Detail Orientated Natural Leader Seeks Man Who Can Fold Towels...Correctly

13. Describe 5 weaknesses you have.


Do you remember when you first started filling out applications for your first job and somebody gave you the advice, "Write your weaknesses as your strengths?" So, if you had trouble switching from one task to another, you wrote down that you were detail oriented. Or, if you were messy, you wrote: works well in chaotic environment. I still do this in my head. I'm not a control freak, I'm a natural leader! So, to focus my mind on the task, I decided to look up the definition of weakness. www.dictionary.com defines weakness as:

noun

1.

the state or quality of being weak;  lack of strength,firmness, vigor, or the like; feebleness.

2.

an inadequate or defective quality, as in a person'scharacter; slight fault or defect: to show great sympathy forhuman weaknesses.

3.

a self-indulgent liking or special fondness, as for aparticular thing: I've always had a weakness for the opera.

4.

an object of special desire; something very difficult toresist: Chocolates were her weakness.

I decided that my first four weaknesses will be based numerically on the four definitions. So...


1. This is easy. I have arthritis throughout my body, from my neck, all through my spine, in my hips and in my knees. I am in pain daily and when I get flair ups, I can barely do anything. Sometimes I can barely feel my limbs. I have trouble backing out my car because I cannot turn my neck enough to look over my shoulder. Friends can testify to this because I have hit their parked cars. I also have hypoglycemia. When my sugar drops, I become an idiot and run the risk of fainting. This can be comical or scary, depending on the situation. If I say I have to eat, I REALLY have to eat.

2. When I was Vice President of a college club, I often scolded the other members for not doing their jobs. The other officers got so irritated with me, and I at them, that I decided to leave the club immediately. Our sponsor, a professor, called an emergency meeting. She explained that I didn't ask anything of the officers that I didn't expect of myself. And, yes, I was hard on them, but I was harder on myself. This was very enlightening to me. At that time, I wasn't aware of this trait. I learned to ease up on myself and others...some.

3. I have a special fondness for the Bible. I do not consider myself a Christian. In fact, if confronted by a Christian concerned for my soul, there is a good chance I won't be nice. I do have many Christian friends, and I respect their faith and they don't try to convert me, so we get along swimmingly. But, I have always loved the Bible. Many of my Bibles have notes in the margins. The notes could be questions, observations, a link to another scripture else where, whether I agree or disagree, and even how that scripture related to whatever was going on in my life at the time. To me, my Bibles feel like diaries. I have read the Bible several times, but haven't in a long time. Too long, really. 

This is my third Bible. My first is put away in a keepsake box and my second Bible fell apart from  use.

This is the inside of my third Bible. As you can see, I made it mine. This was a birthday present to myself when I was 15. 

4. Chocolate. I know it's the example in the definition. I know it's cliche. I know that just about every woman in the United States could and probably would say the same. But it's true. I love chocolate. I'm a chocolate connoisseur. I prefer 72% dark chocolate. If you blindfold me and put chocolate in my mouth (I'm paranoid, so this will never happen), I will be able to tell you if it's milk chocolate, dark chocolate or white chocolate. If it's dark chocolate, I can get pretty darn accurate about telling you the percentage of dark chocolate. I know cheap chocolate and I know GOOD chocolate. My current favorite is made by Dagoba. Give them a try! 

5. I'm a perfectionist. Nobody can do what I do better than I can. When my husband folds the towels, I go in behind him and refold them. If my daughter dusts, I go in behind her and dust again. When I worked at the bookstore, I would go in behind someone helping in my section and straighten the shelves. It's hard for me to settle for "good enough." When I settle for "good enough," you must understand that part of my soul has just died. RIP, piece of soul. 

Mayday Mayday Mayday

6. What is the hardest thing you have ever experienced?

Mom and Me

The month of May is a hard month for me. Four years ago, my mother went into a coma on Mother's Day and she never woke up. She died on May 21, 2008. Less than two weeks later, I was in a foreign country for the first time, by myself, starting my journey for an MFA. My son was 8 months old and had an ear infection and I wasn't there to take care of him. That is a summary of the hardest thing I have ever experienced.

There are details, of course. When the doctor told my father, brother, and me that my mother wouldn't wake up from this coma, we were given the decision whether to give life support or remove it. Our father told us that he would honor our choice. My brother said he couldn't make the choice because, if it was left to him, he would keep her alive forever. My mother told me many times that she did not want to be on life support. So, I made the decision. It took her ten days to die. The nurses would come in with little moistened sponges to dab inside her mouth and my mother's mouth would reflexively suck on the sponges.

After she died, I started having nightmares that my mother was trying to kill me so I stopped sleeping. I went to the doctor. He prescribed Zoloft and Ambien.

Life had to go on. My daughter turned 6 on May 29. Her first year in kindergarten ended. My son developed an ear infection that kept him up late into the night crying. A few days later, I was on a plane to Ireland with my nightmares and grief, leaving behind my father, brother, the yet marked grave of my mother, a sick child, and another just free from school. I knew nobody in Ireland. I found the group at the airport in Dublin and tried to make eye contact. "Make friends," my husband told me. Nobody talked to me. I rode alone on the bus to our hotel in Carlow. I ate breakfast alone. Sometimes I tried to tag along with a cliche of girls, but they all walked faster than me and talked about people I didn't know. Some people were nice enough, but distant. I finally forced a girl as alone as I was to be my friend. Poor Dorina. But she championed along and we wandered the depressing streets of Carlow for fish and chips or a sandwich. I felt extremely alone. I felt like a failure as a mother because I wasn't there to care for my son. I felt like a failure as a daughter because I chose to let my mother die. I felt like a failure as a person, because I could not fit in. There were two beds in my hotel room, one a double and one a single. I slept in the single because the double would remind me that my husband wasn't there.

When I returned from Ireland, life was still going on. Life hadn't stopped in the States. The kids were the same, my husband was the same, the animals were the same. But I wasn't the same. June in Ireland, the sun goes down around 11 PM and rises much too early. The hotel windows had big, heavy, red curtains that blocked out everything and made the room darker than any night on my uncle's farm. When I got home, I could not sleep. The sun through the window blinds gave me migraines. The semi-darkness of night made me grind my teeth. I put a sheet over the bedroom window. I closed all the doors. I hid under the blankets in bed. And, whenever I slept, my mother tried to kill me.

Did I Do That?

