Posts from the ‘Dang She’s Weird’ Category

Oscar Babblings

People from India are not Americans, but, I suppose they are natives of some sort.  The question is, is it “proper” to call them “Indians?”  Or will the PC Poo-leece come after me?   (Not that I care but you know…)

My boyfriend Jimmy Kimmel brought up a really good point last night on his Post-Oscar broadcast…they brought those kids that were in Slumdog Millionaire to Hollywood for the ceremony but can you imagine how hard it will be for them to return after that????

I love Hugh Jackman.

I wanted Mickey Rourke to win.

Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Doo Rag should’ve disqualified him for even being nominated. 

Oh and speaking of PSH, I’m not gonna point fingers but did notice on one of our local news channels (:cough: WKRN:cough:) they were running graphics on nominees and they spelled “Seymour” wrong.  Don’t mean to split hairs but if you’re gonna do a job like that, it might behoove one to do the homework?  Or am I just being silly?

I was a bit comforted to see Sean Penn whip out his “cheaters” to read his speech cause anymore, I can’t read nothing without mine.   He’s older than me, yes, but,  it made the whole Cheater thing ok to see Jeff Spicoli needing some help reading.

Sophia Loren and Shirley MacLaine make Senior Citizenry not look all that bad.n  And Meryl Streep too.  Dadgum.

The In Memoriam segment was kinda lame.  It lacked the “awwww” factor because of the way they timed the clips and photos. They should’ve asked me to do the Power Point on that.  Gah.

 

Discuss.

That’s Hot

photo-10992

Internets, meet my crown.  Crown, meet the Internets.  The Crown wanted to “pop” out and say howdy so there it is. 

Vaseline IS a wondrous thing for holding crowns in place til the dentist opens on Monday.

Yuck Sweet Yuck

Me and #2 have had a lovely lil’ evening. We went to the Cracker Barrel before going to see Bedtime Stories (LOVE IT).

Ran into old friends the Peasalls and their rather large brood of offspring, which now includes a son in law!  (Thing #232 this week that has made me feel elderly.  Sheesh. I was at Mike & Sally’s wedding!)

Upon checking out, I remembered I needed to get me one of those car air freshener thingies that Yankee Candle makes.  I washed the ‘Stang today (dang, that’s a purty car) and wanted some smelly-good stuff for it.

Usually, I get the Clean Cotton air freshener or the one that smells like Leather cause neither one is very overpowering.  I like smelly good stuff but I don’t like it to knock me prostrate when I catch a whiff of it, ya know?

What in the name of fresh air made me decide to get the “Home Sweet Home” scent?  I’ve had that candle before and it smells ok, however, the car air freshener?  Not so much.

The ‘Stang is all shiny and purty and looking oh-so-good, but the inside smells like cough syrup. 

When we left the movie, I still had my “medium” drink (which was about the size of a jug of milk) and every sip tasted like Creomulsion for Children because of that dang air freshener.  Makes me gag just thinking about it. 

It don’t smell like any home I’ve ever lived in, unless you count when we’d get sick when we were little.  Mom gave us the different colored Triaminic.  If memory serves, the orange Triaminic was not so bad, but the YELLOW?  I can taste that stuff now.  Ew. If I were to smell that stuff now, I’d go running for my life.

The smell of Vicks Vapo Rub, to this day, makes me want to gag and be scared all at the same time.  Because of that, I never used that stuff on my kids when they’d get sick. 

I remember being reeeeallly little, being sick and that old vaporizer we had that was LOUD running, and that Vicks crap all over me.   And that Creomulsion cough syrup bottle that had those two, happy looking kids on the bottle??  Obviously, they weren’t sickly and hadn’t had that crap forced down their mouths or they wouldn’t have been so happy looking!

There She Goes Again…

Sometimes I wish I were an anonymous blogger like Kate, who so beautifully tells stuff that’s going on, yet, we (at least I) have NO clue who she is.  I relate to a lot of the things she tells, as do a lot of people, I’m sure.

Yeah, I know all about Live Journal and other places one can blog stuff that either nobody or certain people can see.  I know all that.  I’ve tried that.  Something about it, is uncomfortable to me.  Don’t know why. 

Honestly, the biggest problem I have with multiple blogs is the multiple passwords.  I can barely keep up with signing in here. I like this being my place, ya know?  I mean, this here’s my little spot on the World Wide Web.  Sometimes (most times) I talk about insignifigant, boring junk, but, there are times, (like now) I wish I could get your input on some things, but, it is such, that I can’t, for a myriad of reasons.  My heart is full of stuff at the moment but it’s just not one of those things I can broadcast.  I’ve taken to carrying a little spiral notebook with me that I can jot down some of these things in as a means of something…I dont know what.  That’s helpful.  One thing I’ve learned from that intimate sort of journaling is that what we feel is not necessarily what is so cause feelings change from moment to moment.   Learning to differentiate “feeling”  from emotion.  I don’t know if that makes a lick of sense. 

