

"Losers talk about doing their best. Winners go home and f*ck the prom queen." --Sean Connery's character in The Rock

New favorite movie quote:

"Losers talk about doing their best. Winners go home and f*ck the prom queen." --Sean Connery's character in The Rock

Want a really great blast from the past? Check out this list of toys that, according to Fark.com, "would be causing non-stop lawsuits in the 00s with injuries to the world's current frail group of obese precious snowflakes."

*laugh snort*

Sister Sassy and I survived at least three of these as far as I can remember: we had a Sit N' Spin and our own respective Big Wheels and backpedal-brake bikes.

More than one awesome family anecdote revolves around toys of this nature-- sis was reminding me today about a really hilarious story, told by my dad, about my fearless ride down a hill and in a beeline right toward some gnarly traffic on my Big Wheel. (I think that was the start of my bad karma with bikes, evidenced by the backpedal-brake bike that broke my leg in the first grade and the road bike that rid me of my two front teeth in college.)

The comments on that entry also bring up a couple of other contenders, too-- we never had lawn darts (I mean seriously-- what kind of pansy-ass kid in Alabama in the 80s had those? We made our own bows and arrows from scratch-- Jarts were for amateurs), but we did have a Slip N' Slide, and seriously there's nothing as crappy as grass burn, and the metal staples were sheer hell when you got a good run going. At one point we actually resorted to sliding down the slimy hill of the concrete culvert drainage ditch in our jean cutoffs because it hurt less. Tough little shits, us.

George would call it natural selection.

What were your favorite dangerous toys as a kid??

Oh my Lord people, here's a piece of advice-- never try to type an entry on your Crackberry when you've consumed as much blueberry ale as I have.

I have not, in fact, perished from the face of the Earth, but have simply been swallowed into work (Elvis lives, I'm sure of it.) I am finally getting some perspective, though, and fully intend to get back here and blab some more. Just as soon as the Muse, Dan P, and I sleep it off. Xoxo

Oh my Lord people, here's a piece of advice-- never try to type an entry on your Crackberry when you've consumed as much blueberry ale as I have.

I have not, in fact, perished from the face of the Earth, but have simply been swallowed into work (Elvis lives, I'm sure of it.) I am finally getting some perspective, though, and fully intend to get back here and blab some more. Just as soon as the Muse, Dan P, and I sleep it off. Xoxo

Oh my holy cow, it is (to borrow a phrase from Dan P) hotter than two rats screwing in a wool sock up here.

I am so done with heat rash, and with summer. The really crappy thing about teaching music lessons for a living is that about this time every year all of your income dries up for a couple of months when your pupils make a run for Cape Cod or Kennebunkport or wherever they spend their hard-earned (?) free time..

*sigh*.

So about this time every year we find ourselves scraping pennies and praying for a monetary windfall and shuckin' and jivin' so we don't fall behind on rent. You'd think, at age 30, we'd be past that, but shit happens and people lose their jobs and suddenly you're back to square one. And being afraid for your life, your self, and your sanity while you have a raging heat rash really doesn't help. Oy.

Oh my holy cow, it is (to borrow a phrase from Dan P) hotter than two rats screwing in a wool sock up here.

I am so done with heat rash, and with summer. The really crappy thing about teaching music lessons for a living is that about this time every year all of your income dries up for a couple of months when your pupils make a run for Cape Cod or Kennebunkport or wherever they spend their hard-earned (?) free time..

*sigh*.

So about this time every year we find ourselves scraping pennies and praying for a monetary windfall and shuckin' and jivin' so we don't fall behind on rent. You'd think, at age 30, we'd be past that, but shit happens and people lose their jobs and suddenly you're back to square one. And being afraid for your life, your self, and your sanity while you have a raging heat rash really doesn't help. Oy.

There's just something about a well-played Elvis song that can completely take your heart and mind to another place.

I meant to write this entry a couple of weeks ago, on the occasion of mine and D's eighth anniversary, but I never quite got around to it with all of the shows and housecleaning and running around that I'm doing, which is entirely appropriate to the state we find ourselves in. Since the last anniversary entry I wrote, things have gone upside-down, backwards and totally askew in our lives. We've gone from stability and a shining almost-certain future to uncertainty and day-to-day survival.

The constant we've had throughout the summer has been that almost every night of the week, we pack up, pick up, and go play the summer show at the theatre, which this time happens to be based on a litany of Elvis songs. Now I don't know about you, but hearing Elvis songs of any fashion brings me vivid memories of watching the old movies in which he sang them, and none more so that Blue Hawaii. I don't have a memory of the plot at all, but I do remember him strumming whatever stringed instrument and crooning I Can't Help Falling In Love With You as my twelve-year-old self sprawled on the floor gazing up at the T.V.

More importantly, I remember singing the lyrics along with him and falling for them and the ideas they held wholeheartedly:

Wise men say
Only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you
Shall I stay
Would it be a sin
If I can't help falling in love with you

Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things were meant to be

Three words for you people: Grilled. Cheese. Sandwiches.

D and I went to the Montgomery County Fair tonight, to ogle the livestock and the other oglers and partake of that most expensive nasty indulgence-- fair food. And let me tell you, it was gooooooooooood.

