Porphyrogene!

I wish I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. 
All I really know is I want to be happy, which isn’t necessarily the best decision.
 A study I read the other day said that extreme happiness, statistically, leads to a shorter life span, less resources, and a lack of occupation, etc.   Am I willing to die younger in exchange for "extreme happiness"? I think so.  So long as I go before my husband, I’m good I think.

 I am terrible at keeping up with journals.  I guess even my ability to type 90+ wpm isn’t all that useful in actually committing (more often than not) to signing onto a website and writing down my thoughts and experiences.

I don’t consider myself a feminist… I sort of don’t see the point of it.  If you’ve ever seen the West Wing (Tv Show), I agree with (and I’m going to butcher the spelling of her name) Ainsley Hays.  She’s a young, beautiful republican working for a democratic whitehouse.  I consider myself democratic, personally… so my agreement with her well-worded (THANK YOU TV WRITERS - I SUPPORT THE STRIKE!!!) thoughts don’t have to do with blindly agreeing because of the name of a politcal party.  She basically says why fight for women’s rights?  Women HAVE rights. We have just as many rights as men.  Legislature that grants rights for men, grants it also to women in the U.S.A.  By forcing through legislature that spells out, in redundant and clear-to-any-half-wit terms, that WOMEN HAVE certain inalienable RIGHTS just makes us come across as whiny and insecure. 

I’m also personally pro-life, but you can make whatever choice you want. It’s your body.
I also hate driving.
I also can’t wait to be a stay at home mom - I don’t have ANY aspiration to have a high-flying, long-winded career out of the home.

 Sometimes I feel embarrassed to admit these points.  I’m college educated. I’m actually quite intelligent (or so say the tests). I’m well-read.  I like a good debate. I’m just not anywhere near being the sort of "militant" feminist that I feel I maybe should be as a result of a liberal arts college education.

*shrug*

 I’m addicted to blogs, but only certain blogs.  I get no thrill from personal blogs detailing rumor or intrigue.  I get my kicks from humorous women writing about their lives and their families. I love seeing craft-centered blogs.  I love factoid blogs.  I love blogs with interesting articles.

 I LOVE online comics.  

I hate stupid movies. Dodge ball? The Big Lebowski? I don’t even get a whole lot of pleasure from Big Daddy.  Pretty much all of Adam Sandler’s movies annoy me.  But he’s hip - he’s cool - so it puts me in the "whacko" box to say anything negative about him. 

 I love sci-fi books.  Orson Scott Card? Isaac Asimov? Anne McCaffrey? … They’re my favorite kind.  I have a hard time reading other types of books.

 I make fun of teen and tween girls that I seen in public that either A) are dressed inappropriately or B) say ‘like’ every like other like word.  I do it by raising my voice in pitch and lilting my sentances to say "Like… OMG! I can’t like believe that that like… happened… omg… it totally could have like died!!!"  Or I repeat what I heard them say.  I get one of three reactions from my husband based on physical proximity to the individuals I’m mocking. 1) A dirty look (less than 4 feet) 2) Rolling of the eyes, small hint of exasperation mixed with amusement (between 4 and 8 feet away) 3) a small chuckle, quickly stifled. (8 or more feet).  

 I get the same reactions from him (with a vast increase in the distance ratio) when I yell "THE STEELERS SUCK" in our travels around Pittsburgh. But they do. And the Giants rule. And I’ve been a Giants fan since I was old enough to eat an oreo cookie.

 I like unusual names and there’s a sliver of a possibility that my kids will hate me because of it.

 I like cats.  I like that they’re fluid.  Dogs are SOOO much less flexible and cuddly.

I don’t really like doing new things. I don’t like the phone. I dont’ like calling new places. I hate the bus.

I am my most outgoing and gregarious when presented with a social situation in which I will be surrounded by strangers.

Sometimes I make random noises just to hear them. Meep.

There are times when a statement by a friend or teacher will stay with me or sink deeper than I think they meant for it too. For example, I am terrified of tampons and toxic shock syndrome.  I am also scared to even TOUCH my guitar anymore because I didn’t get around to restringing it after one of the strings broke and now it’s probably been over a year and you have to slowly tighten it because if you just restring it and tune it right up you might SNAP THE NECK OF THE GUITAR. AGGGHH

I am attracted to the boy in the newest version of "Peter Pan".
I have never been attracted to George Clooney.

Whenever I get in the elevator, I imagine it crashing.

I have discovered that, surprisingly, I am downright unfriendly in the morning.  

I have gotten new glasses and dyed my hair in the last 3 weeks - and no one has noticed (other than my husband - who was with me for each one of those things).

I have some serious/not-so-serious leg/feet problems that are not my fault. They are not anyone’s fault.  I don’t really feel like I can talk to my mom about them because she makes me feel like it IS my fault for having this pain whenever I do mention it.  I think she makes me feel like it’s my fault so that she won’t feel like it’s her fault somehow.  It’s not her fault. I wish she’d stop making both of us feel guilty.

 The sound of styrofoam creeps me out.

I have the most amazing dreams and I almost always remember them.

 I have a mean-streak. I have a temper.

I surprised myself the other day by leaping into action when I heard that one of my … sort-of-friends… from high school needed help.  He sounds like he’s doing okay now. I’m glad. And I’m proud of myself for doing something about it.

I’m okay with who I am.  I could be better, I could be worse. I wish I was skinnier.  I wish I didn’t feel the way I do about my job.  I wish I could make somebody’s day better, once, everyday.

that’s all for today folks.