10. Describe your most embarrassing moment.

I'm getting this one out of the way. Not because I'm super embarrassed by my most embarrassing moment, but because I don't have one. I've been embarrassed plenty of times, but they have always been minor embarrassments. I sat around for awhile with this list waiting for something embarrassing to happen that would be worth writing about, but, I'm sad to say I'm pretty boring. All the usual embarrassing things that happen to other people have happened to me. I've farted near a cute boy in class, I've had my fly unzipped in public, I've fallen many times, I've had a booger on my face I didn't know about, I've called someone the wrong name, I've had my kids yell things completely inappropriate in public, but, you know, nothing EMBARRASSING has really happened to me. To err is human; to get over it, divine? Still, I don't want my readers to feel like I'm just trying to get out of this without sharing anything. Therefore, I will regale you with five random embarrassing moments.

1. When Corey was three, I took her into the church restroom. There were a few other women in the restroom. Corey and I went in a stall together. First she peed, then I peed. While I was peeing, Corey remarked as loudly as possible, "Mama, why do you have hair on your vagina and I don't?"

2. I don't think I stopped playing with toys until 9th grade. I can't quite remember, but I do know most other teenagers I knew didn't have toys in their rooms except for display. One time, a friend came down to my house with another girl that didn't like me. My blinds were open. Instead of going to the door, they came to my window. Busted playing My Little Pony.

Oh, Moonstone, you rebellious pony! I'm so glad you settled down and had foals of your own.

3. In middle school, I had a project to design a poster board about me. One of the mandatory elements was a  schedule of a typical day. I listed on my daily schedule the fact that I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation twice a day, every day. I had no idea that Star Trek was not considered awesomely cool and got made fun of for a week.

4. More recently, I went to Party City with a friend of mine and my kids. I had taken prescription pain killers for chronic pain and my sugar was dropping, so I was in the middle of a brain fog. That's my excuse, anyway. While purchasing my items, the clerk asked if I wanted a bag. I think I stood there staring at her for a full minute trying to comprehend what a bag was and why in Hell I would want one. Finally, it dawned on me and I said, "Yes!" With a great sigh of relief. Even the clerk looked relieved to finally have an answer and I apologized profusely for the long delay. She asked me very slowly if I wanted the receipt in the bag after that.

Bag? What's a bag? 

5. I left my hometown at the age of 19, but my parents still lived there. About five years, give or take a couple of years, I was stopping at the grocery store for my mom and discovered that the checkout clerk was a guy I knew throughout middle school and high school. Last time I had seen him, he was dating a girl that I didn't much care for because she made fun of me for wearing a cowboy hat and boots. You know how high school love is, so I assumed he had moved on from this girl and stupidly commented that I couldn't believe he dated her. He stared me straight int he eyes and told me he was still with her. Hell, he might have told me he married her. All I know was it was a complete foot-in-mouth moment.

By the Power of Grayskull, I Am...The Zombie Mom!

If you could have one superpower, what would it be and what would you do with it first?

I'm afraid I don't have a very exciting answer for this one. I realize I could choose a super power to better mankind, but I'm no dummy. You start helping all mankind with a super power and the government is either going to want to experiment on you or imprison you because they see you as more of a threat. Plus, people would never leave you alone. If you have the ability to heal, everyone and their dying guinea pig is going to show up at the door. I imagine that would be quite draining. Any kind of superpower really needs to be low key.

Invisibility could be nice, except when people accidentally sit on you or roll their shopping cart into the back of your legs.

Great hearing would be awesome if you were a bit of a gossip, but with great hearing comes the increased pains of shouting, bass speakers in cars, lawn mowers, and garbage trucks. No thanks.

Flying is cold, turbulent, requires landing, and, let's face it, for the birds! You run the risk of getting shot down, struck by a plane, or attacked by hawks. In my dreams, the only way I can fly is if I stand on my head first, and then it's more of a glide. I can always fly highest when I'm relaxed. When someone is out to get me, I have to stand on my head a lot.

Landscape with the Fall of Icarus 

I would never in my life want to be psychic. I'm already really good at reading people and figuring out their emotions. I don't need to hear their thoughts on top of that. I knew a guy that was possibly psychic according to some other people I know. Oh my goodness, knowing someone might be psychic is way worse than not knowing. I promise you that by even considering a persons might be psychic puts a ton of worse (and dirty) thoughts in your head than normal. Because, at that point, you're thinking about all the things you don't want to think about because you don't want the psychic person to know you're thinking those things!

The most awesome super power would be the ability to clean the house in seconds, just by snapping my fingers (I can't wiggle my nose). I can do it when nobody's around so no one will ever figure out what happened. Carpets would be stain free, couches would be fur free, and every nook and cranny dust free without me sneezing a single time. It would work only for my own house, because in somebody else's house I wouldn't know where everything goes. Therefore, it wouldn't be a super power I would have to worry about sharing. My nails would grow out to a nice length. I would be able to get a book off the shelf without having to get my husband or daughter to dust it off and wipe it down with a damp cloth first. I would not nearly die walking into my son's room. And I would have a lovely yard, because a clean house is clean inside and out!

Oh, to be a kid again and want to be able to shape-shift or walk through walls. No, no, it's goodbye soap scum for me.

I KNOW You Didn't Just Do That...

Did you think I forgot about the darling list? Pshaw.

Describe 10 pet peeves you have.

1. Whistling. It drives me crazy. The Scorpions' "Wind of Change" made me think my ears would bleed. Whistling is high pitched and done way to often in bookstores. I used to love whistling. I was a great whistler. My favorite tune to whistle was "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly." I whistled so much as a kid, in fact, that my grandmother informed me that, "Whistling maidens and crowing hens never come to a good end." While I think she meant to dissuade me from whistling, I thought then and now that that was the most awesome thing my grandmother had ever said.

2. Being told I'm wrong, especially if I'm not wrong, and I'm NEVER wrong. I think this is a pretty common pet peeve for know-it-alls. It's so bad, in fact, that I will forsake going about my normal routine and life in order to prove the person wrong is not only wrong but a complete idiot. I don't even have to know this person to straighten them out. This means I might have to skip going to the store and the kids will have to eat peanut butter sandwiches made out of the heels of the bread loaf. Or, I might be an hour late reading bedtime stories to my youngest. If somebody bothers me while I'm proving someone is wrong and an idiot online, I will say, "Not now. Mommy's working." Because it's a JOB to be this right about everything! My husband once sent me the following picture. It is so true of me and this pet peeve. 

