In 50 words or less.....

DayDreamer's husband, The Scientist, says that he read that if you say more than 50 words an hour to your cat, you're crazy.

I say that if you stick to the same 50, and just repeat them, you're ok. If you limit your vocab to 50, then you're obviously not seeking the answer to life's mysteries, you're just chatty.

Right?


I counted, and I can say pretty much everything I need to say to my cats in a mere 17 words. No really. I counted. (And alphabetized.)

1. a
2. aren’t
3. come
4. Dulce/Mau
5. here
6. hungry
7. in
8. kittykins
9. lap
10. little
11. mama’s
12. my
13. pretty/handsome
14. scratchy-scratch
15. tuna
16. want
17. you

"No Girls Allowed."

I don't like Fry's Electronics.
No, they didn't have a 'no girls allowed sign.' Although I wish they would have.

Something about that place makes me feel like I'm treading water in jello. The employees look miserable, bustling around like if they stopped moving, they'd have to admit how hung over they were. Everyone seems lost, and the few that aren't are bumping and bouncing through the rest of us like a ball in a fooseball table. It never ends. Did you know that place has fifty cash registers? Fifty. And yet somehow we still spent an eternity in line.

And that's where we met the crazy man. He was standing behind us in line, and when I took a picture of a sign saying that our Fry's receipt may contain a chemical known to cause cancer ("Yes, I'm here to return my cancer and yes, I have my receipt..."), he used the opportunity to strike up a conversation with Nick about his unicycling shirt. He wanted to start a unicycling club with Nick. Every time he'd ask something, we'd end our response with, "Ok, well, you have a great day now," and turn around, only to be asked another question.
It quickly became apparent that the sort of club he wanted to start with Nick would probably involve a tree house, a 'no girls allowed' sign, and him using Nick's skin as a lampshade.

Once outside, we hid in a far corner of the parking lot until he left.

Totally better than onions.

I drew a great assignment for tomorrow's potluck here at work.

Green Jello!

This could be fun. I think I'll make jigglers just for an excuse to use my new cookie cutters.

The cool part is that I don't think the green jello will have any side effects, such as convincing my neighbors I'm insane, like that whole onion incident. Wait, maybe that's the sad part. Maybe I'll use up the leftover halloween candy, all those gummy fingers and ears, throw those in the jello, and leave some for the neighbors. I have a reputation to maintain now.

But seriously. Anybody got ideas on how to jazz it up a bit?

Maybe make it with vodka and not warn anybody? Maybe bring it in a giant tub and see if anyone wants to wrestle?



I found this picture while looking for jello recipes, and it slays me.
But again, back to my point.
Any ideas on how to make it more St. Patrick's Day-ish?

A place to wear my boots!

While Nick was at the Tour of California, he stayed at a place called the Madonna Inn. He told me it was the strangest place he'd ever been in his life, and that we HAD to go back, that I HAD to see it.

Today I looked it up, and boy howdy. My boy knows me.

Words seemed to fail him as he resorted to hand gestures to describe it's ......... see, I'm having trouble too.

Perhaps it's best for you to see for yourself.



Each room has it's own theme. Meaning that every room is different, and only one room has a horse chandelier.

One for clocks, one for rocks, one for barrels and one for making my eyes hurt in a good way. Ok, several that make my eyes hurt in a good way, but each one terrifying and wonderful in a unique way. Although the horse one gives it a serious run for the money, I think this one might be my favorite.



I haven't even finished looking at them all yet, and I've already decided that this place is my home. Did anyone see that movie The Haunting, where Lili Taylor decides at the end that the big creepy haunted house had called to her, and needed her?

It's like that. I'm so in love.

It would make a great Twilight Zone Episode.

Every morning, as we pull out of our driveway, Nick and I see a group of older men taking their morning walk. It started with just two guys, but they've added a guy every week or two.

Sarah Smile - "They've been at five members for awhile now. Time to add a new guy, I think."

My Nick - "I wonder who they'll add."

Leader of the Grandpa Brigade - *does an odd summoning wave at Nick as we drive away*

Sarah Smile - "Did you just see that?"

My Nick - "I think I'm going wake up at five o'clock tomorrow morning with a strange urge to put on grey sweatpants and white sneakers, and go for a walk."

Sarah Smile - "And find you've grown a big grey beard overnight."

Just TRY not to chair dance.

You can TRY to hold still, but you won't manage it. I promise.

Jump in the line by Harry Belafonte

Today's music was suggested by my wonderously, delightfully batshit crazy cousin (runs in the family?) Jordan. Thank her as you dance. And you WILL dance.

You'd think that for a fun change of pace, the stuff in my head would actually make sense sometimes.

Last night I had a dream that I found a bunch of sheets of paper blowing in the wind, (very a la this) and when I gathered them up and tried to put them in order, I found that they were two very different things.

Most of the pages belonged to a very very bad sci-fi novel. Which I read completely, once I got it in order.

