POLITICALLY CORRECT KITTY COLLARS

Well, I stopped in at Petco tonight, because Smidgey's starting to outgrow his collar and it's time for a new one. This is my first time to parent a quasi-outdoor cat, and I'm still kinda worried he'll go out one day and never come back-- so I'm really over-the-top-careful about his collar.

I'm forever polishing the tag and making sure the phone number is legible in case the unthinkable happens; I want the person who finds him to ring me as soon as they can stem the bleeding of their hands and forearms, hopefully before I even have a chance to realize he's missing. So of course collar-shopping was a major decision: I needed something safe and comfortable for him, and of course it had to coordinate with his eyes and coloring [I wish I was lyin'... ] And when I finally found one in the right size, and that I liked, I flipped it over to read the back of the package. And that's when I saw the lamest selling-point ever (and keep in mind, I work in Advertising so lame selling-points are my milieu... I mean, I've pretty much written-- er, seen-- it all):

"Removable bell attached for the safety of the local bird population".

Yo... Seriously???

Have we become so unfreakingbelievably PC these days, that it's now incumbent upon us to right the cruel injustices that exist within the food chain? Like our creator, in His infinite wisdom, didn't consider the delicate balance of nature and the universe? And I might disrupt the harmony of the animal kingdom if I act irresponsibly, buying an un-belled collar, and my cat maims a bird?

Give me a buh-reak.

Long story short, I bought the absurdly socially-responsible collar because it met all of the cute/comfortable/colorful criteria (read: "it looks good"). But I would've actually appreciated a brazenly truthful statement on the packaging, such as:

"Removable bell attached because it's simply adorable".

Or more appropriate in this case, "Removable bell attached because humankind needs a warning: This little JD will rip your shins to shreds".

PS-- I also bought a package of four glow-in-the-dark balls with bells in them, and they don't even glow. Buzzkill. I have to say it was kind of a lousy night for belled petcare accoutrements. I turned off every light, lamp and nightlight in the house to find this out. Thank goodness I bought the collar with the bell, or else the little sprite could've done me some seeeerious damage.

BLOGGING: THE DAILY PULPIT OF LIFE'S MINUTIA (WELL, EXCEPT THAT I'M TOO DARN LAZY TO ACTUALLY BLOG DAILY)

Ok, so we're nearing the end of 2008 and I'm shuffling back through my memories of the year... and I suddenly realized I'm so glad to have this blog to chronicle the past year's events. I don't really use this as a forum to communicate with others, but more for myself, and it's fun to go back and see what was going on at any given time of the year. Not that anything really noteworthy has happened to me in the prior 365 days, but for whatever reason, I like reviewing the minutia of my life.

And then the thunderbolt: My entries carry the same themes over and over. Now, I was somewhat aware of this because Mikey G had pointed out to me, some months ago, that most of my posts revolve around cats and feet. But I would assert that there are, in fact, a few additional categories:

-The plethora of weirdos that I inevitably attract

-Crappy stuff that's sold on TV

-Cars and automotive mishaps

-Pumpkins

-Poop (remember... it's always funny)

-Music

-Weight and appearance neuroses

-Work

-My various gaffes and public embarrassments

-Ebay

I think it's kind of funny that all of my interests and activities seem to converge in these very distinct areas. I'm looking forward to '09 to see if the trend continues! If so, that means the future is fairly predictable for me: I'll go to work selling cars and have a mishap on the lot when I attract a mob of angry, pumpkin-growing eccentrics who bowl their vegetation at me, severing one of my feet so that I have no choice but to buy a tube of Mighty Mend-It to re-attach the missing limb. The Mighty Mend-It will carry an unfortunate side effect that Billy Mays failed to warn us about: severe loss of bowel control. I'll need lots and lots of Sham-Wows. Embarrassment over this malady will prompt me to live the life of a social recluse, selling off my vast TimeLife 70's CD collection and Burt Sugarman's Midnight Special DVDs (and all the other crap I've bought from those ever-compelling late-night TV ads) on Ebay to support myself and my benevolent feline work... that is, if I can get my car retro-fitted with special pedals to get me to Fayetteville under dark cover of night. And, of course, I'll need to be able to feed my cats at home. Because I'll be adopting three more. Ironically, I'll become a maimed, agoraphobic, redneck version of the old woman who lived in the shoe-- but sans-kids. I'll stick with the cats. They enjoy reading my blog.

AT LEAST I KNOW SOMEONE READS MY BLOG...

My most devoted reader is the Smidge. He loves to hop up on the desk and watch the screen while I type... he does the same with the tv, sometimes staring at it for half an hour at a time. Maybe he's just a flat-screen fetishist. But I'm taking it as a compliment, just the same.

We'll call this an even swap for the unholy act he perpetrated on the holiday goodie-basket I brought home from the cabin last week. Wow. I thought something smelled funny when I came in the door this afternoon. And sure enough, he (or someone) seemed to have confused the rather large, empty basket lined with paper shreds as a litterbox in waiting. I've always said these cats can poop at will... and nothing seems to stimulate them like a pristine receptacle.

See, my mother had made this wonderful goodie basket for me and had it waiting in my room when I got to the cabin for Christmas. It was full of all kinds of treats (Poppycock, pistachios, almond roca, Lindt truffles and the like) for me to nibble on while I was there, lest I become too weakened from hunger to stumble ten feet to the kitchen for a snack. And since I hadn't touched a single bite of the goodies, she sent it home with me. I started in on it a couple days ago, and now the basket has been completely defiled. I'd love to post the photo (oh, yes, I took one!) of this abomination, but it is a little crude. Hysterical, but crude. Even for me. But suffice it to say, the basket's now full of Poopycock.

CONVERTIBLE LIGHT THERAPY

Does anyone else ever feel a little melancholy after the holidays? Kinda blah, like it's all over just a little too quickly?

I know that sounds really strange coming from me, the least Christmas-y person you'll ever meet. But when you're a kid, the anticipation of Christmas fuels you for weeks until you finally get to open all of your presents. You spend a lot of time under the tree... you shake every gift with your name on it... you wonder if what you think is in that box is really in that box... and when you finally do stumble into the living room on Christmas morning to find the loot that Santa left, just for you, it's a pay-off of unequaled proportions in the kid universe. But once you're grown, and the thrill of ripping the paper off mounds of gifts is no longer part of the equation, the fun of Christmas really is only in the anticipation of it and then in watching others open the gifts you carefully selected for them. I think it may be different for parents, but that's how it is for single folks. The anticipation is the best part, and so the actual event doesn't always quite measure up.

