i’ll be in the back, next to the cookies.

I had this imaginary conversation in my head yesterday because…well…it’s exactly what would happen if anyone were ever dumb enough to suggest that I become a “flight attendant.”  I don’t think  I’d make it past the training period and I’d probably weigh about a million pounds…cause I’d live off those awesome Biscoff cookies that come in the red and white packaging.

[my trainer, Jackie, and me, before anyone else is on the plane]

Me: Umm…what the hell is this for?

Jackie: That’s pretty much what will save your life if we run into any in-flight problems.

Me: A phone? Who the hell am I going to call? Back-up? A giant albatross to come and whisk me away?

Jackie: The police.

Me: You’re joking, right? I mean, don’t “the police” ride on the plane, anyway? Shouldn’t that be enough?

Jackie: Well….one sometimes isn’t enough…

Me: Well…..I’ll be using my phone-a-friend to call another plane so I can get the hell off.

Jackie: You can’t change planes in the air.

Me: If you can fill a plane with gas in the middle of the air, you can find a way to transport a person. Just sayin.

[enter pilots]

Jackie: Good morning, Captain and First Captain!

Me: Can you do me a favor, Captains, and try not to hit any turbulence? See, thing is, I don’t *do* turbulence and it’d be totally awesome of you if could get us from Point A to Point B without any.

Captain: Well, we don’t *do* special requests. Jackie, we’ll be in here – locked away…from her.

Jackie, looking back at me: I’ve decided you aren’t allowed to use the phone.  People are boarding, go greet them.

Me: Greet them? Why? And shouldn’t you be calling them “passengers?” Besides, no one wants to talk when they get on a plane. They want to be left alone. Trust me.

Random, Annoying Happy Dude: Hi! Hi! I love this plane! The air’s so awesome. You’re so awesome! Hi!

Jackie: So, how do you explain that?

Me: He doesn’t count. That isn’t happy. That’s a problem.

Jackie: Well, he’s in your section of the plane. Have fun.

[exit Jackie to leave me to my own devices]

Me, giving the “Safety” Talk: Now, we all know this is probably the most annoying part, except maybe if you’re sitting next to a smelly stranger or one who doesn’t know how to share arm rests. Then, well, we’ve got a long ass flight and it sucks to be you.

Anyway, if you’ve never been in a plane before, welcome to the tin can where you will freeze your ass off if you didn’t bring a blanket and you also cannot get up to pee whenever you feel like it. If the little sign that looks like two rectangular worms fighting is illuminated, keep your ass plastered to the seat and hold it.

If for some reason we have to make a water landing or any other kind of landing that is not on a traditional tarmac, do not come find me. At that point, we are no longer in a *normal* situation and I will not be performing any kind of *normal* job function. If you need a floatation device, it’s under your ass and if we lose cabin pressure, something that will resemble one of those practical joke snakes popping out of a can will fly at your head. Instead of beating it away with your tray table, put the little strappy part over your head and breathe into the yellow, plastic cup. It’s better that way. Trust me.

If you don’t speak English, there’s a little picture book in the seat pocket in front of you with directions. And if you don’t speak Spanish, German, French, Chinese, Japanese, Mandarin or Hindi, look at the pictures. If the pictures don’t help, then nothing I say will, either.

Also, do not ask me how much longer we have, where we are on the planet based on the terrain or for an extra cookie. The answers are I don’t have a fucking clue, I’m a flight attendant, not a clock, it looks like a unicorn chasing a dragon and we’re on a budget so your ass will just have to be hungry.

And, in closing, I have a helpful method for everyone who hates turbulence…raise your hand if you hate turbulence (I raise my hand).  If we begin to experience this unpleasant sensation where it feels like the plane might just shake itself apart, do this: Shut your eyes, stick your head between your legs, squeeze the person’s arm next to you until you draw blood and dammit, start praying to your Jesus, whoever the hell he is. Cause at that point, he’s the only one who’ll be able to help…unless you happen to be friends with a magical, teleporting fairy. Then, well, we need to talk. I’ll be in the back, next to the cookies.

snippets of conversation from thanksgiving #1

Before I begin the chaos that is 6 people vying for the same tiny soap box, here are a few pictures from the weekend…Thanksgiving #1

What's important here? The turkey. It's the only thing *kind of* in focus. Ummm thanks, mom.