But a few of the pages were some sort of legal document. It was addressed to a car insurance company, from a woman who was promising that her elderly husband would no longer drive her new car, if they would continue to cover her. Apparently there had been an instance which demonstrated that her husband was too old, and that his eyesight had failed to the extent that he should no longer be driving.

What was funny about this, in my dream, was that it had apparently been written with one of those legal document templates, a sort of fill in the blank form, and you could tell this because some of the language didn't match the legal-ese of the rest of it.

"....... waiver of liability should the party of the second part, Edgar Lucente, that old goat, drive the following vehicle, MY new convertible, especially if it's past that hussy from my mall walking group Louise's house, while continuing coverage to ....."

And the dream turned into something about pencils, and My Nick becoming a cigar aficionado.

So. What does it all mean?

My dream dictionary has nothing on this subject.

The other night I had a dream that Nick and I had to go back to high school. We had matching backpacks and the whole thing had a funny, adventurous feeling to it.

We got our schedules from the class office, and all the classes were pretty standard. Except for our first class of the day, which was a class on radishes.

Yeah.

*shrug*

In fact, on the schedule there was no explanation, in fact it didn't even name the class, it's just said First Period and there was an actual radish glued to the paper.



And then we got a truckload of sand and built a beach on piece of rocky shoreline. People with shovels showed up to help us and then we had a big beach party, and dolphins swam up to party with us.

What does it all mean?

Add to wishlist

I've always desperately wanted an Afro.

Is that strange?

I wanna decorate it with seashells and flowers and sequins.

ANTM was on last night. I tried so hard not to be excited. I tried so hard not to care.

But what can I say? I love it.

Mostly because watching girls with good attitudes do well, and girls who bitch and make enemies and whine have it eventually come around to bit them in the ass, it reminds me that even in what is considered a shallow, looks-based industry, attitude matters.
And as a girl who is wondering what on earth she is going to do with her life, and often thinks she has nothing but a good attitude, it's empowering to see that.
If it can do so much in the modeling world, what can it do in my life?

And also, because I love the crazy. I'm a connoisseur of the crazy. I swirl it gently, then savor it, swishing it against all the different taste buds of my mind.
And America's Next Top Model has some of the purest and rarest brands of crazy. Starting with, but certainly never limited to, the host.


Oh, Tyra's crazy. She knows her stuff when it comes to the fashion world, and I think her expertise and eye for talent are suberb. If I was looking to enter a field, I would love to have a mentor as knowledgeable and honest and warm. But also, she CRAZY.

Also, and maybe this is part of what made her so good as a model, everything she says ends up sounding like, "ME. MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" On the show all her personal experience stories sound relate-able and helpful. On the Tyra Banks Show, you get the impression that all her guests are thinking, "Why am I even here?"
Still, you gotta giggle when the model's house is decorated with giant pictures of Tyra. Of course, if I had my own show, I'd prolly do the same thing. BECAUSE I CAN.

And last night was a great example. She comes into view yelling and bouncing and steppin'. No seriously. Steppin'. (I'm sorry, I know it's an "old and prestigious dance form," but all I can think of when I see it is the preview for that movie Stomp the Yard, in which the most ridiculous line of dialog EVER was uttered. "I don't step. I battle." I can't even type that without giggling.) The general effect Tyra's grand entrance was an explosion of crazy so delicious, I had to call Nick, who was off riding his bike and trying to miss the whole show.

And then of course there are the contestants. Natasha who is so carefully sidestepping the words "mail-order bride," Jaslene who's tongue spends more time out of her mouth than in, lolling around in various directions, usually upwards, and Renee and Sarah, who both look so sweet, yet just really need to square off in a cage match. To the death. Winner eats (then promptly pukes) the losers eyeballs. And again, Jaslene, who portrayed an executioner just a little too easily.
There's some serious crazy lurking under the surface there.

This is gonna be good. My mouth is practically watering as the prospect.
So. Much. Crazy.

Why didn't y'all tell me?

Cops rocks!

The show, Cops, it's the best show ever!
I never knew that!
I'd never watched it before.

But sweet Jesus, it's the best thing ever!
And that's not blasphemy, I genuinely think Jesus must have had something to do with the creation of this show.

There is only one thing I don't understand.
How come none of these wonderful crazies have spin-offs?

I would PAY to see more of "Steven," that retarded drag queen* who steals balloons.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find if anyone sells the seasons collections.
*shakes head* Who knew there was so much delightful crazy all in one place!



*I'm not implying there is any connection between being a drag queen and being mentally disabled. Steven just happened to be both. Also, I'm not suggesting either of these things are connected to him being a balloon thief. He just happened to be that too.

That state of mind? I don't just live there, I designed the state flag.

Coworker T - "I'm in the weirdest mood today. I'm just all giggly and giddy and I can't seem to give anyone a straight answer."

Sarah Smile - "You've come to the right place."

Coworker T - "I figured YOU would understand."

Sarah Smile - "Welcome to my world. It's nice here."

Define "crazy" anyway.

