"Once upon a time..."
A girl fell over a cliff. She believes she was pushed, but the authorities have been unable to identify the suspect. She finds this somewhat odd, as she's pretty sure she knows who did it; her mother was pushed off the same cliff many years ago, and apparently heard the same footsteps just before she fell.
Anyway, down and down the girl tumbled. Because she'd been pushed over at least once before, she wasn't too frightened. She knew that eventually she'd reach the bottom and be able to find the path that slowly winds back to where she began. Still, landing hurts and she was inclined to avoid it if at all possible.
So she scrabbled and grabbed and clutched at everything which caught her eye as she tumbled down, finally managing to grasp the branch of a small tree which stuck out of the sheer cliff face. "That's ok," she thought, "I'll just catch my breath here and then start climbing back up again." But her arms were weakening and the tree started to pull from the cliff, small rocks and dirt flying away from its roots and hitting her in the face. She began to slip.
"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckety-fuck," she thought to herself. For falling off a cliff tends to make her very angry and leads to a potty-mouth.
Is it too late to call for someone with a rope? And, if someone comes, we she be pulled half-way up and left to fend for herself, only to be pushed over the edge again at some point in the future? Or will the authorities listen to her, post a sketch of the suspect, and keep her safe from marauding goons?
A sneak peak at initial designs for several sites:
Solar Oven Society
The Berry Patch
MN FW Coop
I can't sell myself.
Perhaps it's modesty, perhaps lack of self-confidence, perhaps sheer terror.
Whatever.
It all comes down to this: I have no idea what to say in a personals ad. After 31 years, it has become quite evident to me that I appeal to a very limited subset of single men. Maybe it's time for some highly-targeted marketing? I don't like walks on the beach. (I hate the feel of sand.) Dogs scare me. I need someone who has read more than one book in the past year. Non-negotiable items: Christian, wants kids, likes my cats, intelligent, fiscally responsible (i.e., doesn't think it's ok to run up $50K on his credit card buying himself toys, while working 15 hours a week for minimum wage and living in mom's basement)
For a year or so, I've rolled around the idea of "the personals project" in my head. "What is it?" you so rightly ask. Simply this: my friends write ads for me. I figure that some of them must see things that I miss. Jenell & Colleen suggested last night that I blog it and open it up to y'all. So go ahead - find me a man!
Don't be afraid to type. (Yes, I'm looking at you, Amy!) I have the power to delete anything I find offensive or you regret saying.
(PS - did I ever mention that several years ago at my brother's wedding I offered a $1000 bounty to the person who introduces me to the man of my dreams? Enough inspiration to get your little fingers tapping away?)
I swear, some days my office just makes me want to stand up and scream, "What the fuck is wrong with all you people?" I'm working on a newspaper ad that has to be sent in today. The guy I'm doing it for changes things every time I turn around. And he's leaving in 15 minutes and still hasn't given me the approval so that I can send it in.
Related to this ad is a new website. It took me 2 weeks to get one page of basic info out of him. And - two weeks ago - I sent him an email telling him how to get a new email address for the department so that we could put it on the site. As of 15 minutes ago, he had not even read the email, much less requested the new address. And when I tried to convince him that we couldn't just make up whatever we liked and put it on the website, he didn't seem to understand.
My computer is dying and my boss will probably ignore my request for a new one until this one dies, taking all of my design files with it. The loud whining it's making has given me a headache.
The admin assistant & secretary went for a walk without warning me that the Pest Control guy was coming. So when he arrived, I had no idea why he was here or what needed treating.
The last two days were bad hair days. Regardless of what Jenell said, it wasn't a pretty sight.
I still have not done my taxes and don't know when I'll get the chance.
Love seems to be in the air for everyone but me.
My mom has offered again to pay for me to go to some vegetarian conference out east. This would be nice (and I appreciate the generosity), except that I have basically no vacation time and would like to spend what little I do have hanging out with people I love. Visiting my brother's new baby-to-be or a college friend would be great. But the offer doesn't seem to extend to what I care about. I imagine she figures I'll meet a nice veg boy there, but somehow I doubt it. Anyway, I'm more concerned that he's a Christian than I am about what he eats.
This time of the month makes me ravenously hungry, which does nothing for my body-image. Also, I'm very tired. Daylight savings time sucks. I hate getting up in the dark again.
Workout report:
Saturday I spent 4.5 hours hauling boxes & furniture for Kerry & Erik. Then I twisted my knee. And the tendonitis (?) in my left arm has been acting up. So walking is all I've done since then.
The robins swirl -
a mummers' dance
of mourning -
crying out their fear.
Then, memories short
in brains so small,
the dirge dissolves
in a flurry of wings
and chatter
and hunting for worms.
Ruby, hungered
by the scent of blood,
dashes across the yard,
but James has already
put the squirrel in the trash,
the shovel in the garage.
Happy Birthday Naomi!
Workout report:
Thursday night: The Firm: Total Sculpt Plus Abs
Friday am: Pilates Target Specifics: arms & hips segments
Overnight the grass turned green,
greedily eating up the sun, and
on it robins waltz with worms
while squirrels skip from tree to tree.
