It's Just a Dream

I wasn’t sure I wanted to share this dream with you, because it was so totally bizarre and I wondered what you all might think of me. Since there aren’t too many of you and I don’t suspect you’ll judge me for it (really, are you my friend because you thought I have perfectly normal dreams? No.), I thought I’d just post it.

Mom calls me to help her in the bathroom because she is sick. I tell her I will do the best I can but really, may find myself getting nauseated from being around her puking.

I go to the bathroom to help Mom. She is barfing. But when the barf hits the toilet, it’s in the form of pre-packaged field greens that you buy at the grocery store. As she’s barfing out bag after bag, she laughs as I joke, “Well, how nice of them to prepackage it for us!” I don’t know whom “them” is referring to. Perhaps the tiny elves running her body.

When I return to the TV room, I join (my friends?) Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, who have broken-up amicably and are now watching TV with me along with their new significant others.

Pitt is dating an old, tiny, Chinese woman who doesn’t speak English.

Yeah, analyze that one!

Nameless Dog

Hallelujah!

Nameless Dog is nameless no more!

She is now Bootsie Scott.
Or Bootsy Scott. Or Bootzi.
Or Boots, but is being called Bootsy. Or Bootsie.

Whatever. The kid's got a name!

Online Dating

What mild amount of interest I have in you goes away completely when you write things like "where do u live heeh" and "tired hee" when you instant message me. Feel free to use a question mark when communicating. And please, don't add "hee" onto your statements. I know it stands for a chuckle but I've got news, responding to "How are you?" with "tired hee" is not really an answer, nor is it amusing (and thus requiring the hee). "Tired" actually is and answer, but "tired hee" is simply annoying.

I know you're "tired hee" but typing is really not so hard. Write-out the f*&#ing sentence!

My First Video Attempt

I took a stab at shooting and editing video this week (with some help from Thomas). The link below will direct you to the video alone but it can also be found in the video listing on our homepage.

Click here to see Captain Olav the sword swallower!

Odd Text and Lamb Eating

I was hanging out this evening with my friend Nirvi when my phone buzzed in the other room. It meant I had received a text message. My cellphone, which I leave on all the time, is a work cell. I cannot send out texts on it and in turn, when I recieve text messages, it does not tell me who has sent the message to me.

"It's over" the message read.

Nirvi and I had great fun joking about the fact that someone apparently broke-up with me.

A few moments later, I got another, "It was awful but we're OK. I'm recovering fine. Sad painful day. Thanks for the support"

Who the hell is this? Clearly, they were not texting to me. Nirvi and I wondered what it was all about. My first reaction was that someone had an abortion. She thought maybe a dog had to be put down.

Intriguing.

Also, tonight Oliver got a hold of a stuffed animal Mom gave me a while back. A little lamb for Easter which would bah when squeezed at it's plastic electronic middle. He had great fun destroying it, of course....

My Dog's Cute

...and he flirts with my friends.

Shannon's Account

The street painting fest according to Shannon!

More Street Painting Fun.

Rachel and her clan come to the east coast of Florida for a visit. They stop in at the Street Painting Festival

The girls check-out our Nemo scene.

Sven, Isabella, Rachel, Victoria, and Arianna (hiding behind mom)

Street Painting Fun

Fort Myers

Fun from a week ago. The week-end of the 16th.

Oliver is stoked for the road trip.



Isabella and her mom (my friend) Rachel.

I love how Tori, at right, looks like she's negotiating for something in this picture.




Bell and her Dad, Sven




Watch this video to meet, Arianna, too!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkgkM96YKLs

New Bed

Gawky Kid

I have not been bloggin for a while here because, A. I'm a grumpy old lady lately, and B. I left my laptop in Ft. Myers when I was there visiting my friend, Rachel and her brood who were there to see their in-laws.

I'll write about that once I have the baby back and can work on the pictures and whatnot.

Today I had to find a CLO (wild art to file a hole) for my section of the paper. Yesterday I attempted to do this by venturing to the Royal Palm Beach Public Library. RPB is pretty boring, and finding a photo there when nothing planned is going on if quite challenging. It’s also a pain in the ass. But, I was thrilled to find the library very busy. This is a rarity. I went to the front desk. While it is a public building, I prefer to let them know I am there and ask for permission anyway.