3. Lying. I can sniff out a lie faster than you can say liar. It drives me nuts. It's THE rule when my daughter's friends come to my house. Sometimes I let people think they're getting away with lying to me. You never know when you might need to bring up later like when they say you're wrong and you're proving they're wrong and an idiot to boot. I store away all these little lies and smile, smile, smile. If I was going to be all psychological about this, I would say it stems from my mother. Anytime I proved my mother wrong (because I've been a know-it-all brat ALL my life) she would get in my face, scowl all scary like, and say, "Are you calling me a liar?" And it wasn't that she lying. It was just that she was wrong. But it was terrifying enough that I would say no and back off. Now that I'm all grown up, a badass (in my head), and even MORE of a know-it-all, I've taken a personal vendetta against lying...and people being wrong. 

4. Texting while spending quality time with me. Holy cow, this one drives me nuts. It makes me feel like I'm not important or interesting enough to warrant someone's full attention. I don't know which is worse, people that try to do it discretely like I'm not going to notice them messing with their phone, or people who do it right out in the open while I'm talking to them. It really drives me nuts if I'm telling a story and during the middle or even at the end of the story, when I'm expecting a response about the story, the person I'm with states that they just got a text from so-and-so and just had to hear what they texted. This pet peeve has evolved from going out with friends and having them answer ever call while we're eating dinner or waiting for a movie to start. I have texting turned off on my phone. If I am in line at the supermarket getting checked out and my phone rings, I will ignore the call until I'm out of the line. It's just rude and thoughtless. I will even apologize to the cashier if my phone rings while we are doing business. 

5. Having to pick up other people's used Kleenexes. This happens a lot when you're married, and it happens even more when you have kids. I don't even like leaving my dirty napkins for the bus boys to pick up at restaurants. Those things are germy, and the only one who should be handling them is the person who produced those germs. The two places that top my list of most disgusting place to have to throw other people's Kleenexes are in my bed and in my car. Ugh and grr! 

6. Destructive ignorance. This could be racism, sexism, politics, religious views, or even the way people view and treat animals. If your beliefs hurt someone else, whether that be physical, mental, emotional, or even indirectly, it tees me off. There is so much information out there now that is so easy to access (I know people who might not eat, but they have the internet by-god!) that ignorance just isn't a valid excuse anymore for the crap people do. I'm not a pacifist. I'm not afraid to punch someone. But I just don't think it's right to belittle someone because their views are different than yours. For instance, stating whether directly or indirectly that anybody that is not a Christian is not really an American or is one of the problems with America. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Coming from a Christian background, I am quite aware of the idea of free will. Free will got Adam and Eve kicked out of Eden. It didn't matter that they believed in God. Believing in God didn't make them do good things or bad things. Neither did the serpent. Free will did. They decided whether to obey God or disobey God. Based on this reasoning, people that are not Christian can be good or bad based on free will. It has nothing to do with believing in whichever or whatever or nonewhatsoever God/god/goddess/Cthulu. In fact, free choice is such a strong trait in human beings, that no Christian actually knows who will go to Heaven. It's in the Bible. I, personally, don't believe in Heaven or Hell, but it doesn't matter because the principle is the same. God doesn't make us better people. We choose whether or not to be good. We obey or we don't obey. We may use something (faith, inspirational books, therapy, or prescription medications for instance) that might improve our chances to behave ourselves, but it is still in our hands and not God's. 

7. The sound a dog makes while licking its junk. I don't think anything more needs to be said about this. 

8. Songs that spell words. By the time I figure out what they spelled, the song is almost over. Music shouldn't be a S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G B-E-E. 

9. Being late. I used to be 15 minutes early for everything. I was never late. Then I got married, had kids, and met a bunch of English majors. English majors, for those who don't know, are notoriously late for EVERYTHING. Now, I feel like I'm late all the time, and it's often out of my control. Someone else is driving, or a kid has to go pee when we're trying to get out the door, or we're halfway to nowhere when it dawns on the driver they didn't print out directions. GPS is only good if you're going to a business or you happen to bring your address book. There are events and places I avoid because I know there's no possible way I'll be able to get there on time. It drives me that crazy. 

10. Tom Cruise. I hated Tom Cruise long before he jumped up and down on Oprah's couch. His crazy will never be as awesome as Charlie Sheen's crazy. He's arrogant, from his hair, to his smirk, to the pants he wears. He's been in two movies I liked: Legend and Tropic Thunder. I liked Legend, but I didn't like Tom Cruise in it. I loved his character in Tropic Thunder because I didn't know it was him until the end. Tom Cruise should be the running mate of Rick Perry, who I am pretty positive is the Antichrist. 

Look at those arrogant pants!

Guilt, Punishment, and Death

My cousin's funeral is tomorrow. I'm not sure if I'll make it. It's a two hour drive and I'm still feeling pretty lethargic from the surgery. I would really like to be there. Junior came to see my mom when she was dying in the hospital. That meant a lot to me. I remember him on a tractor at my Uncle Pope's house cutting the hay. What I remember is that he was always where you needed him to be, when you needed him to be there, even though he had his own health issues going on. You have to respect and admire somebody like that. The bees that stung him have been destroyed. The woman that crashed into the ambulance that might have killed Junior has not had any charges brought against her. I think the charges are pending on the autopsy report. Nobody knows yet if it was the bees or the automobile accident. Two freak accidents, one man. Seriously. What stars were lined up that day?

I can't say I'm angry at the bees or the woman. Bees are bees. There's not much you can do about that. And that woman has to live with this accident for the rest of her life. I'd like to think she's a normal, nice, every day woman who did something stupid, made the wrong judgement call, wasn't paying attention, I don't know. It could be her fault he's dead. But, even if it was the bee stings, I imagine the guilt of hitting an ambulance is still going to be painful to live with. I would like to think so. Not to bring vengeance against her, but because, again, I want to believe she's a decent woman and a decent woman would be haunted by something like that. Of course, what she did was against the law, and she needs to be punished for that too. But I think that punishment will be small compared to the guilt. What do you think?

My Buddy and Me: A Modest Memorial to Lewis Nordan

I found out on Saturday that a mentor at the University I attend passed away. I waited all weekend for an obit. For an update on his wikipedia page besides the day he died. Anything, really. Nothing. I got a private message from a friend and the director of the creative writing program sent out an email. That's it. No memories, no list of accomplishments, no reason for death, nothing. So, I figure it's my duty to introduce you to Lewis "Buddy" Nordan. You can purchase his books here. 