So I feel a little nonplussed now that it's over. As I've mentioned, I got uncharacteristically excited about Christmas this year: Decorated my tree early, worked on the office party for weeks, spent a three-day weekend before Christmas on Mt. Magazine with my mom's side of the family, and even made the whole round of holiday visits before December 25. And so by the time the big day arrived, all of my holiday stuff was... well, over. It was nice to have a relaxing day off, but it was perhaps a little anti-climactic.

And here it is, December 26, and I find myself wanting to hang onto it a bit longer. Now, I never take my tree down before New Years anyway; I cling to the twinkle-lights as long as I can do so in good conscience... that part's not any different. But I realized that I still hadn't driven down to the Fayetteville Square to enjoy the Lights of the Ozarks display this year, so I called in a to-go order at Pesto Cafe (yes, the pre-resolution carb-load is in full-swing!) and decided to cruise through our local winter wonderland while I was at it. It seemed like just the extension I needed.

As always, the square was gorgeous. This year, though, something was a little different and I couldn't quite put my finger on it at first. Then I realized it was all the people, strolling around in their shirt sleeves. And in addition to the handsome cabs, Party-Time Ponies was there with a carousel of horse rides for the kiddos. And then I rounded the west side of the square and saw the camels. Brittnee had told me there were camel rides around the square this year, and I saw them with my own two eyes. Suddenly, the Lights of the Ozarks took on a carnival-like feel. I had these trippy flashbacks of little kids on camelback at the Gentry zoo. It was weird. Camel rides, 450,000 lights and Christmas carols. Oh, and to add to the oddity of it all, did I mention it's 70 degrees tonight?

As I drove down Mountain and hung a left onto 71-B, the very strangeness of it pressed on me. I felt compelled to double back and circle the square one more time. And I really wanted to make the next round with the top down on my car-- but that just seemed way too bizarre. And then I got to thinking: camels, Christmas music and a nice "Spring" night in Northwest Arkansas on December 26. Could a drive through the lights in a convertible really be that off-kilter??

I dropped the top and took another spin... I have to say, I enjoyed every second. It was much better with the top down... the lights were brighter, the music more melodic and the swirl of the humid late-December air wafting through the car was most welcomed. In a word, it was closure... ah... exactly what I'd been seeking, following all of the yuletide anticipation.

WE'RE OFFICIALLY TREE-HUGGERS NOW...

Ok, so it may not look like it in the photo, but it really was kinda sad saying goodbye to our little office tree today. Brittnee and I have spent the past six weeks lovingly designing, decorating and re-decorating, tszujing and re-tszujing this verdant little treasure. We've grown pretty attached to it... sniff-sniff... So that "sentimental feeling" they've been warning us about for years in Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree? Let's just say that the carol doesn't lie.

We started this love affair on November 13 and have pretty much spent every single day obsessing about the look of this goofy tree. Being in charge of the office party is a job we've taken pretty darn seriously... and since the tree is kind of the symbol for the whole shindig, naturally it took center stage in our minds. (A) You can't have a Christmas party without a tree and (B) The tree needed to reflect the attitude of the party we were planning: Silly. Whimsical. Light-hearted. A contrast to the pressure-filled days most of our staff normally experience, and especially now while our department has just gone through our first ever lay-off. The tree needed to convey that we were planning a fun, laid-back day for everyone. We even grouped the ornaments into sets and gave them away as door prizes, so we felt that they should be extra-special... we don't want to send our office-peeps home with crapola! Plus, we're supposed to be the "creative" ones around here, so our reputations were on the line!

See, this is the first time we've kept our holiday party in-house, so there were a few nay-sayers. I even overheard some employees grousing that it was just going to be a "normal workday" and "they'd just have to be tied to the phones all day, anyway"... so after that, it was on. This was not to be any run-of-the-mill workday. No. We wanted them to be all but assaulted by holiday spirit, complete with all kinds of Steve Carrell Office-esque shenanigans. "Put a seat belt on your office chair, folks... you've never had a day like this in CDP". Well, that's what we were hoping the tree was saying, anyway.

So the day started with breakfast for 150 from Cracker Barrel, progressed to the Tacky Sweater contest mid-morning (hence, Brittnee's attire in the photo!), then named winners for our "group vs. group" mini-tree decorating throw-down, and continued with Christmas songs and door-prizes on the half-hour throughout the day. All in all, we are very pleased with the outcome and hope all the employees enjoyed it half as much as we did! It was our goal to turn everyone into believers. Not that there is a Santa Claus, mind you, but that it is truly possible to turn an on-site office party into a rollicking good time!

But the tree? Well, the tree I'm gonna miss. It smarted a little, dismantling it ornament by ornament today. And though Frosty the Snowman will "be back again someday", our tree-mendous friend will not. It pretty much got picked clean, save a few glittery wisps of willow and some ribbons on top. Oh, well... there's always next year! But who knows? Maybe we'll top the topper!

Merry Christmas, all! And may your office parties not stink! :-)

"WHEN YOU TURN YOUR CAR ON... DOES IT RETURN THE FAVOR?"

After a week and a half, I finally got down to Dallas to pick up the new (well, new to me anyway) Cadillac... Yippee!

This shot was snapped shortly after my inspection of the vehicle (to be sure that I was, in fact, purchasing what I thought I was) and turning in all of my paperwork to finalize the sale-- just before driving it off the lot. Up until this point, I was feeling pretty much the same as I had been in my previous post. Scared. To. Death. But as soon as I slid behind the wheel and hit the "On" button, my trepidations began to fade away. It drives like a dream. I've yet to get anyone else behind the wheel, but I'll keep working on you guys!

I was really, really nervous when I got on I-35 and headed home. Driving an unfamiliar vehicle in DFW... "Somebody, get me out of this traffic... like, quick!" Once the traffic spaced out and I got out of the metroplex a ways, I juiced it a little to see what it would do... frankly, I was still a bit terrified but did get the speed up to 101 mph. That'll probably be about the fastest I'll ever have it, but now I know that it truly is capable of getting on up there with no lag. The XLR is supposed to hit 60 in 5.9 seconds... I hope I never find out!

