Tag Archives: blogging

It’s a Happy Friday Beginning!

From time to time (In other words, EVERY stinkin’ day for me), things happen without my immediately realizing it, and when I DO finally figure it out, it confirms the fact that often, certain outside forces beat me at life….or something like that.

Almost every morning, on my normal workday rush, not only do I drive to work, but I also tend to call upon my multi-tasking skills and eat breakfast, plus do my makeup while in the car.  (Don’t be concerned….I have enough damn stoplights on my way in to work that there is plenty of time that I’m not actually in a moving vehicle while doing these things.  Okay, Mom?  DON’T…WORRY!)

This particular morning, I grabbed an ever-so-nutritious protein bar for breakfast.  This flavor was “Caramel Nut”, and included being half-way dipped into some sort of protein, caramel-flavored “icing”.  The stuff is DELICIOUS, so I ate it as quickly as a ravenous wolf! 

Commence with the makeup application! 

Some days, the brush drops into my lap, and I’m left with a bit of light shimmer on my pants.  It wipes off fairly easily.  I only fear the day that the brush drops underneath my seat, for my car will surely eat it, and I will never see it again!  At that point, I will only have my fingertips to apply my eye-shadow, and then I’ll undoubtedly “accidentally” wipe them off afterwards on something…like my seat….or shirt….or arm.  Probably my arm, just to see how many people notice that the streaks of color on my appendages make me look like a homeless chimney sweeper when I arrive to work.  At least then I could burst into song and start referring to my coworkers as “Mary Poppins”.  They would only EXPECT something that absurd at this point.

I digress…back to the protein bar!  After arriving to work, AND riding the elevator (WITH PEOPLE…people of OTHER businesses in this building) to my floor, and then sitting at my desk, I finally LOOK DOWN at my pants.  (I should seriously consider keeping a mirror in my car.) The icing that I had Loooooooved so much earlier apparently loved me back!!  It had decided to partially break off from the breakfast bar and smear itself all over the CROTCH region of my pants!!  White “icing” on my black pants…I can only IMAGINE what my fellow elevator-riders must have thought! 

It’s just another day where gravity, along with my klutz factor, WINS against me. 

Happy Friday, You Guys!  Please pass the coffee…

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A Memory from the Rock Band Days

The band had just finished a fast-paced song, and the dance floor was clearing out as the mood changed to slow and sweet.  (In other words, everyone in the crowd was heading to get a refill on their beer before returning to slow dance in front of us.)  I stood, singing a rock ballad (probably Journey or Bon Jovi), and stared into the crowd.  After years of singing on a stage, I had no nervousness, and could easily watch and/or interact with a crowd while belting out a tune. 

As I glanced to the right of the dance floor in front of me, I noticed a young woman wandering to its edge, tugging her man behind her.  I assumed it was the regular “forcing the man to dance with her” situation.  This was fairly common.  I’ll admit I’ve been guilty of doing this from time to time.  But as I continued into the second verse, I took a closer look at the couple. 

I recognized that the woman was one of the avid dancers from during the previous song, someone who had been jumping around with so much glee(and by ‘glee’, I mean ‘drunkenness’) that she had fallen quite a few times, mid-dance.  A little too many twirls and whirls for her, I suppose.  Again, I’m guilty of this from time to time as well, so there’re no judgments here!  I always enjoyed watching people have a good time to our music.

Then, I took a closer look.  She was remaining poised by the edge of the dance floor with her guy.  I found this odd since she was so happy to dance all over that floor just a few minutes ago, so I decided to pay a little more attention to what was going on.  That is when I noticed her pointing towards the ground while saying something to her man.  My eyes followed where she was pointing (discreetly, of course), and that’s when I saw it. It was like, for a just a moment, in total sloooooow motion……

BEHOLD!! THE CHICKEN CUTLET!!!  (

Men, if you don’t know already, I’m talking about the fake, rubber boobs that some women put into their bras to amplify their cleavage.  Spoiler alert!!!)

It’s a good thing my mouth was ALREADY agape at this point, because if it hadn’t been, my jaw probably would have dropped at that point.  Apparently, while dancing previously, the fake, rubber bra-stuffer had come right out of her shirt!  Not only was it sitting there on the dance floor, but she was not even willing to retrieve it!  She commanded her man do it. 

And YES….he did.  He fetched it and brought it back to her…..back to it’s home…next to her boob.