Buddy was in bad health the last time I saw him. I never got a chance to mentor under him for a semester, but I got to know him and his wife, Alicia. We talked a lot about dogs and their love for rescued greyhounds. Buddy had a wicked since of humor and wasn't afraid to surprise you in a story. He had a sincere, wide smile and steely determination. I remember him reading to the students of the Creative Writing program in a clear and textured voice, perfectly capturing a narrator that has gone too far. He read brilliantly even though it was hard for him to stand, hard for him to handle the pages, and it just plain wore him out. With all my health issues, I hope I can maintain the dignity Buddy did. 

We had a few adventures, Buddy and I. We got lost trying to get to the school cafeteria because he was in a wheelchair, the cafeteria wasn't on the ground floor, and the elevator didn't exactly take you were you thought you were going. I'd fetch his lunch if he let me. I think he felt a little more comfortable with me because I'm disabled too, but I don't think he understood why I really wanted to get his lunch. I just wanted to listen to him. I might have been just another face, just another student to him, I don't know. It doesn't really matter. He made an impression on me. And even though you can't meet him in person, I hope you'll get to know this creative, funny, brave and amazing man through his books.  RIP, Buddy. Thanks so much for the memories. 

Edit: The New York Times released this article today about Buddy. 

The Return of Gary and the Loss of Men.

Wow. These past two weeks have been anything but relaxing. I thought after my surgery I would lay around and watch movies, read, and play video games. Of course, I did all those things, but I can assure you I didn't enjoy it.

On the day of my surgery, 12 tornadoes struck the city where I live. Twelve in one day. I kid you not. Because of the vicious storms, my surgery was delayed for four hours. Unfortunately, the only thing between holding and  recovery is a half wall. I swear I listened to a woman dying for two of those hours. And she was RIGHT behind me. There was beeping, bad smells, moans, nurses, doctors, respirators, and the struggle to breathe. Maybe she lived. I don't know. They eventually moved her, and not because she was doing any better. So I was stuck in this hospital bed, wide awake, no drugs listening to that.

But, the surgery went fine. The surgeon said my gallbladder was pretty inflamed, but they managed to get it out laparoscopily (That may or may not be a real word.). When they woke me up, I hurt and I felt like puking. They told me my gallbladder was out and in a bucket. I said, "I hope it likes it there." Then they moved me from the operation table to the hospital bed and I yelled, "F_ck! Oops, sorry. OW!" Isn't it sad how stupid we are when we're drugged up to our ears? Drugs are bad!

When I got home, my husband put me to bed. An hour later, I had to pee, but I couldn't get up. It's like I forgot how to support my body with my arms to help myself get out of bed. And, of course, it hurt. My husband tried to get me up, and I couldn't get up. I held it for a couple of hours. I thought I was going to have to ask him to get me a bowl or something. But, eventually, I got in a position that he could pull me up from and I got to the bathroom. Two frickin' hours later, I had to go again. It was so cruel! He had to help me out of bed for about three days and we had to go through this each time. 

I couldn't take my Ambien because of all the drugs they gave me, so I didn't sleep well for the first few days. On the fourth day into my recovery, my eye started twitching. I don't mean occasionally or for like an hour. I mean the bottom eyelid was twitching rapidly nonstop for two days. I couldn't read, I couldn't watch movies, I couldn't get on the computer. All I could do was lay there with my eyes closed and a washcloth over my face. My head hurt like crazy and I felt really nauseated. Corey was kind enough to read to me, but the literature of an eight-year-old is pretty limited, even an 8-year-old that can read really well. Ugh. But otherwise, recovery has been fine. 

Friday, a small group of friends of mine (you know them as those people that hug me though I don't like to be hugged and the people who send me Gary Busey pictures) came over to watch horror movies and make me a low fat meal. They made minestrone soup and fruit salad. And that's when Gary returned. He seems to be nicer. I guess he didn't like the bucket.

And now you're all caught up with that. But wait! There's more! 

Two people I know died in the past couple of days. One is a mentor from the Creative Writing program at Carlow University. I was going to talk about him in this blog post, but then I realized he deserved his own post. So you'll be seeing that post very shortly. 

The other person was my cousin. My mother was the youngest of ten. So, my cousins are around my parents age, my second cousins are around my age, and my aunts and uncles were more like several sets of grandparents. So, though he was my cousin, he was more like an uncle. Do you follow? We all knew him as Junior. Today, he was stung by bees. On route to the hospital in an ambulance, a car struck the ambulance and the ambulance fell on its side. My cousin died. He was a very big, gentle, compassionate man and the family is in shock. Please, please pull over for emergency vehicles. Don't try to beat them. Don't play your music so loud that you can't hear them. And please keep my family in your thoughts. 

Gary the Gallbladder and the Animal Inside Me

Tomorrow is the eviction of Gary the gallbladder. I found this cute plush at iheartguts.com. In my mind, Gary is a lot angrier than this, but I can't resist the gall this little guy has.

I bought some dresses today to wear after my surgery around the house. For those who don't know me, I HATE dresses. I'm also currently sporting Sasquatch legs, so I guess I better shave my legs before tomorrow. Sigh.

But let's get back to the list!

If you were an animal, what would you be and why?

When I was in my elementary school days, I would have said a wolf because I loved wolves at that time. I still do, but not as radically. But, when I was in junior high, a science teacher told a story about the sponge and how they would get in fishermen's nets and the fishermen would cut them up and toss them back into the sea hoping to be rid of them, but this of course just made more sponges. I liked that sponges didn't feel anything and were a nuisance. So, the sponge became my answer. Of course now, sponges are harvested like crazy for bath time fun. And there's Sponge Bob Square Pants. I don't want to be Sponge Bob Square Pants. So, sponges are out.

I considered the crocodile. I love gharials. They're my favorite animal at the Fort Worth Zoo. Crocodiles and alligators are awesome mothers and ferocious animals. I'm tough, but I love my kids. Gharials eat mostly fish, and I love fish. But, I don't care much for living in the water. I don't swim well. So, I don't think I really want to be a gharial or crocodilian.

Gharial babies are always attentive. My kids aren't. Can't be a Gharial mom.

Jellyfish are the best of both worlds. They're dangerous like crocodiles, can't feel pain like sponges, they're one of my favorite animals, and they're just so beautiful.

My friend, Angela, bought this for me at the aquarium in Chicago!

But, I'm also creative, logical, smart, and a MAMA. Being a mom is the best thing I've ever done, so that has to be incorporated into my animal.

Bear? Cliche.

Finally, it dawned on me. What animal would I be? The answer is on my legs. My hairy legs. A Sasquatch! Bigfoot! Absolutely! They're primates, so intelligent, creative, and social. They also manage to avoid people, and I like avoiding people. They go barefoot, and I LOVE going barefoot. And, like other primates, they must be awesome with their kids. I would never have to shave my legs again. I get to live in the woods, which I have always wanted to do. And no more BRAS! Woohoo! The Sasquatch life is definitely for me. Besides, who has ever heard of a Sasquatch having their gallbladder removed?