By the time I got near Tushka, Oklahoma, I finally had my "I love this car" epiphany. It had been a long time coming, so it was quite a relief. Not coincidentally, I had this breakthrough at roughly the same time took my eyes off the Heads-Up Display that projects the speed on the windshield and started really looking at the instrument panel; that's when I realized the speedometer says "BVLGARI". A designer speedometer? Are you kidding me?? This is my car!!! Bwaahahahaha. The only thing that might top that would be if the leather seats were embossed "Coach"!

Wish me luck... this is a majorly humongo purchase for me. I think the Hoopty Wagon may get a bit lonely over the next few weeks. But to answer Kate Walsh's question from the Cadillac commercial, the answer is "Yes! Yes! Yes! Ohhh, Yes!"

HO-HO-HOLY CRAP... I'M NOT SURE I'VE BEEN "THAT" GOOD THIS YEAR

Well, if you tune in here once in a while, you know that my New Year's Resolution for '08 was to clear out the credit card debt and finally retire the mean, green Hoopty-Wagon. You may also recall that I was going to lose a ton of weight and morph into a remarkably svelte, strikingly youthful-looking, 100-lb super model. Well, if you see me regularly, you can probably guess which one of those fell by the wayside, I guess it was...oh... April'ish. Since then, I've had plenty of time to gain back all the weight I'd lost the first few months of the year, plus a little more (I'm kind of an over-achiever in that regard). But I've decided to spin it this way: I saved something to work on in 2009. See, what I lack in resolve, I more than make up for in brilliant rationalizations.

So even though I didn't stick to the physical plan, I'm proud I was able to remain faithful to the fiscal plan. Now, for part B... car shopping. It was fun at first, but I've done so much browsing the past few months that it has actually started to feel like a part-time job. I started out reading books about how to get a good deal, then progressed to shopping car loans and got my financing all pre-approved, and then started to really hunt for cars in earnest. Once I narrowed it down to two or three models, along came the research, the expert reviews, owner testimonials and endless Carfax reports. (By the way, friends, I bought so many Carfaxes that I finally broke down and purchased a bundle that will expire before the end of the year-- so let me know if you need me to run anything for you!) And all through this process, I've been reminding myself that this is an economic decision, not an emotional one... and so a phrase that Mark said early on has become my mantra: "Fall in love with the deal, don't fall in love with the car". Great advice. But I'm going to share another little secret with everyone: when you detach yourself emotionally and don't let yourself "fall in love with the car", car-buying just ain't all that fun. And when you shop deals nationwide and have to wait to take possession of the car, you have waaay too much time to second-guess yourself.

And that's where I am today. See, yesterday, I bought a ridiculously well-priced ($10k below market value!) pre-owned Cadillac and have yet to experience anything close to glee. In fact, with all the financial gloom and doom in the media right now, it's really kind of a huge "Oh, crap" moment. I've gotten so accustomed to socking away my nickles and dimes for sales tax, down-payments and insurance premiums, that I feel a pang of guilt now that I'm actually spending the money I worked to save. Now, don't get me wrong... I feel I've earned it. It hasn't been a picnic to forego the shopping and the weekend get-aways, nor to drive a 1992 Honda all this time! But I do think it will probably feel really great when I finally get behind the wheel in a few days, knowing that I've had to sacrifice for it. If there's one thing that can usually lift my spirits, it's wide tires and dual exhaust... Sorry, but being an unabashed redneck is part of my "charm". :-)

So for those of you on my Christmas list this year... you'll be getting "glad tidings of joy" from me, and maybe a ride around the block. I'm still a little freaked out that I actually bought the silver sled. Gasp. Where's my brown paper bag?? I. Can't. Breathe. Uh, this is probably a good time for more rationalizing:

• Most people my age pay daycare; my "daycare payment" just happens to be a two-seater. (Uh, let's be really honest... at my age, I could be paying college tuition for my offspring! And a measley little XLR is a lot cheaper than that!!)
• I bought used, so owner #1 took the depreciation and I took the great deal.
• I'm spending my own money before Barry O has a chance to spread it around.
• If this turns out to be a whopper of a financial blunder, I can probably sell at fair market price and recoup all of my money.
• I did my part to stimulate the economy.
• Everyone pays out the nose when they're having a mid-life crisis.
• I'm sooo "over" turning up the heat in the Hoopty, using the pair of needle-nosed pliers I keep in my glovebox for this task!

There. Whew... Now I feel all better. Christmas shopping, anyone? And let's grab a bite to eat while we're out... the diet doesn't start for 33 more days. But since I don't pick up the new ride 'til next week, there's just one question: How handy are you with a pair of pliers??

OH, TANNENBAUM... HOW LOVELY ARE THY FLAME-RETARDANT BRANCHES...

So something is clearly amiss at Chez Jules... Never have I been so excited about Christmas.

Anyone who knows me will attest to my normal Bah-Humbugginess; I normally make the Grinch look like a big ol' softie, and Scrooge's attitude toward the season seems downright cheery in comparison to mine.

But not this year.

Maybe alien elves abducted the real Julie... Perhaps the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come paid me a little visit when I wasn't looking... Or all the Whos in Whoville helped my heart grow three sizes larger. I don't know. But I'm running with it this year., no questions asked.

Since I now share space with the Smidge, who loves to climb the corn plant and is forever needing rescued from way up high in the trees in my backyard, I figured a Christmas tree was pretty much out of the question. The last thing I need is a painful Christmas memory of the year I had my beloved Smidge sent off to a taxidermist for breaking all of my cherished ornaments. So the perfect solution was to get a small tree and put it up in the bedroom, the thought being that I can pretty much keep the Hellkitten out of there. Well, since my bedroom is done in a chocolate/aqua scheme, none of my ornaments match. The only thing to do was rush out in a fit of fury and buy all new ornaments to match my room... voilà! Problem was, I got so excited buying aqua and turquoise decorations, that suddenly a small tree wouldn't accommodate them. So I now have a six-foot tree in the bedroom.

