I swear, procrastination is my middle name. I've gotten worse the older I've gotten too. Why? No clue. How about you? Are you a procastinator?
|Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP)|
|Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive. Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving.|
Nicole was asking for volunteers to be interviewed, and since I'd never done this before I figured "what have I got to lose". Here goes! Be sure to check out the rules at the end!
1. What is your favorite television show, movie, book, and album? Personally, I think she cheated here. This is like four questions in one! At the moment these are the standings (remember, I change frequently). "Lost" , "The Shawshank Redemption", at the moment I like the writing team of Douglas Preston/ Lincoln Child – any of their books, Dan Fogelburg and Tim Weisburg "Twin Sons of Different Mothers". (Dan Fogelburg was diagnosed a few years ago with cancer and has been battling it ever since. His talent has been missed.)
2. If there's one thing you could change about yourself, looks or otherwise, what would it be? Oh, lord, just ONE? Hmmm… my weight. I wish I were about 60 lbs. lighter, then perhaps the diabetes wouldn't be such an issue. In the "non-looks" department, I sometimes wish I weren't so anti-social. Oh, who am I kidding? I am a perfect spokesperson for OCS (Only child syndrome).
3. What is your idea of the perfect day? This one is easy. A foot of snow on the ground, big flakes falling from the sky, curled up in my house next to the fireplace with a good book, cup of cocoa, my critters, Hubs in the next room and knowing all my family are safe and warm.
4. Which do you do more – reminisce about the past, look to the future, or live in the present? I kind of think I do each pretty equally.
5. If you had the ability to have any career in the world, what would it be and why? I would like to have the money (read, win lottery) to build a no-kill animal shelter and have the space and staff to make it possible to save as many critters as I could. I think there are so many that are abused just because people don't see them as having feelings and think of them as "dumb animals". They are so wrong. I love critters. If I couldn't do that, I'd like to be a good enough writer to be published. I've always written and may not always have the technical aspects correct (you know, spelling, punctuation, etc.) but I do like me the written word.
Here are the rules if you want to play
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick them, and you have to answer them all.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
That's basically how Hubs and I feel about watching golf. Mother-in-law golfs, father-in-law was a very good golfer when he was alive (maybe even better now, who knows?), and eldest son enjoys golfing. Me? I hate to watch, but probably wouldn't mind playing… if. If being the operative word. How many of use do something for the first time or two and if you have a lousy experience, just say to heck with it? I mean, really. Life is too short to screw around doing something you don't enjoy that you really don't have to do, right?
Several years ago we went on vacation with a bunch of friends to Wisconsin. It was an event that was pretty "guy-oriented", so during the day the guys would go do their thing and the women would do theirs. For the most part, that meant us women lay out by the pool (you know, back when sun-worshipping was a good thing) or went shopping or other mindless things. One day someone had the bright idea to golf on the small course attached to the motel. I will never be the same.
First, we were all wearing our swimsuits. We had shorts on, too, but basically were wearing next-to-nothing tops. I am pretty well-endowed and as such wear something "substantial" to "restrain" my "puppies". Oh, ye gods… I'm trying to do this so all the sickos in the world aren't finding me… Guess we'll see how well I do, huh?
So… here we are, golfing. I am being catcalled by women. Friends (or, aquantances more so) – who have had large quantites of sun and cold beverages (and I'm not talking iced tea, if you get my drift). All of these women are *ah-hem* flat… and you just know that pose you have to have to golf, where you put your arms straight out together? Well, things get squeezed into … oh, lord… just think of some porn star trying to accentuate her cleavage and you've got the picture. Only I was golfing. Innocent. Except for the loud, drunken women whooting at me.
The next humiliation was the inability of my club to hit the ball. I mean, there was no whiffing or divit or whatever… I wasn't even close. "Keep your eye on the ball"… "follow through"… uh huh. I did that. Honest. Nada. Zilch. Nothin'. This was not funny. I was incredibly humiliated. I mean, I didn't expect to be good at this, but I did expect to at least hit the damn thing. After several (count double-digits) tries, I became caddy and watched everyone else golf. *yawn*
About a month later, we were at one of the couples' houses who was an avid golfer and had been on the fateful trip. In the middle of a discussion of the trip, the golf escapade came up. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the woman jumped to her feet and exclaimed, "I've GOT it!" She got a gleam in her eye and declared we must go golfing. Right. Now. You can imagine how thrilled I was. Still, how could I resist that enthusism?