I Think You Misunderstood Me When I Said I'm Paranoid...

What do you think people misunderstand most about you?

I've been putting this one off because I couldn't think of an answer. As far as I'm concerned, I'm a pretty open book. There's the whole emoting thing. And, believe me, exaggerating expressions to make them more readable doesn't work. It just makes people think you're crazy:

I'm so happy to frost this cake!

But, I tend to do fine in general social situations and all my friends already know I don't emote well, so this really isn't news or really a problem. My friends just ask me upfront if I'm joking or what I meant by whatever. 

I took my problem to my friend Angela. She writes the blog where I got the list. I explained to her that I just don't feel misunderstood. (Who knew that would ever be a problem?) First, she suggested how I write how I'm tough on the outside but I like to wear girly bras. Unfortunately, though I have some cute bras, my favorite is a full coverage nude bra that is completely unsexy. And, if I had my way, I wouldn't wear a bra at all. They're terribly uncomfortable. So that was out. 

Then I suggested my dislike for puppies and this conversation happened:

Disclaimer: No puppies or babies were hurt in the making of this conversation and Angela happens to really like babies. 

Okay, maybe puppy hating wouldn't make me very popular and perhaps it's more of a misconception than a misunderstanding. Hm. I decided to ask my husband. 

Me: "Angela and I are doing this list thing on our blogs and one of the questions is, 'What do you think people misunderstand most about you?'"

Husband: "That's not something you ask your husband. That is a loaded question. No man would answer that question if he wanted to live!" Then he backed away and disappeared into the kitchen. 

Who you calling paranoid?

I think he misunderstood me. Maybe. I certainly felt more paranoid than when I started this quest to be misunderstood. What the Hell does he know about me that I don't know? 

For the sake of our marriage, I'll let that one go. Angela helped distract me from cornering my husband and twisting his arm until he confessed everything. She suggested that perhaps people think I'm tougher than I really am. That things bother me more than I let people know. Or, as she put it, "Julie-she has feelings." This followed with me calling her a liar and threatening to punch her. 

But, she's right. I have a TON of patience and most things don't seem to bother me. It's hard to know I'm mad unless I'm really, really mad. It's hard to tell I'm sad unless I'm really, really sad. I handled my mother's death with very little crying. Not because it didn't hurt, but because there were things to do, people to take care of, and just no time. I had nightmares about her trying to kill me instead. I was bullied as a kid and stood up to a lot of bullies in defense of my friends from my elementary life through high school. I faced off with anybody who wanted to cause me or my friends trouble no matter gender, race, size, grade or age. I discovered real quick not to let people know when I was hurt, physically or emotionally. Then, people started depending on me and they needed me to be strong. They needed me to be a rock. So I was. I was this unshakable, tough-as nails, chick that the seniors nicknamed "Vicious" when I was a freshman. Like I said, it didn't matter how much older or bigger you were than me, I didn't put up with crap. But, it has come at a price. I've been so busy showing the world how tough I am, how solid I am for people to lean on, how stoic I can be, that I actually let people run over my feelings all the time. I get taken advantage of all the time. "Julie doesn't care." "Nothing bothers Julie." "Julie doesn't have feelings to tread on." But I do. I hurt as much as anyone else. I have been betrayed, crushed, and devastated. I have cried so hard that I have thrown up. I have screamed from emotional agony. In fact, I take antidepressants. 

So there's the horrible truth. The thing that people most misunderstand about me. I'm human and it's not that hard to hurt me, it's just harder to see the wound. 

You Can't Ground Me! I'm in My Thirties!: My Relationship with my Parents

Describe your relationship with your parents.


My mom is dead. She died in May 2008 from complications from a stroke. She went into a coma the doctor said she would never come out of, so we took her off life support and then she died a week later. That's the short version. It was really a month long ordeal where she would start to get better and then get really bad, and then start to get better, and then get really bad until she finally died. I had nightmares for months that my mother was trying to kill me.

I still feel I have a relationship with my mom. I still see her in my dreams, but instead of trying to kill me, she is just my mom and she's usually wondering what the Hell I'm doing. She had a lot of health problems, so my dreams usually have us in her bed. Sometimes she's stroking my hair. Or I might be on her floor cleaning up various magazines and catalogs and matching up shoes.

I can't lie and say I had the best relationship ever with my mother. We fought. A lot. But, the last couple of years of her life, we had learned to get along and enjoy each other's company. I called her almost every day, usually on my drive from my house to pick up Corey from preschool, a 30 minute drive. She was on the phone with me when I went into preterm labor with Sammy. I was driving and having sharp pains and we were both so calm about it. What other way can you be about something like that?

When she was in the hospital, I spent every day there with her, even when she didn't know I was there. I brushed her hair, I washed her face, I read to her, I told her what crazy outfit Corey had chose to wear that day, I told her about Sammy's milestones. I told her that we are tough women from a long line of tough women and we have to fight.

Sammy goes to the preschool now and  I really miss my mom on those drives. I miss her when I go to Sonic to get a drink. I miss her when the seasons change or when I see a pasture of horses, cows or goats. I miss her when I drive the car she gave me with it's burnt orange interior. I like that so many things remind me of her. It keeps her here and makes me feel I still have a relationship with her.

My father is a pretty neat guy. I'm afraid I didn't know that growing up, and I wish I had. He's funny, witty, full of duty, and hard working. He has quirks that make me extremely happy. Quirks do that to me. They make me happy because they prove how human, real, and unique a person is. My father is a lot like other fathers in all the cliche ways, but he also collects plastic utensils, has a cupboard of Snicker bars and Almond Joys, and way too many pens and clocks. He has a shirt that is white with blue flowers on it and is way too thin because he wore it way too long. I worry that he's tossed it away by now, but I would do anything to have that shirt because it's "Daddy." Hearing my dad's voice is like having a bowl of home-cooked chicken noodle soup. It's familiar, warm, chunky, satisfying, and just a little country. I like to hear him laugh because I know there's real amusement there, not just polite laughter.