Now, the tree itself is kinda cheesy... and by kinda, I mean 200%. This is the first time since 1994, when I lived in a one-bedroom apartment, that I've had an artificial tree. And now, I remember why... it's just not the same. But this was supposed to be a compromise, so that's why it's a "skinny" tree and not as tall as the real ones I normally buy. But hey, since the needles won't dry out and fall off, I can enjoy it longer. And boy, am I enjoying it. Every night, I've been going to bed with the lights twinkling so I can gawk at it. You can't tell it from the pics, but it actually turned out pretty sweet for a mid-sized flame-retardant monstrosity... the ornaments are really fun. And once I buy a few more peacock feathers and tszuj the topper a little more, I think we'll be done. The big girls are enjoying laying on the dupioni tree skirt that I'm sure looks fur-covered by now. Ugh. But best of all, Smidgey's still alive and not stuffed like one of the 'fraidy cats from Hope Floats, knock on wood. Just 31 days 'til Christmas... hold on, lil' Smidge.

And for anyone else who lives with a feline juvenile delinquent, a parting tip: A chinese yo-yo makes a wonderful disciplinary tool for wayward cats. And two of them work like magic! Go figure. I picked a couple up while I was buying Christmas decor at Pier One, and the little stinker's scared to death of them. Score! If I stock up on paper yo-yos, I might be able to have that ten-foot tree in the living room, afterall...

POOP SANDWICHES FOR LUNCH... 'TIL 2012

Once again, folks, I don't make the news... I only report it. And this is funny. This hit the AP wire yesterday (yes, on election day) and Brittnee and I have been getting tons of mileage out of it ever since. Frankly, it's just too amusing not to share.

Associated Press: BUTTE, MT – Democrats are criticizing a 38-year-old man who parked a trailer load of manure across the street from Whitehall's Democratic campaign office to protest presidential hopeful Barack Obama.

Terry Reed, who owns a construction and excavation company in Whitehall, parked the trailer near the office on Saturday. He also posted a sign in the manure mocking Obama's "change we can believe in" slogan as "a load of crap."

"I think Obama's plan is just one big old poop sandwich and we're all going to have to take a bite," he said.

Suzanne Molyneaux, the Obama campaign's election team leader in Whitehall, said traffic came to a near standstill as people stopped to take pictures of the trailer. Reed said he doesn't plan to move the trailer until after Election Day.

"My only regret is that I didn't do something sooner," he said.

Well said, Mr. Reed... here here. I think we're all going to get really tired of eating this same lunch for the next four years. But more on that later.

FOX NEWS... WELL, KIND OF

So I'm at work today, minding my own business (ok, so that would be a first!) and our intranet displays a selection of the day's top news stories. Now, I rarely read this stuff... and it's not because I'm too engrossed in my work to engage in tomfoolery, Heaven only knows. But I've just never taken much interest in being fed a stream of news factoids; plus over the past few months I've grown weary of seeing the same stories over and over again: Freddie, Fannie, the eratic stock market activity, the liberal media slant on the presedential election, blah-blah-blah.

But today, I just happened to be stalling on closing out the monthly financials-- the bane of my existence and one of the few things I detest about my job-- and I saw this little tidbit. And once you read it, you'll know I'm not making this up. I literally LOL'd (which fortunately, my co-workers are used to... on a floor of 200+ people, they all know the Julie Mannon guffaw whether they want to or not). But I'm taking up valuable time you should be reading this amazing tale:

Associated Press: PRESCOTT, AZ – Authorities in Arizona say a jogger attacked by a rabid fox ran a mile with the animal's jaws clamped on her arm and then drove herself to a hospital. The Yavapai County sheriff's office said the woman told deputies she was on a trail near Prescott on Monday when the fox attacked and bit her foot.

She said she grabbed the fox by the neck when it went for her leg but it bit her arm.

The woman wanted the animal tested for rabies so she ran a mile to her car with the fox still biting her arm, then pried it off and tossed it in her trunk and drove to the Prescott hospital.

The sheriff's office says the fox later bit an animal control officer. He and the woman are both receiving rabies vaccinations.

Now, I know that's not funny in the haha sense... but let that be a lesson to all you joggers. First of all, you should be at home watching your Burt Sugarman's Midnight Special DVD collection (more on that in a future blog-- but suffice it to say, it's awesome!) and eating cookie dough like the rest of us. And if you do get bitten on the ankle by a rabid fox, don't grab it by the throat for crying out loud... or else you could find yourself running a whole mile (which frankly, sounds bad enough in itself) and even more terrifying with a wild, diseased animal gnawing on your arm.

Crazy, huh? Yeah. But not like a fox.

CARVIN' PUMPKINS LIKE THE JACK-O PROS

Ok, so maybe that's a bit of an over-statement. I know the real pumpkin carvers do a much better job, but I can tell you they don't have any more fun than we did tonight!

We met Katherine and Steve (Mark's sister and her husband) at Mark's mom's house tonight and had some fun with the second annual Newland pumpkin-carving extravaganza. Photographing them proved a bit tricky, but I think they turned out pretty good for people who do it once a year.

From left to right, these are:

• Katherine's "ghost in the window"
  
• Mark's "Elmo"
  
• Steve's "googly-eyed jack-o'lantern"
  
• My "Halloween cat on a broom" (shut up, Mikey G!)
  

Diane baked apple dumplings and Katherine made caramel apples, and after we enjoyed the Fall treats, we got down to the serious business of gutting pumpkins. We even roasted the pumpkin seeds! Does that sound like some good, wholesome Autumn fun or what?

I thought Katherine had quite an advantage over the rest of us, considering she uses a scalpel everyday-- but I think she would tell you it's easier in the ER than it is with a $4 plastic carving tool from Walmart! And Steve's super-creative, being a Marketing Veep for Wrigley... he made quick work of his piece, and so did Mark-- and those two were working with the largest pumpkins.

Beatrice (who is a year and a half old) loves-loves-loves Elmo... they practically keep the Elmo DVD looped all day, because as soon as it goes off she wants it on again. She chants "Elmo" all throughout her waking hours, and Katherine says she even rolls over in the middle of the night and says "Elmo" in her sleep! So Uncle Mark knew exactly what he wanted to make for his special girl. You should've seen her face when he lit the candle and she realized what it was... her eyes got wide, she looked around at everyone, pointed to it and exclaimed, "Elmo!" She then walked up to it, touched it with the tip of her finger, quickly drew her hand back and said again, "Elmo!!!" It was worth every goopy minute of scooping pumpkin guts, just to get that reaction!

