The True Tale Of The Blemish I Grew For My Sister In A Dream

Ooooo have I got a right spooky tale for you TODAY!  Yessiree!

I reckon I'll tell ya that spooky tale if you'll stay a spell...

(Sorry 'bout the lingo... I just finished reading To Kill A Mockingbird tonight... so that's why...I'm very easily influenced.)

Now where was I?  Ah yes... I reckon.

It were just last weekend I had me a dream. You oughtta know I was at my sister's house.  She lives in Las Vegas.  Goes by Coral.  That's her name.

It was Sunday afternoon.  We were real sleepy.  Sleepier than a hen house in July on a sweaty man's face.

So we were fixin to take a nap.  We yelled at all the chillun to quit fussin and be quiet right now or we'd lick every last one of 'em!

We settled down in her big ol' bed and slept like the devil.

In my dream my lip was hurtin somethin awful.  It was all sore and inflamed.  I kept rubbin at my bottom lip on the right side of my face.  I kept saying to myself... I kept sayin',

"My bottom lip hurts on the right side of my face."


I suddenly understood I had gone'n grown myself a big ol' blemish right in that very spot!  In my dream I was upset about said blemish.  I'm 34 years old.  I'm gettin on in years and there's NO CALL to be growin blemishes at my age!  No call at all.

I was madder'n a squirrel!

I'll tell you what!

I done gone and woked up from that dream.

I woked up my sister and said,

"Ya wanna go down to the i-hop and have some pancakes after midnight?"


"Sure do," she said.

Pancakes are always best after midnight.

Pancakes after midnight are better'n a wet hen.

We sat across from each other at the i-hop

"Hey!" I said.  "HEY!  You have a break out just below your lip on the RIGHT SIDE OF YOUR FACE!"

She looked at me like I was stupid or somethin'.

"Yeah.  Thanks for pointing it out. Jerk." 

"OK!  Yeah.  BUT YOU DIDN'T HAVE THAT ZIT BEFORE OUR NAP!  DID YOU?"

I was getting all riled up'n excitable.  The blemish was real small.  Almost imperceptible to the human eye.  But it was THERE.  Right where my dream SAID IT WOULD BE!

She looked madder'n a squirrel.

"No.  I didn't have it before our nap," she said all dry-like.

"I DREAMED UP YOUR BLEMISH!  I DREAMED IT GREW ON MY FACE BUT REALLY IT WAS OCCURING ON YOUR FACE!  I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!  I MEAN WE KNOW I'M MAGICAL AND ALL.  BUT THIS!  THIS IS CRAAAZZZYYY!"

She agreed that I was indeed crazy.

I told my whole family the story when I had the chance.

I think my littlest sister, Michelle, was a bit jealous that I had not dreamed up a blemish for her face as well.

She was jealouser'n a sweaty man with a toothache.

Now don't you worry none about your own selves, my friends.  I don't think I'm capable of dreaming up facial imperfections for YOU.  We're not kin.  So.

Here are some right crazy pictures of me and my lil sis. Made fresh this weekend.

PS  Lest you think I got off free of charge, that very night I grew a blemish on my own face.  It appeared on the left temple of my head.  It was small (almost imperceptible to the human eye) but it was THERE.

As I am far too old for this nonsense...

I was madder'n a pig pen in August.

Dont Call Me Sexy!

Sexy.

That's what my husband called me.  RIGHT TO MY FACE!  I'm pissed.

I'll catch you up.

My sis, Coral, texted the other day.

~Describe me in one word.

My reply?

~Loved.  You are so Loved.  Do me now.

~Open. 

I said she was Loved and she described me as Open.  I felt all warm and fuzzy inside my heart, so I thought I would play the game with Mr. Pistol.

"Hey, Honey?"

"Yeah."

"Describe me in one word."

"Sexy."

He didn't skip A BEAT!  No thought involved AT ALL!  CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS CRAP?!

So I said (all cute and pouty-like),

"Noooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I CAN'T be just sexy!"

His eyes got all squinty and confused.  He actually looked away from the TV and directly at me.

"Why?"

"Will I be sexy when I'm 80 and my boobs hang down to my knees??"

Ooooo trick question.  Let's see how he handles it, shall we?

"Ummm... yes?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wrong answer!"

He scratched his head.

"No?"

"NO.  I asked you to pick one word that would describe ME.  ME as a PERSON! ME as an INDIVIDUAL WITH INTELLIGENCE!  ME as an ETERNAL ENTITY WITH ENDLESS POTENTIAL! And the only word you could come with is SEXY?"

"I didn't realize...."

"Well yeah, I know, cause to MEN sexy is all that matters!  Sure, I'm sexy as hell NOW, but what about the aging process?  Huh?  If my word is SEXY than what will I be when sexy is GONE?"

"Uhhh..."

"NOTHING.  I'll be nothing.  A has-been who was SuperSexy Once Upon A Time.  And you'll say, 'Remember when you were Sexy?' "

"Can I change my answer?"

"Good idea."

"Complex."

"I don't know if I like that answer either."

"I have a headache."

I can't imagine why.

PS  Can you tell I used to be a serious dancer?  I still am.  I gotz mad skillz, yo.

Ok.  So.  Describe me in one word.  Be nice.

I'll start.

Narcissistic.

Now that THAT'S outta the way it's your turn. 

Let's talk about YOU.  What do YOU think about ME?

Hmmmm?

Maxi Public Offense

Tonight at the dinner table my husband was teaching my children the fine art of opening the door of a public restroom with a paper towel.

"But WHY, Daddy?" they clamored.

He explained that public people sometimes don't wash their hands after their potty-going experience.  When folks touch the door handle yucky yucky germs are transferred, which infects the hands of the DECENT who HAVE washed their hands.