I have a stepmother now and I guess I can't really talk about parental relationships unless I also talk about her. It felt strange realizing I had a stepmother and stepbrothers and stepsisters when I was in my thirties. I felt too old for such things. But, as stepmothers go, she's a great one. She loves my dad and makes him happy and she's made the house look great. She's kind and opinionated and can't sit still. She fits in perfectly, really. Her transition into the family has been smooth. Sometimes my loyalty to my mother will make me think some not so nice things. Mostly, it concerns the house and how traces of my mother are being erased. Or, how my stepmother drives my mom's old car. Holidays are another one. I always host Easter at my house for my family and Steve's family. Last year, my dad and stepmom hosted Easter at their house for my stepmom's family. My brother went over there instead of coming to my house. I tried not to let that get to me, but it hurt. Those kind of things go through my head and probably always will, because I love my mom and I love our traditions and things have changed. I do NOT like change. But, my relationship and feelings about my stepmom are positive and pleasant all around. I don't worry so much about my dad because of her.

So, in short, I get along with my parents, living, dead and step and I can only hope my kids feel the same way about me when they're both grown.

Tables, Sunrises, and a Hot Pink Bag

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before that I have a lot of health problems. While my kids were out for Spring Break, Zombie Mom stayed in bed feeling like zombie hunters had given her head a good bashing. Ugh. I also got news that Gary the gallbladder will have to be removed. I wish Gary luck in his future endeavors as long as they don't take place in me. 

I was perusing the list, trying to figure out just want I want to talk about and decided to take a trip down memory lane.


Describe 3 significant memories from your childhood.

1. My sister left home when I was in 3rd grade. I remember my mom following her in the car, telling her to come home, but my sister wouldn't. She had this huge, puffy, hot pink bag filled with all her stuff. My mom gave up, went home and locked herself in her room. We were told not to tell anybody what was going on. We were told we no longer had a sister. My grades dropped. I stopped doing my homework. I was one of he last kids to learn my multiplication facts and missed recesses to study them. I also had to walk around school with a progress report pinned to my shirt so I wouldn't forget to take it home to get signed. I withdrew into myself. My mom yelled at lots of people. She cried a lot. My brother and I took over the chores around the house. My sister leaving shaped everything from then on out. If I got in trouble, I was compared to her or, worse, called by her name. I didn't blame my sister for leaving. I didn't blame my mom for my sister leaving. I missed and loved my sister and wanted to see her badly. But, still, I didn't want to be compared to her or called her name because I'm me, not her. Plain and simple. I know my mother was trying to shame me, but it really made me feel like my mother would never really see me because she was always thinking about my sister. I got depressed and was told I had no reason to be unhappy. I was told I was just trying to get attention. It was a dark time and I wasn't supposed to tell anybody.

2. I had a best friend named Brad. He meant the world to me and we were always planning to runaway and live off the land. There was a giant field a couple of blocks from our houses and we used to go out there whenever we could, though we weren't allowed to do so. There was a little pond out there where you could catch perch and piles of dumped rocks, gravel and dirt to climb and jump across. The grass was up to our waists and grasshoppers sprung up in all directions. We loved the red-winged blackbirds. Brad had a border collie and we used to chase rabbits with the border collie. We never caught one, but it was fun. I have lots of memories about that place, but one really sticks out in my mind.

It was Saturday morning and still dark outside. Brad and I sneaked out while everyone was still asleep. We had tied long scraps of cloth around our necks as capes. When we got to the field, we were cold and the sun still wasn't up. We pressed up against one of the piles of rocks to shield ourselves from the wind. Then we untied our capes, combined them and hid under them to stay warm, huddled close together. Completely innocent. Our teeth were chattering and we didn't talk, just waited to get warm. We noticed that it started to get lighter, so we peeked out from under the cloths. We were facing into the sun and it was just coming over the horizon, orange, big and bright. The sky was a swirl of pinks, yellows, oranges, purples and blues. It was the very first sunset I had ever watched from beginning to end. Neither of us moved until the sun had completely lifted off from the horizon. I treasure that memory. It makes me smile every time.

3. My mother was the youngest of ten kids, so we had lots of aunts, uncles, cousins and second cousins. I loved visiting all of them, but my favorite place to go was to my Uncle Pope's house. He lived in the country and had a small farm. I always felt I belonged more out there than anywhere else. I hung out with the cows and played with their thick ears. I explored the pastures with Stockyard, my uncle's Australian Cattle Dog. I chased chickens and kept the geese from biting me by carrying a stick with me. I knew every inch of that land and every hole in the chicken coop. It excited me to no end to be asked to put hay out for the cows or feed the chickens.

I loved the inside of the house too. It was small and the floors creaked and everything was old. They had a big table that smelled like maple syrup. Uncle Pope, Aunt Ruby and I were always the first ones up in the morning. I would sit at the table with Uncle Pope while Aunt Ruby made breakfast. We talked about all kinds of things. He showed me the Farmer's Almanac. He'd ask my opinion on what crops he should grow. He taught me what head of cattle meant and showed me how to incubate chicken eggs. He said that he and I needed a hound so we could listen to it bay at night. He was a man that understood me and I loved him a lot. He made me feel like a bit of that place was mine too.

Bonus Post: Why I Call Myself "The Zombie Mom"

"The Zombie Mom" is a vague nod to the opening credits of Shaun of the Dead. If you're not familiar with Shaun of the Dead, it's a 2004 zombie/comedy (Zom-Com?) starring my nerd-crush, Simon Pegg.(Holy cow, I just lost half an hour looking at Simon Pegg pictures on Google!) The opening credits leads the viewer on a tour of the neighborhood where Shaun lives. We see the places and the people as objects in Shaun's everyday environment. But, what the credits really tells us, is that we're already zombies. We're already shuffling through the day, not really noticing each other, going about our routine. Average is as average does. As we know in real life, people who are different than the mass majority are either assimilated, or chased off. Well, guess what? In a zombie society, those different (alive), are either assimilated (zombified) or chased off (ill-fated survivors). Another common motif is the idea that we are already monsters. This largely plays in the George A. Romero zombie films where the survivors are no safer with the living than they are with the dead. To that end, we are already zombies and the monsters are already here and I am "The Zombie Mom."

I have always loved horror movies, though, as a kid, they often kept me terrified to sleep. As a kid, I had a crush on Freddy Krueger. (Yet terrified of Gary Busey? It doesn't even make sense to me.) I watched The Blob, Friday the 13th, Halloween, Silence of the Lambs, and all those campy horror movies created for the preteen set: The Gate, Critters, Killer Klowns from Outer Space, and various others. But, it wasn't until I met my husband that I really began to appreciate horror movies and eventually became a zombie movie connoisseur. While I watched movies simply to watch them, my husband had a more in-depth knowledge of actors, directors and background information. It took awhile, but soon I could add to a conversation about a film (my husband taught me about music too) and grew hungry to learn more. I took a class, "Writing About Film." It was in that class that I REALLY learned about camera angles, director marks, what film says about the culture in which it was made, and all that other nifty stuff. I'm by no means an expert at all, but it really took my enjoyment of film to a whole new level. And as Steve and I dove into horror movie after horror movie (and nightmare after nightmare), I became fascinated with zombies. These days, that's pretty common, which is great for buying awesome zombie merchandise, but also makes you feel like you're following a fad even though you liked zombies long before the fad. Long Live...errr...Long Shuffle Zombies!