We had initially planned a "carve-off" of sorts, to see whose Jack-O skills would prove them tonight's winner, but once we got a load of Uncle Mark's Elmo, all bets were off. There's no competing with that!

If you want to check out how the pros really do it, check out the Pumpkin Gutter's website. This guy is incredible! Sounds dorky, but he makes me want to buy a dozen pumpkins and a Dremel. Be sure to read his FAQ page, because he's got the most fantastically snarky comebacks to some totally ridiculous questions!

I'm leaving town for a few days, so in case I don't get back here between now and the 31st, Happy Halloween, everyone!

"YOU" IS REALLY AN "I"

It’s been seven years since you confirmed the affair, said "I saw my attorney today" and found yourself starting all over as a single girl... and it's been six years since you started dating the guy you thought you’d have some fun with for a little while, and you realize that somewhere in the mix he became your best friend so that it's hard to imagine you without him…

It’s been fifteen years since you took that fresh-out-of-college job because you just needed someplace to start, and now you've picked out a minor kitchen appliance from a catalog to commemorate the anniversary of the "starter job"…

It’s been nine months since you started your last diet, and in that time you’ve lost 27 lbs and gained back 24— and as you ponder how it is that you look heavier now than you did before, you try not to worry because you know you’ll start again on Monday… You start again every Monday...

You have one year, nine months and twenty-two days to go until you turn forty, but who’s counting?

You feel like you’re finally in control of your life, but it doesn’t feel quite as gratifying as you imagined it would, nor as exciting as it did when you flew by the seat of your pants…

You hope that things will take a turn, but instead of accelerating toward the turn, you pull the covers up under your chin, roll over and hope that when you awake in the morning, you’re just magically there-- wherever it is that you’re supposed to be; you don’t know the place, but you’ll probably recognize it when you get there…

You wonder what it would be like to have to get up early on a Saturday morning to get the kids to soccer practice, but deep down you’re glad you get to sleep in…

You feel a bit faulty, because you secretly think that, as a 38-year woman, you’re supposed to have {and want} a husband and children and grown-up responsibilities, and you wonder how the lack of those things in your life shapes others’ perceptions of you…

You think about your grandparents-- and even your parents-- and you know that they won’t always be around, so it makes you feel guilty for not spending more time or staying in closer contact with them now, today, while you have the chance, and you know you will look at this as a lost opportunity one of these days…

You wonder how you got to be middle-aged, when you still feel like you’re 26 in your head and then you whisper a little thank you for Botox, because few things in life suck as much as forehead wrinkles…

You wish you had the verve you once had, and that you used that energy for great adventure, spontaneity, a consistent workout regimen, self-improvement and self-actualization instead of squandering the meager amount you do have on ebaying, trash tv and endless hours of worrying about your weight and whether others are judging you for the size you are…

You plan to be spontaneous, so you’ll put it on your to-do list... for next week, maybe, or the week after that... but it will probably wind up like most other things on your to-do list...

You despise the procrastinating you’re so prone to, and you wonder why you don’t just get off your ever-expanding duff and make the changes you need to make, instead of blogging your fingers to the bone about it…

The holidays are coming up and you recall that the average person gains eight pounds between Thanksgiving and New Years… You wonder if you might possibly have the willpower to join a gym now and actually go while everyone else is eating dressing and gravy and pumpkin pie…

You wish you could remember the dreams you had for yourself {and who you would be} when you were young, that way the path might be a little clearer… because you can’t really remember who you’re supposed to be, you just know that it’s not exactly who you are— well, maybe it’s kinda who you are, but only a partially-realized version of it…

You tell yourself it’s ok not to have it all figured out, because maybe no one does even though some people appear to... but you know that you’ll only quasi-believe it’s ok for a little while and tomorrow you’ll have to remind yourself again…

You realize you’ve been in a weird funk all day and that most of these ramblings are little more than Tampax-induced anxieties about life and love and living, and they will {gratefully} be gone next week… but they'll creep back in the same time next month, unless you can get the cobwebs out of your head and find some clarity between now and then...

You read back over all the words you just typed and realize that every single “you” is really an “I”… but that’s ok. You’re the only you there is.

TRICK-OR-TREATING: THE POLITICALLY-CORRECT WAY

So I’ve been all kinds of fired-up over the political situation the past couple of weeks, pretty much ever since “Joe the Plumber” blew the lid off “Barry the Lib’s” plan for destroying the American Dream.

This “spreading the wealth around is good for everybody” talk really sticks in my craw. I have to say, I don’t think letting the government decide how to spread around my hard-earned dollars is good for me at all. It might be good for under-employed deadbeats, those who don’t work at all, or those who don’t feel the need to pay taxes like the rest of us— but I work hard for my living, and I’d like to keep it just that: “my living”, not mine plus someone else’s. And I don’t want a slice of anyone else’s pie, either. Frankly, I’m proud of my modest little house (which, by the way, was based on my actual monthly budget and not whatever maximum loan amount I could’ve been approved for). And I take pride in the fact that, as a single female, I’m able to do it on my own. I feel very fortunate to have had parents who were willing to make personal sacrifices and fund my education so I could accomplish these things without handouts from them or from the government. But most of all, I feel so blessed to live in a country where these opportunities and freedoms are possible for everyone.

And when I take a step back and try to reconcile all that's going on with the American economy versus my personal convictions, it pretty much boils down to this: I’m still really chapped over the $700 billion in bail-out bucks that We, the People just forked over to the Treasury Secretary to stem a hemorrhage that was caused by little more than sheer self-serving avarice. Does anyone else feel that way, like We, the People just took it up the Fannie Mae? Where’s the personal accountability, on the part of individuals as well as our great nation's leaders and the government officials who were put in office by We, the People? And aren't the media supposed to suppress their own personal bias long enough to hold the politicians accountable on behalf of We, the People? And why aren’t We, the People from the all the big, square states in the middle of this great country more pissed off? It's up to We, the People to first be accountable and prudent ourselves, and in turn to expect it from those who represent us.

So I’ve got all of these feelings about the economy swirling around in my head… and I’m trying to balance it out with happy thoughts— I mean, Halloween is coming up, and that’s always fun, right? And these two opposing forces keep butting up against each other in my head, and suddenly I had a brainstorm…

Let’s consider it a little pre-election day experiment. Why don't we take Barry O’s “spread the wealth around” concept and give it a kind of a test-drive? You know, in a real-life practical situation that we’re all familiar with, just a few days ahead of going to the polls. Let’s do our trick-or-treating in a politically-correct fashion this year!