IT TOOK EVERYTHING IN ME NOT TO BURST INTO LAUGHTER, MID-SONG!!!

I managed to keep my composure.  Don’t ask me how, I haven’t a clue!! 

To this day, that band-days memory gives me grins. :)

Art & Aliens

All had been calm for three hours.  Not a peep was heard from the sleeping toddler upstairs in the white bedroom.

At least, that’s what my babysitter told my mother many years ago.  Mom’s immediate response was a facial expression full of surprise and alarm.  If her little Leah had been quiet for three solid hours, something was NOT RIGHT with the world.  She rushed past her friend and charged up the stairs to the spare room, where I was supposedly napping.

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(Three hours earlier)

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Mom was making me stay at her friend’s house for awhile.  She had to run errands or work or something–obviously do a great, FUN THING  where a young girl was not allowed to join.  I GUESS I didn’t mind; surely the place where I was to be temporarily abandoned had toys. 

EVERYONE has toys.  Those who didn’t….well I figured they must be aliens from another planet.  And SURELY my mom wouldn’t leave me alone with aliens…..surely……..

Shortly after my mother delivered me to this person’s house, I was stuck in a bright, white room and expected to sleep.  I lied on the bed for AT LEAST four million years (aka 20 min. in real time), and decided it was boring. Naps are stupid.  I figured I had better look for the toys.  I sat up and peered at my surroundings.

Where were the toys?

I saw pillows….blankets…a dresser…white carpet….THERE WAS NOTHING FUN IN THIS ROOM.

What an upsetting revelation!! My mother LEFT ME WITH ALIENS!!!!!  I arose from the bed and began to wander around the room, contemplating how they might experiment on me; for a fleeting moment, I thought about crying, but then…

What I found in the drawers in front of a mirror was FAR better than toys.  A smile began to form on my face….

It slowly spread wider…

…and wider still! 

The grin could hardly contain my excitement!!!

Displayed in front of me in all their glory were tubes of lovely, red paint!!  It smelled sort of funny, and it didn’t taste quite like paint, but it worked JUST the same!!  (In case you don’t realize it, this was not paint, but lipstick.)

  I set about my task.  Surely, I would receive many pats on the head and marvelous compliments from my overseers/prison-guard aliens. Then, after they saw the beauty of my artwork, they may decide that my brain was far too precious to scramble.  Plus, they would HAVE to show me where all the toys were!

I would get to play WITH THEM ALL!!!!  I would be the PRINCESS OF ALL TOYS!!  Or even better—QUEEN!!!!  My rule of the alien-toy kingdom would be written in the history books as the greatest that ever was!!!

I slowly unsheathed the smooth, red “paint”.

Then, I began with the dresser, and moved swiftly to the carpet.  The bedspread and walls were splashed with the deep hue shortly after.  I had no cares that I was also becoming covered in the cherry-colored mess.  This was hard work, and I was going to do a DAMN fine job!!!!

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(Three hours later)

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My mother opened the door, with the homeowners close behind her.  I smiled up with all the glee I could muster…I was ready for my crown, for my toy-subjects, and for all my praise!

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My memory gets fuzzy at that point, but I am told that I was never left to be babysat by that couple again….ever.

Apparently, aliens don’t know what ART is.

Dog & Cat–Short

Sometimes, our dog, Coda, will purposefully look at our cat, Buddy, and then walk over to his toy rabbit***, proceeding to pick it up and shake it violently back and forth while growling, as if to say to the cat, “This is what I would do to you if I could!!!”.

***Used to be a toy rabbit–is now a stuff-less, furry, headless rag

Then Coda will flip the fluffy-tailed rag-toy into the air with utter glee, catch it, and fling it again! Occasionally, the small, pathetic thing (the toy, not the dog) will land atop of the television screen, completely out of reach for our stubby-legged pooch. 

As Coda stands there staring at his lost toy, yearning for it to return to him, this is the moment the cat smiles, and it is HIS turn to purposefully look at the dog, completely knowing that HE could retrieve Coda’s toy if he so desired.  But he does NOT desire this.  He finds joy in torturing the dog.

They love each other.

A Damning Dime

A Memory:

When I was a young girl, probably around five or six years old, I was so very proud that I knew how to spell my name.  NOT ONLY could I spell it, but I could WRITE it as well as the best of ’em!!  I assume I probably wrote it on my coloring books, finger-painted it on my refrigerator masterpieces, and saw it up in LIGHTS in my mind……………………………………………….