“Oh, our branch manager isn’t here so I can’t let you take pictures” said the woman, not bothering to look at me.

“Is there any way we can get a hold o her?” I ask hopefully.

“No, she’s gone for the day.” She tells me, still not looking up.

I am flabberghasted but refrain from saying so. It’s a public building and I have never known a librarian to be ignorant of that fact.

I didn’t want to go back to the library today considering what happened, but I was desperate for a photo. My coworker encouraged me to not return. They don’t deserve the attention, he said. I agreed, but I also know that I was stumped for a shot.

I arrive and feel redeemed after meeting Carl. His mother gives me the ok to photograph her toe-headed son and I do so while he sits on the floor, pouring over the Berenstein Bears.

I feel redeemed because I have stumbled across a pencil-thin, awkward, knock-kneed, pale, glasses-wearing bookworm who I know is likely picked on at school. I could be wrong and really, I hope I am about that. In the case that I am right, however, I am content to give him something to brag about.

Puppy's Got Issues

My parents have a new puppy (as opposed to an old one?). She has issues.

First off, she still does not yet have a name. The other day I was watching the wonderful movie, The Namesake, when one of the characters, Ashima, explained to an American that in India, sometimes the children are five years old before they receive a name.

But, we're in America and my parents have a nameless dog (actually, Ashima would be cool). A nameless dog that is terrified of it's own shadow and can't stop pooping in the house. The other day they took Nameless Dog to a local natural area for a walk. She pooped IN THE VAN on the way there, then in the house once they got back. Nice.

I’d like to say here that the patience my parents are exuding impresses me to no end. I might possibly have committed puppy homicide by now.

When they went to the vet for a check-up (or de-worming, I don't remember) even the vet was at a loss, advising my parents to find themselves an animal behaviorist or dog whisperer.

I gave my parents the name of a dog whisperer I'd photographed years ago. Paul is an interesting fellow who has worked with countless pups to help them with their issues.

They gave him a call and received an over-the-phone consultation. Although Nameless Dog seems like a different dog at night, coming out and romping and playing, tossing toys and acting oh-so-cute, she spends most of her time in her open-doored crate cowering away from visitors and any breezes or bugs that may pass by threatening to kill her. Paul told my parents that Nameless Dog has been moved from place to place so much that her crate is her home. It is the one constant, he told them. So to her, she IS going outside her home to poop, even though she's still inside the human home.

I talked with Dad last night who said that he and Mom have decided to hire Paul, who will be advising them over the phone. Dad told me about their first session. Paul led Dad through various poking and prodding tests with Nameless Dog. Should the dog fail these tests, it would mean she has the Been Inbred By Some Dog Factory Syndrome and will unfortunately need to be put down because it's far too screwed-up to be able to grow/be trained out of her abnormally ginormous fear. She passed the test which is great cause no one wants to hand their cute puppy over the glue factory, even if she is shitting all over the house.

Next comes my favorite part, (and oh, how I wish I could be a fly on the wall while this process is happening), Mom and Dad are to take a very very clean dishtowel and cut it into four equal pieces. The pieces represent the four rooms in which Nameless Dog is allowed to go (which cracks me up considering my parents live in a 17 room queen victorian). My parents are to rub the pieces to their necks to put their scent on it and put the pieces in a plastic bag.

Then, they take one piece and touch it to the dog, rubbing her nose and maybe asking her to "blow".

Then, they mail it to him.

It's so good I can't stand it.

Grand Central Freeze

Again, a video shared by an editor.

Online Dating Tip

1. If you use the term "special someone" in your profile, you will never find one!

2. Don't post the serial killer photo of yourself and then headline your profile "Happy-Go-Lucky Guy Seeks Girl". It's incongruous, boys.

Welcome to Pompousville; Population 1

My favorite of all the things that were said to me on my lunch date today (courtesy of online dating), "Well, I have two cars. I mean, how can you live here and not have a convertible!?"

It's simple, you live here and drive a vehicle that is not a convertible.