I also feel like a zombie. I shuffle about, creak, groan and pop every time I move, and go about my business with a sorta unawareness. I don't feel awake until I have a cup of coffee. And, my insomnia and pain at night  keep me so foggy-brained that I don't even feel like I have a brain. Also, as a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM), I don't socialize with adults much, especially if it doesn't include kids. That's why my tagline mentions the desire for brains and coffee. The coffee is to help me out of my brain-fog, and the brains means conversation with an adult without the presence of children.

So there you have it! The story of the title of this blog!

Rise and Shine, Zombie Mom, It's Another Day Like All the Others!

Describe a typical day in your current life. 


There's really no need for an alarm around here with two kids, five dogs and a cat. If the kids don't wake you up, the dogs wanting to go outside will. And if the dogs don't wake you up, the cat wanting to be fed will surely make you roll out of bed if only to throw yesterday's laundry at the whiny brat. I can count many a time that I have woken up with the sensation that someone was there, opened my eyes, and right by face is either a child's face or several dogs. It is not uncommon for a typical morning to start with the a startled, "Oh, dear god!"

Usually, my husband gets up before me. If I'm lucky and he closes the bedroom door, I will be able to avoid waking up to faces in mine. But the cat will still wail up and down the hall and the kids will be fighting, or Sammy, the youngest, will throw a fit because he can't get a game to work properly or Lady, the pit bull, has run off with his plastic sword.

My husband makes the coffee. I try to avoid making coffee if at all possible. I can do all the things my husband does and I still can't make the coffee right. I made it this morning and it sucks. Husband says he likes it, but I think he's just being nice. Half the time husband makes breakfast too, but, sometimes I just eat a bowl of shredded wheat (any brand) or a bowl of instant oatmeal. Here, lately, because of my gallbladder issues, my husband has taken to boiling eggs, taking out the yolks, cutting up the whites, adding sea salt, and serving the eggs with a bagel with Smart Balance spread and a bit of honey. This is a breakfast he created himself without prompting after researching my issues a bit. Extremely sweet, and actually not too bad!

If it's Tuesday or Thursday, when both kids are in school, we spend the morning and early afternoon either out running errands, or watching TV. We watch all kinds of things and The Man (as we like to think the animals think of him) usually controls what we view. It has always been this way in our 12 year marriage, and I don't mind. If I REALLY don't like something, I can tell him and he'll change it, or I'll go do something else so he can watch it. But, that doesn't happen that often. We watch horror movies, 30 Rock, Colbert Report, The Closer, Buffy, Haven, Dexter, Sons of Anarchy and Doctor Who. We just started Game of Thrones and a Midnight in Paris, but it's Spring Break for the kids, so it's slow going.

If it's Monday, Wednesday or Friday, we spend the morning/afternoon with My Little Pony or some super hero cartoon on for my four-year-old son. He loves My Little Pony and the Avengers is currently his favorite super hero cartoon. It is not uncommon for him to be Night Mare Moon, Captain America, Wonder Woman, The Hulk, and a puppy in the span of 15 minutes. Occasionally, he comes home from school and tells me he can't be Wonder Woman because Wonder Woman is a girl. I tell him that he can pretend to be whomever he wants. That's the great thing about pretending, you can be anything. One time, he was playing dragons with his sister and decided he wanted to be a boy dragon that just had an egg. Corey told him boy dragon's can't lay eggs and I told her to leave him alone. Who is she to limit his imagination? She agreed after I put it like that and they went on to play.

If my husband goes to work, he leaves around 1:30. So, M-W, I pick Corey up from school. Since you can't turn left into the school's parking lot and that's the most direct route to the school, I have to take a detour into a tiny "city" (1.8 square miles) that is notorious for it's ticket happy police officers. Plus, you have to drive right by the police station. I have only had one ticket in my driving life and I got it in this "city" (*cough* neighborhood). I usually get cut off a couple of times, usually by an aftercare shuttle. If I arrive too early (by 1-2 minutes), I will be asked to circle the block even if there's plenty of room in the parking lot. When I finally pull into the school, I must sit in a line, inching along ever so slowly, until I'm finally able to collect Corey. It is rare for me to honk at anyone, but I have gotten out of my car and yelled a couple of times at other parents. "I hope your kids don't grow up to be like you!" "I hope your kids take Driver's Ed and don't learn how to drive like you!" "Who the Hell do you think you are that you're so much more important than me!" I hang my head in shame for these outbursts, but sometimes enough is enough.

This is Kola. He is a wizard and occasionally an aviator.

I spend a lot of time on the computer. I play Sims 3, check facebook, research, write, and even play Webkinz. Corey got me my first Webkinz for my birthday. She thought she would give me this stuffed Koala and I would give her the code because she already had an account. Boy, was she surprised when I created my own account and named the koala Kola. She didn't mind, though, because now I could games with her online and it was fun. But, all too soon, I was playing more than the kids. And, I admit, I started collecting the darn things. I currently have 38. Fortunately, my daughter has more than me. So, it's not uncommon for me to spend an hour or so doing my dailies and tending my garden on Webkinz. Sad, I know, but they're just so cute.

Christof is a male badger fond of female clothes and mustaches.

I still play Webkinz with the kids. Corey's favorite thing for us to do is to go to the Runway Room so she can model her outfits and I can vote highly for them. But, there is a price to pay for having her mother go into public rooms with her on Webkinz:

After Corey gets home from school, she has a snack and we tackle homework. This often consists of her brother trying to steal her pencil, all her reasons why she can't do her homework, and me asking if she looked up whatever she's trying to get me to answer for her. By the time she's done with homework, it's dinner time and I don't cook. I hate cooking. When I'm hungry, I want to eat. I don't want to prepare something when I'm not hungry and I don't want to wait for something when I am hungry. This leads to a lot of microwaving. Microwaving is a bad habit. I know this. But it's just so darn convenient.

After dinner, the kids and I will play or watch some TV (Pokemon, My Little Pony, Avengers, X-Men and Harry Potter are all pretty common). Often, the kids fight as siblings do.