We would go to church every week, and on one particular Sunday, my mother gave me a dime for when the offering basket passed by.  At that age, there were no problems in tossing dimes into baskets like coins into a wishing well.  It was like playing a miniature basketball game in the middle of church!  Slam dunk! Swish!

But until the basket came by, it was just me and my dime in the front pew.  I am quite sure that the pastor was talking about something quite interesting for the adults, but for a small child, it was not something that would be considered enthralling. 

I began daydreaming and considering my options.  The basket had yet to be passed, but I began to warm up on my dime-tossing.  Toss up, catch, toss up, catch….bored again.  What else is there to do?  All of the adult voices around me are just a bunch of blurbs streaming into my ears, not making any sense. 

Then genius struck!  Everyone needed to know how beautifully I could write my name.  They should know!  They should all be PROUD!!  I looked around for a few minutes..no one was paying attention.  Not yet…..and that is when I brought the lovely, ridged piece of metal to the finish on the pew.  The dime was JUST the right size for manipulating like a writing utensil.

**scratch, scratch**

“L”

**scratch, scratch**

“E…A..”

**scrape, scratch**

“H”

There!!! Perfect!! Everyone and their mothers would be so impressed with my magnificent ability to mark down these letters!!  Not only did I write my name, but I created a sculpture!  A piece of intricate art!  HOLY ART!!!!!

………………………………….I waited for someone to see it

……………………….it was beautiful!

…………….and such a creative use of a ten cent piece!

…….I continued to wait for someone to notice…

 

No one was impressed.

I entered the land of trouble.

Damn Dime.

How Am I Married?

Sometimes, I am amazed at how ANYONE can put up with my peculiar self, let alone be MARRIED to me.

The other day, while driving and talking to Shannon on the phone, I saw a blimp in the sky.  Shannon then became the brunt of my somewhat one-sided phone conversation that went something like this (spoken at roughly 100mph):

Me: I’m pretty sure I see a blimp in the sky!!  Maybe it’s just a balloon.  You know how they use those big balloons for car dealerships?  Nah..no way! It’s too far up there!  That couldn’t be a regular balloon.  It’s GOT to be a blimp!

Shannon: Oh….?

Me: It IS! That’s a blimp!  It’s the MetLife blimp!  I wonder if they give people rides!  I want a blimp!  We could ride in a blimp and then skydive from it.  No…wait…it’s not high enough for sky diving….WE COULD BUNGEE JUMP!! Perfect!! Do you think they give bungee jump rides in blimps!?? Surely not the MetLife blimp.  That’s life insurance, right?  I doubt a life insurance company would endorse bungee jumping.

Shannon: What?

Me:  BUNGEE JUMPING!! I wonder what it costs to rent a blimp.  Think anyone rents them?  We should have a blimp party!  There can be lights and giant speakers and loud music.  A dance party in a blimp!!  Think it’s big enough?? They should definitely rent out blimps for dance parties!! I wonder how many people could fit in a blimp…A party blimp would certainly be bigger than a regular blimp.  It’d by like a party bus….that FLOATS!!

WHERE CAN WE RENT A FLOATING PARTY BLIMP???

Shannon: Uh…..

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Shannon and I recently discussed the fact that his suitcase is now missing a wheel…not long after, this text conversation happened:

Shannon: I just smelled my arm pits, and they stink.

Leah: Hahaha!  Why aren’t you wearing deodorant?

Shannon: I am.

Leah: Must’ve worn off.  It may be your suitcase wheel took it.  They ran off together. 

Shannon: LOL Yup

Leah: It’s better this way.  You may be stinky, but they’re happy now.

Shannon: Sacrifices

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Now is the moment that Shan realizes he could, at any second, become the victim of my blog.

Worst Typo Ever!

Occasionally throughout my day, I check my gmail.  If I want to do so, I go up to the address bar in my Internet Explorer, and type ‘gm’, at which point, it automatically fills in the rest of the words ‘gmail.com’, so all I have to do is press ‘enter’.

Apparently, today, my finger slipped, and an ‘f’ was accidentally typed in front of ‘gm’, and then ‘enter’ was pressed. 

What was pulled up was NOT my happy little inbox, but instead, an article on fgm.  Female Genital Mutilation.  It has a Wikipedia page and everything!

WORST TYPO EVER!!!!

Happy Monday, Everyone. :P