Troy's drink. Troy who is 13. It's tea. Swear. I wouldn't lie in front of the Pilgrim.

Now…the conversations…they’re always disjointed and very confusing. You’re welcome.

(cue me almost dropping a massive, opened can of yams all over the floor)

Mom: You are such a klutz, Jessica. Things never change…

Me: What?! I’m not clumsy.

Tim: You mean, she’s always been this uncoordinated?

Mom: Everywhere except the basketball court…

*****************

(for some reason, my 3 brothers think that “mom” is theirs…and apparently I no longer count in the sibling category, so they’ll be all, “MY MOM said…”)

Troy: My mom keeps having to have Come and Find Jesus meetings with me.

(he meant to say “come to Jesus” meetings)

Tim: Well, I mean, wow. Have you found him yet? Cause it seems like you’ve been having a lot of those meetings lately…

*****************

Me: So, do you guys still play the trivia?

Jeff, Mom, Mason and Troy: THE what?!

Me, perplexed: The trivia?…Do you still go and play?

Tim, laughing hysterically: THE trivia? Who are you? Yoda?

(what the hell is wrong with saying THE trivia?)

*****************

(cue heated basketball competition on the Wii. I was totally winning.)

Me: I am AWESOME. And I’ve never even played this before.

Mom: You aren’t awesome. You’re yelling “MISS IT!” every time someone tries to shoot the basketball. It’s no wonder you’re winning…

Me: That’s not allowed?

*****************

(I’ve been trying to explain to Tim that it’s not that I’m pissy in the morning…I don’t talk to him because I’m trying to avoid a stupid fight over who forgot to pull out my favorite warm, fuzzy socks or who looked at me funny for 2.3 seconds longer than they should have.)

Me: Mom! Tell Tim we never talked in the morning.

Mom: We didn’t talk in the morning.

Me: No, I mean…that when we woke up we didn’t talk so we didn’t fight.

Mom: We didn’t talk so we didn’t fight…

Me: You’re totally not helping.

*****************

Y’all – Tim and I are for serious probably somewhere over the East Coast – right. this. second. – so if you’re anywhere between Georgia and New York – wave! You can probably see our asses if you squint really hard.

We’re on the way to Thanksgiving #2 AND Turkey Trot #2.

Oh, yes. We found one. And we’re running it.

They give away pottery as prizes if you win.

Not that I plan on winning, but you know how much I love pottery.

We really just have to redeem ourselves.

I’ll shit skittles if we fuck it up and go the wrong direction twice in 7 days.

i’m not crazy because…

This is part one of avoiding the nut house…because no one thought to give me a prescription for any kind of anti-anxiety medication. Apparently that’s too dangerous or something. I’m not even sure what part two is yet.  It’s probably dressing myself.  That’d be a huge win for the husband cause I think he’s pretty much tired of picking out my clothes and putting bright pink sticky notes on them all, “This goes over your HEAD and NOT over your ASS.” Turtlenecks can be so confusing sometimes…damn.

But, I’m convinced I’m not crazy because…

I don’t have an imaginary friend who I constantly seek for advice about things like shampoo flavors and Tuesday meal selections (Hi, Fred! I know – they’ll never understand).

I usually know the difference between a fork and a spoon and when it is appropriate to use each. Cake is eaten with a spoon and sporks are dangerous. Duh.

The stuffed animals actually don’t move by themselves. According to the husband, I move them (though I’d think I’d remember setting up a circle of stuffed animals around a miniature campfire. The hell, Fred?)

I do not repeat the same word over and over…except fluffernutter exactly 19 times before I pee and 3 times after I see a butterfly…but that’s only because fluffernutter is probably the most awesome word that isn’t in the dictionary. Except for booshy and I’m still pushing for that one…

I do not refer to Jessica in the third person.

I do not collect random objects and hide them between the couch cushions and behind the refrigerator in that tiny, little nook.  I’ve found that the walls in the garage and bedroom hold a shitload more.

I’ve stopped sitting on tennis balls, waiting for them to hatch.  I’ve learned that to get anywhere with this activity, it will require a trip to the microwave for exactly 5.42 minutes followed by 75 seconds in the freezer.