 Jennifer, a lady down the street with a border collie, often calls around 6 for our daily walk. It is just around the block. If Steve is home, Corey will come with me. If Steve isn't home, Corey and Sammy watch an episode of whatever show, and I take one of the dogs on a walk. One of my hobbies is dog training, so these walks are often half talking about whatever and half me teaching her dog psychology. When we first started, her dog was dog aggressive, intense, unaware of her owner, and didn't much care for petting. Now, her dog is playing with other dogs, comes over for pettings, and is way more relaxed. It's quite a joy to see.

Since we have 5 dogs (lab mix, pit bull, Australian Shepherd, min. schnauzer, and a cairn terrier), 1 cat, two rabbits, two guinea pigs, two snakes, and a fish aquarium, my day is also filled with animal antics, care and interaction.

I love working on the aquarium. It is mine and mine alone and feels like an ongoing science experiment. I've had it since July of 2000. I love going to the pet store for a water test and being asked if my aquarium is established. Established means the tank has had fish in it and has gone through the nitrogen cycle and built up a beneficial colony of bacteria. A nitrogen cycle generally takes a month, but it takes more than one to build up the right amount of bacteria so the tank is self-regulating. This means, when you add knew fish, the tanks is already an ideal environment. But, it also means your ammonia will spike a little or a lot, depending on how many fish you add. That's why they tell you to only get a few fish at a time. I feel very smug giving my answer. Most of the time, people are new to the hobby. I know this because I used to work in a pet store.

Currently, I have a beta named Inigo and five cory cats. Inigo actually killed off my other fish, not through an act of violence, but through Ick, a common fish tank disease. I nursed Inigo back to health in two little bowls next to my bed for two weeks. I had to change his water everyday in order to treat him with medication, that's why I had two bowls for him. Now, I can tap the water and Inigo swims wherever my finger is and then I feed him. He will also take food from my fingers.

The cat, Henry, is whiny, bossy, and comes when I call. He is completely my cat and everyone knows it, even the dogs. I will occasionally make the children tell him he's beautiful and wonderful. There is usually some banter between my husband and me over how glorious (me) or not glorious (husband) the cat is. I love these quips and they're a favorite part of my day.

The dogs, of course, require feeding, letting out, play and enrichment. This filters in throughout the day and often involves ball throwing, tail chasing, silly talk and comments such as, "Excuse your nose." My way of saying, quit sniffing and/or checking out whatever the dog has it's nose in at the moment. This is often the table or the drawer in the dresser right next to my side of the bed where I keep the stuff I like to do at night: nails, read, crossword puzzles, Sudoku, Nintendo DS, chocolate, and tiny dog treats for impromptu training sessions. This usually entails the Aussie balancing a dog treat on her nose.

Sammy goes to bed around 7:30. We read two books. Then he hides under the blanket, pretends to be somebody, and we have to find him by completing three tasks. Sometimes he assigns us characters such as Webkinz, My Little Ponies, or superheros. We usually go through a cave, have a party, watch a TV show, or collect apples/oranges/bananas or baby crocodiles.

After Sammy goes to bed, it's my favorite part of the day, my bedtime routine. I love organization, schedules and plans, but being a wife, mother, and pet owner does not allow for this bliss. I make up for it every night in my routine. I'm also an insomniac, so this helps my mind and body prepare for bed too. I let all the dogs out for their last pee until the husband gets home sometime after midnight. While they're outside, Corey feeds the cat and I pour myself a milk. I carry whatever it is I need for the night, into the bedroom. I change into my nightgown, go potty, let the dogs back in, check that all doors are locked, that all lights are off except the ones that I leave on for my husband, and head for the bedroom. Corey helps me straighten out the sheets and blankets for the night. I take my allergy medicine and any other pills I need to take, then she and I talk while either playing our Nintendos or reading. About 30 minutes before I plan to actually sleep, I take an Ambien. When it kicks in, Corey and I exchange hugs, kissies and goodnights, and she goes to bed and I fall asleep. Unless, of course, I have an Ambien episode. But that's a whole different post.

OMG! I Just Met My Hero! What in the World Am I Going to Eat?

Have you missed me?

I've had medical issues the past few days concerning my chicken fried steak organ, the gallbladder. It seems to be tired of Texas cuisine and unhappy with me. It organ-ized a protest. Get it? It's an organ? Organized? Okay, back to our list!

25. If you could have dinner with anyone in history, who would it be and what would you eat? 


Okay, this one bothered me. You're eating dinner with the one person you would like to dine with in history and you're worried about what you would eat. Really? Instead of being like, "Oh my god, I'm sitting in front of Ben Franklin! What do I say? I hope I don't fart. I wonder if he'll give me his autograph?" You're like, "Oh my god, it's Ben Franklin! I don't know whether to order the fish or the pork! Waiter! Waiter! Quick! What's the soup of the day?"

Now that I got my complaint off my chest, let me analyze this question like I analyze everything, so I have clear boundaries for this question. What does anyone in history mean? For our intents and purposes, we will assume that means a human being that made an important impact on the world and is currently dead. I say "currently" because, you know, zombie apocalypse any day now.

I would have to choose Steve Irwin. I considered Jesus, but, think about it. What would you eat at a dinner with Jesus? Jesus. His blood and his body, right? Okay, see? Now it's a bad and tacky joke.

"Hey, man, what do eat at a dinner with Jesus?"
"I don't know. What?"
"Jesus!"
"Ahahahaha! You're going to Hell."

Steve Irwin, known as the Crocodile Hunter, was a wildlife expert and conservationist. He ran the Australian  Zoo and starred in various nature shows that followed him on his adventures all over the world studying and teaching about animals. He died on September 4, 2006 from being pierced in the heart by a stingray. He saw the beauty in all creatures, had a great sense of humor, a happy disposition, and passion for his job. He discovered two news species of animals and bought huge tracts of land for conservation purposes. He was a celebrity ambassador for Australia, for wildlife, and for the environment. I cried for days after his death and it took a few years before I could watch anything with a Steve Irwin appearance without tearing up and clutching my chest. I would love to have dinner with him, even if the table was crowded and I never got to speak to him.

For my dinner with Steve Irwin, I would probably eat a bowl of vegetable soup and a turkey sandwich, light on the mustard, with cheddar cheese, sugarless wheat bread, tomato, and lettuce. I would have water to drink.  For dessert, I'd have a warm slice of banana bread. Mmm. This is not because I think this is the greatest meal ever, but because of the protesting gallbladder.