Thing-A-Day

My dear friend and coworker Rachel has committed to doing a blog for the month of February, on crafting. She has taken on the Thing-a-Day challenge, where she makes, you guessed it, a thing a day! Click here to follow her daily doings.
Last night, she hung at my place and knit herself a place-mat out of cut t-shirts, all the while eating a veggie calzone and keeping-up with our regular habit of old men in the balcony (a la Muppet Show) comments while watching movies. We can find humor in everything, even people struggling to survive during civilized war in the Sudan (The Four Feathers). Yeah, guys, forming a square with really show those attackers who's boss. Especially with all of you wearing those sneaking camouflaging red coats!

While she knitted, I made shrinky dinks. Oh what fun it was! Today, I traced a picture of Oliver and shrinky dinked him (eh-hem). Very cute. Unless I turn into a complete freak and start wearing this as a pendant, however, I have no idea what to do with it. Keychain, perhaps?

The Attitude of Bathtime; A Silent Film

Date At The Softball Game

A Parking Lot, A Hairbrush, and A Little Boy

I am disappointed in myself.
Today, I was heading to my car from a playground where I was taking some pictures, when I heard a voice in the parking lot. It was a mother, a horrid one, scolding her child who was no more than two, for crying. "I've had enough!" she yelled at him, "Where's my belt? I'm gonna find my belt," she claimed, while she riffled through her big weapons bag while her son stood whimpering next to her.

She couldn't find her belt apparently, because she decided a hair brush would do. While smacking him on the back of the legs a few times and snarling at him for crying, I approached closer, wondering if I should say something. As I got to my car, which was right next to them, I burned the back of her head with the lasers coming out of my glaring eyes and opened my trunk to put my gear in with a body language which said, You horrid person, are you crazy? You are not a good mom.

I dared myself to say to her, "I'd cry too is someone was hitting me with a hairbrush" or "You do realize that's assault with a weapon? Hitting someone with a tool like that?"
But, I said nothing. Did I fear she'd turn and use the brush on me? Afraid she'd yell at me? Concerned she'd beat the kid harder later, taking it out on him that she was embarrassed in public?
She just hit a child repeatedly with a hairbrush and I did nothing. I said nothing.
I've read stories from adults who were beaten by their parents and never understood why adults around them never did anything about it, even if they knew something was wrong.

I thought about an incident in Boston years ago when a woman was stabbed to death in an alley between two apartment buildings. Many people heard her screaming and not one person made a phone call. Were they afraid? Did they assume, with so many other apartments around them that someone else would surely call?

I had a crowd mentality today and I was a crowd of one. No one else was there to say something. I was it.
I began to leave but was too upset. I thought maybe she was going to sign him up for the pre-school program at the rec center, so I went in, hoping to find the woman who runs the place, who I've come to know, and ask her to keep an eye on that kid and his crappy abusive mother. But, no, she was sitting in line with a group of people waiting to get help on her taxes. (I hope she owes a ton). Then, I saw an empty sheriff's cruiser in the parking lot and thought, maybe there's one inside and I can just ask him - As a citizen, what can I do about that?

In my daydream, the sheriff's deputy goes up to the woman and chastises her. But, I can't find the deputy.
It occurs to me now that I should have left a note on her car. Would it have stopped her from being a total jerk? No, but at least I wouldn't feel like I did nothing for that poor little kid. Here's hoping he eats his Weaties and kicks her ass once he's big and strong.
Here's hoping I have the guts to say something next time around.

Pick Up The Phone Already

It's a common tale. Familiar to many.
The hilarious story of a single girl trying to find a reasonable date.
After a long hiatus, I re-entered the ever popular world of online dating. I did a search with my criteria and came up with a few guys. I emailed a few guys. One responded.

After a few interesting emails, we have a rather long phone conversation on monday night. The usual get-to-know-the-complete-stranger phone-call. At the end of the conversation, he confesses that he kind of digs me. Since I don't know him at all, really, I cannot return the compliment, but I can and do tell him that I agree that getting together for a bite to eat on Wednesday would be fun. He also tells me that he's slightly taken aback, telling me that attractive women never email him on these sites (I assure him that I often receive emails from -really, I'm sure they're perfectly nice - gnarly men), and that he also finds it a nice surprise to have an articulate conversation with someone, "That's actually very rare" he says.

So, we tentatively plan on meeting on Wednesday night for dinner at a town in between our own cities. He asks that I call him Tuesday evening from my cell so that he has that number.