One thing I can tell you here, that I don’t know that I’ve ever told here (but there are a couple people I’ve told and they seem flabbergasted) but I’ll tell you a little blogging secret about me:

I HATE the name “Sista Smiff.” 

I don’t hate the “Smiff” part.  I never had a nickname or nothing and I got that in my late 20’s and I like that ok.  But really, Smiff isn’t who I am.  That was a variation on my married name.  That’s not any sort of jab at my soon-to-be-ex husband or anything like that.  It’s not about him or anybody else.  It’s ALL about me, ya know.

Yeah, I know that was a name I gave myself when I started blogging long time ago in a spur of the moment, spontaneous, “What do I call this?” thing.  But, when somebody calls me “Sista” out in the real world?  I cringe.  I don’t know if it’s the same sorta cringe I get when I’m sung “Happy Birthday” to (I have never posted that picture but I must.  I HATE to have Happy Birthday sung to me.

  At my 5th birthday party, when it was sung to me, I hid behind a coat rack and a photo was taken of me.  Y’all would love that)  It’s almost like the cringe I got in 5th grade when I wrote this really lovely poem.  It was very spiritual and quite deep for a 10 year old, but, I cringed when it was hung in the hallway for the world to see.   I was embarrassed. 

I think it’s the same sort of cringe I used to get (not as much now) when I would recall a specific date or name of something and my family, or whoever, would marvel at my memory. 

Or in 1st grade, when I was sent to 2nd grade for Reading cause I read so well.  I was embarassed as hell by that.  Not by my 1st grade peers.  I don’t know what it was that mortified me so about it, but, I was really embarrassed.

I’ve always been embarrassed by my talents.  I’ve never quite figured out what to do with what I perceived for many years was weirdness.  I wanted to be a songwriter.  Did y’all ever know that?  I did  I dabbled in it a little, but, never got comfortable with opening up.  Same with singing.  I can sing but when I open my mouth in public (unless I’m doing a harmony part or something like that and can hide behind others) I don’t sound like I can carry a tune in a bucket. 

I’ll never forget when I was about 21, a newlywed and having a conversation with my mother in law and brother in law…both of whom are great songwriters.  I somehow let it out of the bag that I wanted to write songs and said how I’d always heard songs in my head…words, melodies….and just assumed everybody did.  I remember Hazel looking at me and saying…”No, Honey…not everybody hears songs in their head.” She went on to say how Harlan Howard used to say that songs were “floating around up there” and you had to reach up and grab them.

Why don’t I try to write songs anymore?  Cause I quit hearing them in my head and that really makes me sad.  Every now and then, a stray melody appears (happened today actually).  I quit trying because I was scared of it.  That’s so ridiculous. 

I was watching that show Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew?  (Gawsh, I love him!)  Tawny Kitaen was telling how she came by that name….Tawny.  Her real name is Julie (trivia!) but when she was 12, her parents divorced and she moved to a new school.  She saw this kid on the way to school the first day named “Tawny” and she decided that’s who she wanted to be.  They went through this whole thing about how she wanted to be somebody else and part of her addiction problem is not being herself or something.

This is another one of those rambling, meandering pontifications that I do from time to time that I have no idea why I’m telling this or where it’s going.  I can say that it is definitely taking the place of some deep, navel gazing thoughts I’m not comfortable sharing here at this point, although I wish I were. 

I guess some things we have to figure out in private.  There are things we have to figure out that’s between us and a select few in our lives or us and God.

Totally Random Tuesday

Look at my adorable pal Jill, y’all.  I swear….Feel like I’ve known her forever. And I’m startled with how much I look like my mother in this picture. Look at Mom on the left in 1965.  She was younger there than I am now and lots mo’ cuter but …

This is Jill being pensive…

I want glasses like hers. 

Another secret about Jill….she went to the same Girls school that Priscilla Presley went to.  Not when Priscilla was there, mind you. 

Oh and look at the sunset today…

Yvette Minton is still one of the funnier people I know. 

If I leave for work before 0-700 hours, traffic is not near as bad then as it is if I wait til 10 after 7 to leave.  Also, traffic back up towards my house is not NEAR as bad at 4:30 as it is at 5:30.  Thus, my work hours are gonna be 7:30-4:30. 

I like my drive to work especially cause I get to see the sun come up and stuff like that makes me glad to be alive.  Same as the sunsets do. 

I am going to have to get a different vehicle before long that gets better gas mileage.

I got gas yesterday at the Concord Store in Brentwood.  The same spot where I saw a scene from WW & The Dixie Dance Kings filmed when I was 4 years old.  I saw Burt Reynolds there and heard the women scream at him (including my mother).  It’s a different building now than was put there in the 70’s (after they blew up the old one in the movie).  That’s where I got my gas when I started driving when Ed owned that store and knew everybody’s name that came in the door and his son knew what kinda cigarettes I smoked and would just get them down when he saw me.

I laughed because the Concord Store has a friggin BANK in it now.  A bank.