See, the kiddos will get all dressed up in their costumes, wait for it to get dark outside, approach all the houses with porch lights on, exclaim “Trick or treat!”, hold out their buckets and collect their goodies. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Then, at the end of the night— instead of returning home and dumping their hard-earned till onto the kitchen table to examine it with delight and then dig in— let’s have the government collect all the trick-or-treaters’ goodies and determine how they should best be split up. Mind you, some of the recipients won’t have taken the time to don a costume nor ring a single doorbell… but it’s good to spread things around, remember? Barry O said so. So whether you participated or not, you’ll get what Barry O and his ghoulish peeps deem your fair share.

Oh, yeah… and did I mention that you’ll get hit in the wallet for it all next April? That's the trick that goes with the treat.

Now, I don’t know about you kids, but I want to keep my candy in my own bucket, thank you.

And by the way, you better keep your mits off the Sour Patch Kids candy and the Cry Baby gum— I’m calling dibs on those! I'm afraid I may have a taste for them after January 20.

OK, NOW, I'M REALLY SCARED!

So, there are some folks in my neighborhood who really went all out with their Halloween decorations this year... You can't really tell it from the photo I snapped out the window of the Hoopty-Wagon on my way home from work tonight, but these people are loaded for bear: grave markers all over the yard... a skeleton hanging from a branch of the Bradford Pear... a giant inflatable spider that glows... ghosts, ghouls and some creepy skull thing arched over the entry-way. And then they took it a step further this weekend, and added the big, blue sign in the forefront.

Some people obviously prefer tricks over treats this Halloween.

THE AMAZING LACTATING CAT-CUSHION

With three cats in the house, there's quite a shortage of cat beds... and frankly, these days they don't like each other well enough to bed down together, anyway. They're still feeling snarky about the arrival of Smidge. So the Princess Bed, which was formerly Spencer's domain, had become a pretty hot territory-- a sort of status symbol. Whichever one seized control of it, at any given time, had obtained the primo spot; the other two just had to "suck it up" and find someplace else to crash. And the big girls would find themselves sucking it up a lot, because Smidge has assumed the Alpha role around here. Cats sleep like 18 hours a day, anyway... and when they're 12 years old, weigh about 17 lbs, and are in a state of depressed denial because of an obnoxious little brother they never wanted, they really put out some serious zzz's. So when you walk through my house, you get the full Crazy Cat Lady effect: cat bodies splayed out everywhere, on every stick of furniture in the house, it seems.

Mark was at Wal-Mart the other night and saw this little cushion he thought the kitty-friends would like. It's not even made for cats, specifically... it's just fluffy and furry and feels really soft (like those chenille scarves that were popular a couple years back). In fact, it kinda feels... well, like a cat. And though they avoided it for the first two or three days, its "foreign object" status finally faded and they've really taken to it. Now, they jockey for position on both the Princess Bed and the new cushion. But The Smidge has developed a particularly "unusual attachment" to it.

I guess you'd say it's become a surrogate mother. And considering how he got rudely snatched from his mama at about six weeks of age, I can see where he might be missing something. The cushion fills a void.

Get a load of Exhibit A... and be sure to turn up your speakers.

Now, let me point out that this clip hasn't been enhanced at all. Not one bit. Those clicking sounds you hear... those are Smidge sucking the beloved pillow. And notice the kneading: A heckuva bread-maker is this little guy. He started doing this on Sunday, and has done it every day since. I couldn't believe my eyes-- or ears-- at first. But after a few minutes, once he's satisfied, he stretches right out and drifts off to Lunesta-land. He loves this thing!

Who knew Wal-Mart sold a pillow with invisible cat nipples?

LATE NIGHT INFOMERCIALS: THE INSOMNIAC'S BFF

Since I'm wired for sound and fully awake well past 1 AM most nights, I see more than my fair share of infomercials. I know them all: Vince the ShamWow pitch man... 120-year old Jack LaLanne and his amazing juicer... Ron "Set It And Forget It" Popeil... Leza Gibbons with her Sheer Cover mineral make-up... Cindy Crawford and Meaningful Beauty with that special enzyme from those ridiculous french cantaloupes... the [fill in the blank] "they" don't want you to know about until whistle-blower Kevin Trudeau saves you from it with his latest book... myriad celebs hawking ProActive Solution... the greasy colon-cleanse guy that looks like John Waters and talks about how long our poop should be... and of course the uber-obnoxious Billy Mayes with ten thousand things he'll be glad to tell you about in his high-pitched carney voice. Yes, these are my late-night companions. We have a clandestine rendezvous most evenings after the rest of the world is fast asleep.

So, you see, it was only a matter of time until Kathy Mitchell used her grandmotherly wiles to charm me into buying the GT Xpress 101.

Now, before I tell you about this little gizmo, a disclaimer: Any medical doctor will tell you that the sleep-deprived suffer from severely impaired judgment. So technically, I'm probably not liable for my actions... But anyway, the GT Xpress arrived a couple days ago (along with the advertised spatula, shaker bottle and book of 101 recipes). And I have to admit I was a little disappointed at first. It smelled kinda funny, and it was really cheap-looking, lightweight and very tiny. For some reason, I thought it would be a big strapping unitasker, to use Alton Brown's word. But nevertheless, I was excited to try it out. And try it out I did.

In seven minutes, I had worked culinary magic: asparagus beef roll-ups. Now, they aren't much to look at... but they were actually pretty darn tasty. And anytime I can get a low-carb meal in under ten minutes, there's a shimmer of hope that I might actually use my kitchen for more than pouring myself a diet coke or a bowl of cereal. In fact, there might be hope for me to get back on track with the dieting. I started (and ended) the MediFast plan last week... it was over in a hot second, so I didn't have time to even blog about it. But suffice it to say, I have a kazillion boxes of MediFast "meals" that will probably end up on Ebay before the weekend is over. And I should probably list my leftover NutriSystem food, too-- which brings me full circle and essentially to the point I'm trying to make here: I buy the useless crap I see on TV.