The whole bathoom etiquette conversation got me thinking.

The more I thought about Public People not washing their hands after Private Business the angrier I became.

I am Officially Enraged!

This is just CRAP! 

Have YOU ever witnessed somone exiting the WC without hand washing?

How did it make YOU feel?

If you're a DECENT person I'll bet you felt uneasy.  Maybe you even wanted to SAY something to the Offensive Offender.

What would you have said?

Would you have been gentle and polite?  ~ Umm, excuse me, ma'am, but it seems you have forgotten to wash your hands...

Would you have used sarcastic humor?  ~ Hey!  Good idea.  DON'T wash your hands.  That's not gross AT ALL. 

Perhaps word play is more your bag... ~Pull up a STOOL.  Stay awhile and wash your hands.

What are we, as a community, to DO about this heinous Public Offense?

Lack of hand washing is not an issue we can afford to ignore! 

If we can CONTROL the amount of trace fecal matter that exits our public bathrooms we can reduce the common cold/flu by HALF!  That's right, folks!  HALF! 

If we say NO! to lazy hand washers we will be saying YES! to health and happiness for our children!

Let us band together, my friends!  Let us combine our efforts to SNUFF OUT poopy hands!

The next time you see someone attempting to escape the bathroom without paying due homage to good old soap and water, SHOUT!

SHOUT at the offender WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT!

"HEY!  YOU ARE DISGUSTING!  YOU DIDN'T WASH YOUR HANDS! AND NOW YOU WILL INFECT EVERTHING YOU TOUCH!  YOU LITERALLY MAKE ME SICK!"

I promise if we each do our part we will no longer have to educate our children in the fine art of Paper-Towel-To-Door-Handle-Grippage at the dinner table.

You CAN make a difference.

This message was approved by Crystal Pistol.

In other news, I dreamed I was eating a piece of toast with peanut butter and honey and banana slices last night. 

When I woked up I was not suprrised to find my husband had made me that VERY treat for breakfast.  I was not surprised, because he fixes me that very toasty peanut buttery treat EVERY Sunday morning.

I don't like to waist time making my OWN break fast on Sundays mostly because everyone KNOWS the main reason we go to church is to get all dressed up and look the cutest of everyone else!

If one wishes to look the cutest of everyone else one should find a good man who will support this endevor and deliver sustina.nce.  As applying make-up is taxing and requires reinforce mints.

I wore a MAXI SKIRT to church today.

I HATE that they are called MAXI SKIRT.  Gross.  Reminds me of other things that start with MAXI of which I will not name directly because I am a Lady.

The idea of Maxi skirts is they are long and drag on the floor just a titch.  Which makes me glam.

Maxi skirts are all over right now!  The run way is tripping on them and also Anthropologie.

i'm glad I stocked up befor I ran out of money.  that was close one! PHEW! 

PS I think the belt makes my waste look smaller than.

GET UGLY (Run Intervals)

Today I CHANGED IT UP, BAY-BAY! I got UGLY!


I didn’t go to the gym.

I had internal emotional bleeding. I needed to coagulate. Stop the flow. STOP THE NOISE. KILL THE DEMONS.

So I didn’t go to the gym.

I pulled into a neighborhood I didn't know and RAN RAN RAN.

I was like RUN! RUN! FAST AS YOU CAN! YOU CAN’T CATCH ME….I ‘M THE GINGERBREAD MAN!!

Do YOU have lots of noise in YOUR head? Stress? Money issues? Emotional blah blah blah?

People say, “Don’t sweat it” when you’re having a hard time. Don’t sweat it? I say DO! DO sweat it! SWEAT IT ALL OUT!

SWEAT DROPLETS ARE THE TEARS OF THE BODY AND TODAY THEY POURED OUT OF MINE.

The veins on my forehead and temples protruded from my sweaty face. UGLY. I look completely AWFUL!

SOMETIMES YOU GOTZ TO GET UGLY TO GET RESULTS.

I ran intervals.

I was like, “When you get to that green mailbox you gotta sprint. And you can’t stop til you hit that stop sign.”

When I got to the green mailbox I ran like a BAT OUT OF HELL! My lungs burned. My legs screamed. The voices in my head were out of control. BUT I RAN! I RAN UNTIL I HIT THAT STOP SIGN.

I GOT STRAIGHT UGLY! NOTHING AND NOBODY could stop me from reaching the stop sign. It was my Holy Grail.

PEOPLE and REALITY constantly try to destroy my peace. BUT ON THE ROAD WITH MY TRAINERS AND UGLY VEINS POPPIN’ OUT MY HEAD YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME!

I am SHE-RAHHHH! BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL!!!!!!!!!!!! IIIIIII HAVE THE POWER!

My body cried. Cleansed itself of physical and emotion toxins. I’M CLEAN.

That’s the emo crap I’m gonna write about my run today.

Let’s be logical now. Why run intervals?

METABOLISM, honey pie. Your metabolism gets all Speedy Gonzales on your cheesy rear. (Yeah. I went there.)

When you CHANGE IT UP your body suddenly isn’t all comfy and cozy anymore. It gets kicked into working mode. Your metabolism speeds up. You get TIGHT.

Another reason for intervals is that it TONES YOUR TUSH! Totally builds muscle. If you pay attention you can FEEL it. Sprinting makes your BUTT BURN. A burnin’ butt is a happy butt.

Try walking for 2 minutes and then running as hard as you can for the next two. BE DISCIPLINED! Don’t be a BABY! Push through the PAIN! It’s gonna hurt! REVEL IN THE HURT!

So try it! You’ll LOVE it! Your mind, body and soul will LOVE YOU!

PS After your body cries it needs to be hydrated! Always drink lots and lots of water! GO GET UGLY, BABY!