I like being out in my old neck o’da woods.  It’s probably stupid to say but I love driving down there every morning and seeing those same sights I saw growing up. Something about it, right now, especially, is very comforting to me and a gift.  I know I keep saying that…but it’s good for me.

OH! Are you wanting some pictures made? Of your kids? You and yer feller? You and yer woman?  Fall cullahs are peaking and my sister will be in Nashville this weekend doing her thing for a whole lot cheaper than you can get it at a lot of other places.  Go hollah at her.

And I LOVE this weather.  I just wish I knew where all my sweatshirts were.

In Which I Use A Few Too Many Metaphors…

I feel like somebody took my innards and just tied ‘em up in a big ol’ double knot.

Do I roll with it and just untie the stupid thing and let it straighten itself out by doing what it needs to do or do I just sit on it and keep the knot tied and just get used to that uncomfortable feeling until I’m numb to it and it doesn’t bother me anymore?

I think the first option is what I’m supposed to do, according to the counselor. But, if I do that, then I’ll be all sad and blue and I don’t want to be. Sad and blue is not attractive and it makes others around you uncomfortable. I like everybody to be happy and comfortable. If I’m out of sorts, then it will be obvious.

No, just go on and get your mind on something else and avoid dealing with the knot. My pain tolerance is high. I can suck it up and pretend I don’t hurt.

Then again, maybe if I let it out of its cage, it might get kinda ugly for a little bit. It might get downright nasty getting down to the nitty gritty and getting all the yuck out but maybe…just maybe….once all that junk gets a good scrubbing….gets out, maybe, just maybe, the knot will loosen and everything will start working normally again better. Hmmm…thats quite a concept.

That knot has kinda begun to interefere with my regularity. I really don’t want Jamie Lee Curtis to show up with some of that yogurt thats supposed to make you reggalar. (Sorry if thats TMI) Not just THAT reggalarity but all around and in general. It’s getting on my nerves.

I think I’m ready to get busy healin’ up sos I can get on with it.

Sista’s Neighborhood

Just about anywhere I go in this town, I see people I know. People I knew from school, people I know from work, church, music, and other stuff. Now, they may not always know me, but, I know who lots of people are because I have this weird part of my brain that absorbs info like who somebody is and other details that I will retain for years and years. Sometimes it’s embarrassing. Lotsa times I chat it up with them (ask my sister how many people I run into on a Saturday at the Wal Mart. SHE, who gave me a bad reputation in school because she talked so much, teachers thought I would be as bad, teasing me for being chatty!)

Donna, my friend and former co-worker…whenever we’d go to lunch she’d say “Ok, Sharon…who do you know in here?” Just one of them thangs.

So, yesterday, I went to lunch with my NEW friend and co-worker, the fabulous and fun Dara and this other lady in the office. We went to Cracker Barrel out there at Cool Springs.

I warned Dara on the way in that it was likely I would see somebody I knew in here cause this is my former grounds of stompin’. Yeah, there’s lots of new transplants, but, I know that there’s still lots of people who’ve been out there forever.

So, we’re sitting there and I’m befuddled at the lack of conversation going on betwixt the lady eating with us and Dara and me. Dara could talk to a wall (as could I) but I don’t think this lady said 10 words the whole time. I even texted Dara in the middle of this Quiet Time and said “Is X always this chatty at lunch?” Heh.

Then I spotted the Person I Knew I Would See I Knew….my former, Cross-The-Street-Neighbor when I was a kid. I haven’t seen him in probably 20 years. I got to thinking about him and his family and I giggled to myself remembering how my Dad called his Missus the wrong name one time and to this day, my sister and I refer to her as “Geneva.” (It’s funny to us. That idn’t her name)

When we were leaving, I was looking to see if could see Bob and Geneva and sho nuff…there they sat. Looking exactly the same as when I was a kid, just older. I walked up to the table, preparing myself cause Bob and Geneva, sweetest sorta salt of the earth people around, have about as much personality and chattiness as me and Dara’s lunch partner. Those people put the “SHHHHHHHHHH” in shy. Really good people though.

I still remember how every single December 1 when I was a kid, Geneva would put their Christmas tree up in the front window and candles in the other three front windows. They had a mirror in their living room and the Christmas tree reflecting into the mirror made it look HUGE. They ALWAYS turned those lights of at 8:00 EVERY night too. This went on from the time I was probably 6 or 7 until they moved a couple years before I married. When I finally got to see that tree for real when I was babysitting them, I was amazed at how SMALL and not as pretty up close their tree was. Isn’t that crazy? Why do I remember crap like this?? Isn’t there a better use for my brain cells???

They were glad to see me…how many kids do I have…how’s yer Mama, yer sister, etc. I asked about their children, who I used to babysit for. Both kids are in their 30’s and their daughter is…gulp….a veterinarian.

Somebody I used to help wipe their rear end, change into their jammies and tell them to hush up and get to bed has the word “Doctor” in front of their name.

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