I'm highly susceptible to gimmicks in the wee hours of the morning. But so far, the GT Xpress 101 is ok in my book. It may go the way of the barely used Jack LaLanne juicer that's sitting on my pantry shelf... or it may end up like Billy Mayes' Samurai Shark in my drawer or his Hercules Hooks in my utility room cabinet... or perhaps it will be as lonely as my collection of The Firm hand weights and DVDs. But so far, I think I have a new favorite, by way of introduction from my late night cronies.

Well, my computer says it's 1:39 AM and you know what that means. Vince, Cindy, Jack, Kevin, Leza and the gang are all waiting for me. And I'm sure I probably need some sublingual B-12 tablets or a Pet-icure device or a Tony Little Gazelle... I just don't know it yet. Better grab my debit card and get to bed now.

MORE SHOEPHORIA WITH STEVE...

Alrighty, so my good friend Mikey G is always uncannily perceptive in pointing out my blogging trends. And he's right. Not only did I get mired down in Smidgey tales all summer, but I also have a definite foot theme goin' on here. Heck, my first post was New Shoes: Sex In a Box. There's no denying it... I'm guilty. And to adapt a line from one of my favorite Paul McCartney songs, some people wanna fill the world with silly foot blogs. What's wrong with that? I need to know... 'cause here I go... again. ha! But seriously, I just have to share the latest in the Stevi Shoe Slut Saga. Apparently, when I posted about his recent e-mails, I conjured him up.

So Brittnee and I were sitting in a meeting room this afternoon, having just wrapped up a conference call, when my PDA ding'd... and what little gem was waiting in my e-mail? Another message from Steve. And nine (count them...1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9) attached photos! I had surmised in my last blog that, by not selling him the Via Spigas, I had cut myself out of some fantastic future photos... but nope! Today, I hit the mother lode!

The subject line read, "Miss Stevi in Miss Lisa's Patent Sandals‏" and this message followed: "How do you like my sexy strappy black patent high heel sandals I got from Miss Lisa, sweetheart? Oh yes, Stevi sure knows sexy heels for sure..... got a bad case of "blue balls", guys???? Miss Stevi is a shoe and foot tease!!! Kisses!!!!!!!!!"

And the photos? Well, they're priceless, of course. Here's a little sample:

Do you love it?? This last shot delivers like Domino's... it's like he's giving himself a thumbs-up (but I guess it would technically be a "toe-up"). I'll second that, Steve! Funny!! I mean, Dude is wearing jorts! JORTS! And stockings. With. His. Heels. Frankly, you gotta sympathize with someone who has to cope with unpainted toes (well, and hairy legs) with strappy sandals... those are two bigtime sexy-killers that have to smart just a little. But you know, I think he feels pretty, anyway! Downright shoephoric, in fact! :-)

ADVENTURES IN CYBER-SALES

Hello again, friends... it's been a while. I've missed all of you and I'm glad to be back a-bloggin'. I want everyone to know that I haven't been totally absent from the virtual world... nay, only from Blogger. I've been engaged in other online pursuits. Get your head out of the gutter... not those kinds of online pursuits. Sheesh.

Yes, Mannonj has been alive and well on Ebay lately. Or as I like to call it now, The Freak Store.

Still focused on the "get out of debt" resolution from New Years, I decided that putting some of my unused stuff up for auction would kill two birds with one stone: Clean out the closets and make a little cash. Make that three birds-- I'm also trying to rebound my feedback score, since that you-know-what, Diva, screwed me over a few months ago. But the part I didn't bargain for was that I would essentially be "moonlighting" on Ebay... I listed about 40 items and it darn-near turned into a part-time job! Now, that's mainly my own doing because I can't just write a simple description of an auction item... kinda like I can't write a short blog-entry. It's the advertiser-slash-literary-wannabe in me.

The other part I didn't bargain for was the freak clientele I would attract. Now, I've sold online before, but on a very limited basis and only to quasi-normal folks. Remember, I'm the redneck who sold a Z-28 on there last year (I still think that selling a Camaro on Ebay is the ultimate punchline to a Foxworthy joke!) But this time, I got a real taste of "the online community". And admittedly, I'm a magnet for all the weirdness in the universe, as you know-- but this is proof that it doesn't have to be in the literal, physical world. No. Apparently, I have the power to attract crazies in the virtual world as well. Good thing I never hit e-Harmony or Match.com... I probably wouldn't be alive to type these words.

Ok, so let me start by telling you about the items I had listed. Most were throwbacks from my going-out days... you know, 5" BCBG heels and metallic Bebe bags. The kind of semi-trashy stuff I no longer wear, now that I'm officially "middle-aged" and behaving accordingly. I didn't realize this kind of item would draw... how do I put this?... a certain kind of "inquisitive buyer". You know, the kind of buyer who doesn't mind sending messages and making some very specific requests.

Now, I could start by telling you about the gal who wondered if I'd model a very standard stiletto-heel/pointed-toe boot with skirts, because she's challenged in the area of putting outfits together. Or I could tell tales of my new uber-polite "bon ami" in France who bought two pair of rhinestone Steve Maddens for his wife and always signed his messages "see you soon". (Am I going to France? Oui? If so, please tell me now, Stephane, so I can be looking forward to it!) Or perhaps I could mention the endless array of inquiries like "I love this purse... does it really look that good in person or is it just photogenic?" But I'm far too anxious to tell you all about Steve.

The first message I got from Steve was to ask if I'd be willing to accept a "well-concealed cash payment or money order" for a pair of red patent Via Spiga heels. Seemed a little odd, but I didn't think much of it. I mean, my listings all say "Paypal required" but you can't blame a guy for trying. Steve went on to explain that he's a cross-dresser, and though he normally wears a men's size 10, he's been known to fit into a women's 9, and he especially "luvs" patent heels. In fact, he called my Via Spigas "yummy" and requested more photos. And even though I wasn't willing to accept alternate forms of payment, I was glad to send more photos. I mean, just because he has a patent shoe fettish doesn't mean he's not a serious buyer. Right? And I can kinda respect, in some sense, that there's no artiface here. Steve is who he is, and he's found a place online to just be up-front about it. So despite Steve's e-mail signature of "Stevi Patent Pump Sissy", I thought "Who am I to judge?" and sent him additional pics. (Note to self: this attitude might be contributing to my little "magnetism" issue...)