For some reason I've never really indulged in fair food-- we've always just sort of shared a sandwich and gone to peek at the bunnies, but this year we decided to give it an all-around go: one last hurrah (I seem to be doing a lot of those) before we beat this diet question back for good. I think what's always put me off was the price-- nothing there sells for less than two dollars (sodas and water) and usually more like six or seven (sandwiches, desserts.) I'm not going to say how much money we spent, but it was considerable, even if it was mostly worth it. We avoided all of the cheaper, chintzier items like pizza and Chinese chicken on a stick (well, almost) and tried to stick to more traditional fair offerings, which pretty much left us with fried everything. So you don't have to make the same trial-and-error choices, here's the rundown:

• Corn Dog: Oh my sweet holy Lord, I can truly now say there is nothing like a county fair corn dog. It was deep-fried to perfection and toasty hot, slathered with mustard. And a fair bargain at $3. Probably my second favorite thing of the night.
• Crab Dawg: An overpriced ($6) crab cake wrapped up like an egg roll. Tasty, definitely, but seriously sad for the price. Skip it.
• Fresh Grilled Cheese Sandwich: Oh God, save us lactards from the cheese house-- the grilled cheese sandwiches are made with fresh cheese and lovingly hand-grilled by someone's grandma using real butter and awesome cheap white bread. D and I almost fought over the last bite. A complete and utter steal at $3.50 or 2/$5. Run, do not walk.
• Pit Beef Sandwich: Tasty, but pricey at $6.50. Great with horseradish and mustard, but I could live without it. Definitely loses to the grilled cheese hands-down.
• Deep-Fried Oreos: People, this has to be the greatest opinion upset of all time. Ever since I heard about these things, I've been making fun of them non-stop. I mean, deep fry an Oreo, which as we know is basically Crisco and sugar? It always sort of seemed like overkill in theory. In practice though, these weren't just good, they were life-changing. Not that I'm going to go out and eat them every day, but I think they've just earned themselves a new fan. They were hot as hell, but melted in my mouth with just the right amount of crunch from the tasty outer coating of batter, and the cookies had softened inside so that they just dissolved in your mouth. The $5 price tag is a little daunting, but they totally beat the tar out of the standard funnel cake, and for six specimens of deep-fried perfection I think it's entirely reasonable.

You'd just know that Sasquatch would be from Georgia. Hilarious.

I am an inveterate procrastinator at heart. Most projects I undertake get finished at crunch time or not at all, and I'm a creature of deadlines and to-do lists for a reason: if I don't have a deadline I'll never finish. Sometimes that's because I overbook myself or burn out, but usually it's just because I forget or it falls off my radar until I'm down to the wire.

Now this can become a real problem when it comes to my philosophy of gift giving, especially for events like weddings and baby showers: I hate giving nondescript stuff off registries, or at least to give only that kind of thing-- I've had way too good of an example set for me by Sister Sassy and my aunt in terms of thoughtful giving. This of course means that I have to plan ahead, and well, you can see where that train of thought leads.

Procrastination was definitely the case for my friend's baby shower today-- I had a great idea for a gift weeks ago and simply got too busy with painting, cleaning and concert PR and let it slip my mind until my commute last night to the theatre. Crap, I thought, and resigned myself to another night of watching the Olympics like a zombie while I worked.

I had hit on the idea a while ago to do a watercolor calligraphy setting of this poem for her newly decorated nursery, but just hadn't dug out my aquarelle pencils and paper, so that's what I did when I got home. Hour by painstaking hour I outlined, inked, and washed, and eventually was left with the piece that I wrapped up for her this morning before I left, never having seen my bed and having burned through about five episodes of Jeremiah and a lot of esoteric sports coverage.

I honestly have to say it was worth it, though-- after opening mounds of cutely wrapped bibs, blankets, clothes and equipment, she was eventually handed my brown-paper-wrapped packages (note to self: if your package doesn't have riotous scrawls of pink and blue or puppies on it, the Vera Bradley-toting shower coordinator will place it at the back or under the table like a red-headed stepchild no matter how big or small it is) and after pulling the paper open, her eyes filled with tears and she hugged me close. (It didn't hurt either that the other gift made her howl with laughter.) At least I hit this one out of the park, even if it was last minute. Woohoo!

In case you have any doubt, this is where my mind is right now.

This LOLCat brought to you by the letter Z, the number 2, and Amy over at solecist.net.

So here's the thing:

I've missed you guys.

I've had some pretty heavy things going on in my life this year, things which basically have changed the face of my entire existence in one way or another. And I haven't really felt comfortable talking about that here, in public, for anyone and everyone to read. More importantly, there are very good reasons why I can't and shouldn't.

And frankly, it's killing me.

Because if you're still reading this, then I've probably known you, or had you as a reader, for long enough that you're probably wondering what the hell happened to me.

Because if you're still reading this, you're probably one of the people whose opinions and love I value enough that I'm going to need your help in the next year.

Because frankly, I need an outlet more in-depth than Twitter and less personal than Facebook.

So here's the other thing:

On March 1st, this blog is getting a makeover. I'll be moving it to a new server, shaking up the layout a little, and converting it to a new CMS, though the site address won't change. The ranting and raving and silliness will stay the same, only there will be some things that I don't want to share with everybody, some things that I may need to share and say, but only within certain circles. I'm tired of keeping it all pent up and I've done that for long enough.

If you're still reading this blog, and you're been a loyal reader or friend or even a long-time lurker, email me at (sassy{at}sassyblonde{dot}net) with the title of this post in the subject line or comment on this post and request an access key. I'd love to have you in the circle.

Til then, I'll be cleaning house and doing some renovation, and I'll see you on March 1st.

UPDATE: So, snow and circumstances being what they've been around here, I'm going to have to ask you guys to wait around a little longer, which actually ends up being appropriate for a lot of reasons. I've gotten all your emails and comments, and if you can hang tight for a few more weeks, I'll have the next phase ready on April 1st.