Tuesday evening, at about 8, I call and leave a message, leaving my number and asking that he call so we can organize our Wednesday plan. "Or, email me if that's easier" I offer.

He does not call me back. Wednesday around noon, I drop him and email, simply stating "Did you get my phone message. Hope you're ok, Cydney".

Now if I received that email, I would take that to mean the person is expecting to hear from me.

This is not a guy thing, (although, it's been such a party dealing with you over the years, boys), as much as it is a human thing. Return a god damn phone call! Send an email! Have you chickened out? Fine, drop me a line and say "sorry, but I'm a wuss". Or simply, "I'm not ready to date".

But don't leave someone hanging.!

The bummer is that when/if he does get a hold of me, I will have to hide my annoyance, or find a way to gracefully figure out what the hell is going on. Perhaps he was pinned under a rock, not enough to be injured, but enough to not be able to get out from under said rock. And the cell popped just out of his reach?

Or perhaps, he's in the hospital after getting hit by a truck RIGHT before he was going to call me, "I swear, I had the phone in my hand!" he'd tell me while laying in traction, souped-up on morphine.

It's a shame. After the last one who shouted his love for me from the rooftop and then squeaked and slinked away the moment I finally joined him on that rooftop, words don't mean a whole hell of a lot to me anymore. So, an excuse will be hard to shrug off unless it was a damn good one and came with proof in the form of notorized paperwork.

I want to believe them..
And perhaps I do believe them.
Then, they don't call when any normal human being would know they should.
And I lose my faith in words again. It's really quite ridiculous. It's simply not that hard to be an honest person.

Great

I slept horribly last night. It took a while to fall asleep and once I did, I was restless. I woke again at 4 and lay there for quite a while before deciding to get up for a little bit. I was up a few hours, I think. Then, once I did sleep, I had bizarre dreams. I dreamt that I sprayed a toner on my face and it caused my skin to shrink. I could feel it tightening like window insulator being hit with the heat of a hair dryer. My cheeks sucked in, my mouth fused shut until I had no lips. One eye fused shut until I had no opening or eyelashes. I managed to keep one eye open by fighting the shrinking but looking at myself in the mirror, there was a small opening where my eye should have been and all I could see was the white of my eye. And again, no eye lashes anymore.

When I got up I felt like I was walking through tar. I had to go to the dentist just down the street, to have my teeth cleaned. So, I got in the shower and rushed down the street in my fog, planning on eating breakfast when I got back.

The street from my place to the dentist has a yellow line down the middle but is quite narrow. I had the pleasure of enjoying a road raging tail-gaitor on my small residential street. He (or she) rode right behind me, swerving slightly in consideration of passing. I stopped at a stop sign and he honked at me.

In all my tired, annoyed, effed-up dreams mood, I flipped him the bird for the slightest of split seconds. Not something I do often because I know how stupid it is. But, since I feel like a truck hit me, I couldn't seem to control myself. I took a left a few streets ahead because I had passed the dentists office entirely. Grumpy tail-gaiter followed me. Great.

When I took my next left he continued straight ahead. Apparently they decided to not threaten me any further.

So, I arrive at the office building and head up the flight of stairs, down the long hallway to his office, all the while feeling like I'm walking so slow I may actually be moving backwards.

I walk into the office and the receptionist looks at me in that way. That way. And I know.

"You have an appointment tomorrow. Not today." she says apologetically.

Awesome day.

Coca Mayhem

My Mom is very sweet and often sends me care packages. This time she sent me a nice collection of cosmetics that she didn't want and thought I might like to parooz. Inside was also a copy of The Boston Globe which Dad went out and got for me. She also sent me a tin of cocoa powder, because I love hot cocoa. It WAS in a tin when it left the Boston area. But, not anymore!

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast II

I recieved this email from my Dad last night. I aggree with his thought that my last entry was a bit unclear. I thought it easiest to just copy and paste our correspondence...

Hey kiddo,
Speaking of your blog (read at least once daily), I don't understand the latest (about slowing down and learning to say thank you in Lithuanian). Explain, please.
Ahchoo! (Forgive my pronunciation)
Dad

my response -

Oh, I was just thinking today about how I (and maybe other poeple just in general) have a tendency to go to an appointment and have this almost unconscious drive to finish it and move on. I am trying to be better about (for lack of better, less cheesy term) living in the moment.