But upon receiving my photos, Stevi wrote back to chastise me: "Julie, why did you bother to take the time to send me these pics if you will not allow me to pay you with a money order or cash payment on these yummy shoes, hun? I'd luv to smell these and wear em but you said you only will take that dumb Paypal, right?? -Stevi Shoe Slut"

Wait. Did Stevi just change his name from Sissy to Slut? Moreover, did he just tell me he wants to smell my shoes??? I was speechless. But it gets better.

The very next e-mail in my inbox was another one from Steve. This time, the subject line read, "Like my pumps, Julie?" and it had three photos attached. Now, I gotta tell you... I was afraid to crack those babies open. I had visions of a tucked-in Buffalo Bill type (like from The Silence of the Lambs) but wearing nothing but patent pumps, of course. So I forwarded it on and asked Mark to open it and let me know if it was anything freaky or inappropriate. He took the brave step of opening the photos and promptly messaged back, "It's harmless... but his choice of props is a little odd." I had no idea what that meant, but I was intrigued. So I opened the attachments, and here's what I saw:

Pumpkins and pumps! Funny!! I know, right? And don't you love the extra flair in photo #3?

The e-mail with the pictures simply said, "Hi , Julie. How do I look in my favorite black patent ankle strap pumps? I sure love wearing pantyhose and patent pumps. -Stevi Shoe Slut"

I was feeling pretty timid about getting all-too-chummy with an alleged "shoe slut", so I thought better of e-mailing him back with a complimentary reply. "Nice pumpkins!" did come to mind, but I left it alone.

But Stevi was not one to leave it alone. Nope. He couldn't walk away, no matter how much he "luved" the patent pumps he was walkin' in. Six days later, I opened up my Hotmail and found another e-mail from that familiar address. This time, the subject read "My New Favorites" and again, more photos followed:

This time, the message was sent to several other people (other Ebay acquaintances? I'll never know...) and it said: "Wowy I sure am excited about finding these shoes on Ebay and buying them outright with the buy-it-now option. These are so sexy and feminine, luv the very dainty thin straps. I've always been turned on by T-strap pumps and finally I'am gonna own a sexy pair that I can wear. These are 10 1/2's so they will fit my sexy size 10 feet purr-fectly. I just may decide to go out into public in this yummmmy pair, surely the guys will love the looks of these heels on my sexy hosed feet! And the pretty girlies will all envy Miss Stevi and her sexy new heels! Won't be mailing my payment till Friday the 26th, so won't have the shoes for a couple weeks yet, but sure am anxious to get em......... -Mistress Stevi Patent"

Another new moniker. This guy changes his name as often as he changes his shoes! Maybe whether he's feeling "sissy" or "slutty" depends on the shoes... I mean, who could argue with that?

Either way, Dude is cracking my stuff up! Once again, I didn't have the gumption to e-mail him back, but I have to admit that I wouldn't be sad if he sent more pics. I wonder if he's still dreaming about my red patent Via Spigas... unfortunately for him, another compliant bidder picked them up. And I wonder, if Steve had won them, who all he would've sent photos to. Did I miss out on the photo of the year here? Probably. I'm thinking these shoes would've brought "sexy back", to the point Stevi would be rockin' them on his Christmas card this year...

And ya'll, that's one holiday greeting I'd give all my Ebay earnings to see!

Fa-La-La-La-La... La-La-Ti-Da!!

NEITHER RAIN, NOR SLEET, NOR GLOOM OF NIGHT...

We all know the United States Postal Service credo: "Neither rain, nor sleet, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds". It's a good credo, a noble mission. And I think the good folks in uniform live up to it. They deliver in the heat, the ice and driving storms of every kind, and many do it on foot. It's impressive and very respectable. But wanna know what will potentially keep your mail from landing in the box in timely fashion?

Tight pants, big thighs and chafing around the... uh... well, the... inseam.

So a Washington state postal professional by the name of Dean Peterson has been petitioning that he and fellow carriers be allowed to complete their routes sans-pants. Not totally, however. He wants to wear a kilt. And it isn't so he can proudly represent his Scottish heritage, mind you. He's a 6' tall, 250-lb man of Norwegian/Finnish ancestry-- presumably with huge thighs and a sweating crotch. He just happens to have developed a love for kilts, ever since his wife brought him one back as a souvenir from a trip to Scotland. He explains that it's all about comfort in the nether regions. Thank God the wife didn't choose Hawaii as a vacation spot-- otherwise, he might be crusading to make rounds in a grass skirt.

As part of his campaign, Mr. Peterson waged a huge effort by mail (nice touch!), sending out over 1,000 letters to persuade the National Letter Carriers Association that "male unbifurcated garments" are better-suited for the male anatomy. (I feel a little tawdry using the word unbifurcated, by the way... it just sounds dirty, doesn't it? Like Chris Hanson might step out from behind a curtain or the local authorities might confiscate my computer as evidence in my L&L trial!)

Anyway, Mr. Peterson (far right) implored his peers to "open your hearts-- and inseams". The poor guy got shot down... but undaunted, he says he will take it to the next postal convention in Anaheim in 2010. I hope he does! Another supporter of the uniform addition (far left) asserts that kilts look professional and would promote esprit de corps, adding that "whenever you see someone in a kilt, they're always standing tall." I can only assume he means that in the literal sense... there's a big difference in standing tall and standing at attention! Especially in a pleated skirt!

I don't know why this story struck me so funny... But the fellow said he's now wearing his kilts to his son's football games and even while doing yard work. Oh, yeah, that's why it struck me so funny. If I ever saw a dude mowing a yard in a skirt, I'd have to pull my car over for fear of hitting another mailbox. Hmmm... Now, wouldn't that be ironic?

TRENDS IN BLOGGING

To the two or three people who actually read my blog: I apologize.

My good pal, Mikey G, pointed out that my posts of late have been a little inclined in one direction... the feline direction. He was actually grateful for the ShamWow bit and relieved that I'd finally broke up the monotony; he was in the process of staging an intervention, and I can't really say that I blame him.

Mike was also the first to point out the foot-themed trend that had ensnared me on both this blog and another one a few months ago. It's a good friend who cares enough to point out when you're veering from the right. So I thank the faithful who tune in and hold me accountable for decent subject-matter. I'm going to do better from now on... Well, until my kitten does something totally adorable... like nibbling at my freshly pedicured toes...