Off to the nearby course (where she had a membership, naturally). No slouch was she. Getting me some clubs rented, she set me up on the first hole, helped with my stance, and voila! I hit the ball! The first time. For a great distance (which I think was the point, if I remember correctly). In awe, I looked up to see her grinning ear-to-ear. "I figured it out!" she claimed. After she told me, it was glaringly obvious. So obvious, in fact, that I wondered why none of these avid golfers had come up with this solution while we were on the trip. I can only presume it had to do with the large quantities of cold beverages killing off those particularily important brain cells. Or, maybe those brain cells were only important to me. At that particular time.
The solution? Tall clubs. I am 5'9" tall. My friends are all lucky to be 5'4" tall. Whose clubs were I borrowing? Uh huh. I didn't have a chance in hell of hitting those balls. Laugh all you want, bitches. I made great cleavage.
I've been asked to attend a wedding shower for my eldest son's fiance and her sister, who is getting married in May. The shower is in another state, several hours away. I would need to stay overnight the night before and the night of, and there would be lots of driving involved. I'm thinking a joint shower is a terrific thing for the girls' families and family friends… but I really a.) don't need to be getting a gift for the sister of our son's fiance b.) can't get excited about spending two nights away from home and lots of driving which would also involve much planning for hubby care and critter care c.) most likely will be my normal anti-social-totally-uncomfortable-out-of-place self and d.) am being a tight-ass and don't feel like I have the $$ to spend for all that.
So, my question is this. Am I being wrong to not go?
I love this girl my son is marrying. I think she is the sweetest most lovely young woman. I have some not-so-generous thoughts about her family and the way this wedding was originally approached by her family and their reaction to my son – after, I might add, several months of dating. I'm trying to overcome those feelings and let them all be in the past. I'm trying not to let those feelings affect how I'm approaching this shower situation. Maybe I'm too close to it, though. Maybe I'm just making excuses (that wouldn't be too big of a stretch, especially where (c.) is concerned). I'm thinking I could be over-thinking it, too. Perhaps they just extended the invitation because of the well-bred people they appear to be and as the mother of the groom they feel I should be extended the invitation, but really don't have any expectation of my arrival.
I'm opening this up to you. Discuss.
I've admitted in many a post that I'm not typical. My views on many things are skewed, as are my relationships and tolerences. Yesterday a new kink was discovered. I have decided I must not like to be touched (except by Hubs, of course). I'll explain:
For Christmas my Hubs got me a gift certificate for a local spa. They have many different services – everything as basic as pedicures, to full body massages. I decided to treat youngest daughter (off on spring break) and myself to a couple of facials. Not having had one before, I wasn't sure what to expect. I figured it would be decadent and relaxing and a wonderful tension reliever. Well, silly me…
The woman was extremely nice. She was well-groomed and there was nothing to put me off about her, the room, or the ambiance. I was led into a small, dimly lit room with a massage table and "New Age-y" music swirling around the room. I was asked to partially disrobe and to make myself comfy. I lay on my back, and linked my fingers over my mid-section, patiently awaiting her return. It wasn't long.
She was very good at what she does, I'm sure. I had several layers of goop brushed on my face, hot towels to remove said goop, lots of massaging – including a deep massage that went into my neck and shoulders – right where I carry a lot of my tension. My problem? I'm not sure… I just kept catching myself tensing up. First I noticed the clenching of my jaw. I do this often when I'm stressed. I figure many times my tension-headache-turning-into-migraines start there. It is something I catch and if I catch it, can make myself stop. Unfortunately, I caught myself doing it over and over during the massage. The other thing I caught myself doing was tensing my arms and clenching my hands. You know, the ones that were resting gently across my mid-section. WTF?
This was supposed to be restful. Relaxing. Soothing. FUN, for god's sake.
What the hell is wrong with me? (That's rhetorical, people.)