Today, I met an 82 year old Lithuanian man. We were talking and I reminded myself, You don't have to be anywhere right now. Just be here. Have a conversation with this person, take their character in, learn something from them. You are here right now.
That's what I meant, though I know the entry was a bit spaztic.
Love
Cyd

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

I'm learning some things. Slowly. But surely.

Slow down. Stop thinking that you are moving towards something because at this very moment, you simply are not morning towards something. Talk to the person in front of you. Talk to the person with whom you have an appointment. Doing your job and moving on is not part of it. It's fogged and hurried to be that way.

Today, I slowed. Just a bit. I learn how to say thank you in Lithuanian, "Ahchoo" (I'm spelling phonetically because I can't find the spelling online).

"OK, you need to move," said the wife to her husband, "because she's trying to leave now" she shuffled the elderly man in his chair.

"She doesn't want to leave," he stated, "She likes me!"

Ahchoo.

Eight-Year-Old Etiquette?

I was leaving Publix grocery store the other day when I saw something really interesting. Well, I thought so, anyway.

Leaving the store was a father with his two kids. The little girl, about three or four, was in the shopping cart, and the son, walking along side, was about eight. Coming in to the store was another dad with his son, also about eight-years-old.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that when they passed one another, the boys high-fived! I glanced over, wondering if I'd actually seen what I'd seen, and heard what I'd heard - two little hands smacking together.

I had seen and heard correctly, because one boy turned to his dad and exclaimed "I high-fived him!" as they headed through the grocery store's sliding doors.

"You did!?" said the dad, amused, "You high-fived him!?" he laughed.

"Yup!" he answered, proudly yet nonchalantly.

I wondered what the deal was. Did the kids know each other? Do eight-year-olds now have a secret handshake?

Maybe unbeknownst to us grown-ups, there is a secret society of little guys dedicated to givin' props to one another in a show of solidarity for their single digit age group.

PS. If you've seen any "Celebrity Rehab" on VH1 you know precicely where I got the word unbeknownst. Thank you, Daniel Baldwin.

Advertising Sucker

While looking around at some of my favorite blogs, I noticed they had ads for the Wii game in their side columns. I foolishly clicked on it and got sucked-into their advertising. You can watch here. Now, I want one! No, I don't need one, that's for sure.

It would still be cool though, especially to see my parents do it!

No Frosting Camp

Tonight I am having some friends over to play board games. The other day, Rachel had offered to bring brownies tonight, but since I was in the grocery store, I gave her a call to double check. If she was not bringing something after all, I would pick something up.

She affirmed that yes, she would be bringing brownies.

I loaded myself into my car after my little shopping visit and I remembered that Rachel likes to put frosting on her brownies.

I gave her another call, "I have a request" I said, "Can you make some of the brownies without frosting on them?"

"Without frosting?" she said, slightly dismayed..

"I'm not a huge fan of frosting on my brownie" I confessed.

There was a long pause before she stated, "I'm starting to question our friendship"

February Masthead

One Can Never Have Too Much Cotton, I Always Say

Tonight I got together with my friend, Ellen for some Cuban food (I do LOVE those platanos!) followed by a stop at Target, because really, what night is complete without at least a quick swing through? Or, as in this case, a swing through involving a trip to the fitting rooms and a momentary but not invisible relinquishing of the credit card.

I have been seeking nice shirts. Not just plain t-shirts, but nice ones that are still appropriate to wear to work. I was looking through such shirts and saying how I really don't need them. I really don't NEED more shirts. I have more t-shirts than I know what do so with, really.

Earlier in the evening, I had told Ellen about the nice comment Mom left for me on this blog from a few days ago. "Allow me to summon your Mom," Ellen said to me as I furrowed my brown over the t-shirt temptations, "buying stuff is good! Remember? Accumulating things is nice".

So, I came home and opened the back door of my closet so two perfectly-fine-but-not-brand-new t-shirts could be be belched out in order to make room for two new t-shirts which were being introduced to my wardrobe.

Another funny little one sent out by an editor of ours