I forgot today was Crazy Shirt Day here at work.

So for a half hour there, I just thought all my coworkers had gotten really cool.

*sigh*

Yes, I was carrying rocks in my purse. No wonder my shoulder hurts.

I never leave the desert without a few rocks. I'm fascinated by their colors and textures. But I have to constantly remind myself to only take the little ones, otherwise I'll never finish the hike. I've used them as door jambs, book ends, candle holders, and to hold flowers upright in vases.

Somewhere at home I have a little granite one, white with black spots, shaped exactly like a foot.

When I was a little girl, I used to buy rocks from a big bin at the Gem and Mineral tent at the fair, and make a game of memorizing the shape of each, so I could identify their color with my eyes closed.

But what's really odd is that despite my fascination, I never had any interest in knowing more. I don't know what kind of rocks they are, I don't know what they're made of. I'm not particularly interested, to be honest. I don't want to read books on mineralogy, or gemstones. I don't even pay much attention to jewelry. As I grow up I find that I'm still only interested in the same table at the Gem and Mineral tent at the fair, the one where I can pick rocks out of a big bin.

Stuck in my head, like a song.

Jonny says it's an OCD thing, that most of the things that enter his brain get stuck there. He says his brain is sticky.

This makes me feel less crazy, although I suppose crazy is a relative term.

'Rez has blogged that she has the phrase "she farted, softly" stuck in her head.

Colsy cops to "hurly burly," and "evil jungle prince," and "cellar door."

Jonny has "a man is bread," and "bollocks to thee" stuck in his head.

I know this because I asked, because I have "the inside is larger than the outside" stuck in my head. It's from The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis, which I read recently while in the tub. Yes, in one bath I read the whole book. I told you I could live in my tub. I'm like Story.


Also, here is the cover of that book, which I loved as a child, and despite it being rather straightforward, I could stare at it endlessly.

Also, for as long as I can remember, I've had the phrase, "Do you know what she DID?" stuck in my head. Whenever I'm not thinking of anything in particular, this floats out of some corner of my brain to fill the void. Why that phrase? I have no idea.
This usually happens in the shower.
Tub, shower, there seems to be a connection.
Perhaps I need a warning label.

Sarah Smile, Crazier When Wet.

I have the vague feeling that I am "she" so perhaps my subconscious is aghast at my own behavior.
Maybe it's like dreams, just some random bit of information I took in, that my brain isn't sure where to file.

I dunno.

What phrases get stuck in your head?

A big ole dose of the crazy.

This is Rod Luck. He is a reporter for one of our local news channels.
Oh, and he's completely out of his mind.

The people he interviews always look rather terrified of him. He has this bull in a china shop style of interviewing.

But this morning?
This morning was the best.

This morning he was reporting from a golf tournament, where his camera man was not allowed to follow him. So the camera man went up in a nearby crane, and zoomed in on Rod interviewing spectators.

Spectators who looked around and could not see a camera.
Only a crazy man with a microphone.
A crazy man with a microphone who couldn't figure why everyone was staring at him like he was nuts, a crazy man growing increasingly frustrated.

It was brilliant TV.

It was a nice letter.

Sarah Smile - "Whatcha writin'?"

Coworker B - "An email to some people on my soccer team. You?"

Sarah Smile - "A letter to a stranger in Nebraska. Just to see if they write back, if they pretend to remember me or admit they have no idea who I am. Just to make new friends, really."

Coworker B - "You're crazy."

Sarah Smile - *nods* "I know."

Coworker B - "Well, I guess it's ok, as long as you know it."

Sarah Smile - "Yeah. Just because I waltz back and forth across the line between insanity and normality so flippantly, doesn't mean I don't see the line."

I Want To Embroider It On A Pillow

From the ever-charming Colsy -

Laugh of the Insane

When things don't go your way, laugh the laugh of the insane.
When you find your own path, laugh the laugh of the insane.
When you spend more time with a kleenex box than your friends, laugh the laugh of the insane.
When something is funny, laugh the laugh of the insane but louder and more crazy-like. That way people will know when you're really happy.

Our new favorite tune.

*Sarah Smile and My Nick head out the front door, towards the car*

Neighbor - [crazytalk] [something about a refrigerator] [frantic] [crazytalk]

Sarah Smile - *starts the car and yawns* "It's pretty early for such a big dose of crazy, don't you think?"

My Nick - "Whenever she talks to me, I hear in my head," *sings to the tune of Patsy Cline's 'Crazy'* "Craaaa-zzzzzzzzy, like ran into a car without a helmut, craaaaaaa-zzzzzzzzzy."

Sarah Smile - "Craaaaaaaaa-zzzzzzy, just plain ole craaaaaaaaa-zzzzzzy."

My Nick - "Craaaaaaaa-zzzzzzy, like dropped off a balcony, craaaaaaaa-zzzzzzzzy, craaaaaaaa-zzzzzzzy, hit with a baseball bat and has to relearn the alphabet, craaaaaaaaa-zzzzzy."