I don’t think I’m afraid of my shadow…today.

I’ve stopped responding to bird calls with a kazoo. It’s the harmonica coupled with the accordion that works. Every time.

I’ve accepted that it is not possible to teleport via closet. Yet.

I finally got rid of the unicorn in the bathroom. He stays in the spare closet now – the one with my wedding dress. I convinced him it was another unicorn since it had sparkles on it. He’s totally retarded that way.

Snow actually isn’t soap flakes that will result in an awesome outdoor bubble bath. It is frozen fairy pee.  And no one swims in fairy pee.

it’s *almost* bordering on my earlier threat to quit.

Reasons YOU need to get your ass in gear and send your thankfulness to me.

NOW.

(dearbooshy at hotmail dot com)

1. The deadline is Tuesday…I think we’ve procrastinated enough.

2. You probably need to remind yourself why you married him…or her.

3. It’s like free advertising…just without the super-massive-fifty-million-views-exposure…but we’re *almost* there (that just made me laugh…a sardonic, never-in-your-lifetime-keep-dreaming laugh)

4. There isn’t a test at the end…so think of it like major extra credit…or something…with chocolate.

5. A day of thankfulness would be really depressing without any well, thankfulness.  Which is completely circular and the result of such a catastrophe would probably send me on a downward spiral into crazyville, and I know you don’t want that on your conscience.

6. Babs just told me to shut the hell up all, “Don’t be a brat. You can’t force anyone to DO anything.” I simply reminded her that the reason she didn’t run off, “sayonara, asshole” was because of my super-stealth plan called Moxie.  Follow the logic? No? Let me help: you don’t want to be the recipient of my super-stealth plan.

7. It’s the right thing to do. 

8. You’ll need an escape for when you’ve reached the in-law/child/random uncle exposure maximum all, “I need to go meditate and remind myself why I didn’t just strangle you.”

9. It will probably make your bloggy-friends realize they need to stop being all whiny and mopey…or at least give them one day of, “Wow! I love everything…The trees! The thorny bushes!  The carpet fibers! The cat’s ass!”

10. You’d be the start of a tradition…and who doesn’t like to be able to say, “I STARTED THAT. I participated the FIRST DAMN TIME…I’ll bet you can’t say THAT. Exactly. I’m awesome.”

And we all like to be awesome.

Like the awesome people who have already sent their thankfulness.

At least they’ll be able to breathe easy come Thursday…

(and if you’re one of those few breathing easy…feel free to leave lots of chiding, guilt-inducing comments)

what do we do? we fuck it all up.

Today was actually going to be an all nicey-nicey warm and fuzzy post…cause I was going to talk about last night…our 5-year-the-day-we-met-in-person-a-versary.

Fuck that.

Guess what the hell happened to us this morning? Because, I mean, when does anything in our lives EVER GOES AS PLANNED.

That’d be too easy.

So, what happened? Well…………

We’ve run in the same damn Turkey Trot the past three years…two of those with no issues…

This year?

We manage to fuck it all up and run the wrong direction, thus not *technically* running the requisite 3.1 miles.

Now, before you’re all, “you are so stupid…can’t even run a race the right way” - we weren’t the only one…it was a group of us not sure which direction to go, only knowing that the way we were headed was dead ass wrong. So, apparently, we were among a collective gaggle of idiots.

And instead of using our own brains, Tim and I played follow-the-leader like dumbasses when we should have broken from the pack and ran back to figure out where we went wrong.

If you’ve never run a race, well, this probably won’t make any sense to you but: WE WERE WE ARE PISSED.

Finishing a race that you didn’t exactly complete sucks big, fat unicorn balls.

Finishing a race where you had a shot at WINNING in your respective age group? Well, we still aren’t able to talk about that without wanting to destroy something very large and very fucking expensive.

After we ran through the finishers area, I decided to turn around and run back down the trail to figure out where we went wrong…because it would drive me crazy NOT. FINISHING.

I found it.

A sharp ass, 90 degree right turn that wasn’t clearly marked.  Next year, they need to put up a massive, talking sign or stick someone at the turn wearing a sandwich board. Either way, the message needs to be clearly stated: “THIS WAY. FUCKTARDS”

Then…maybe we’ll pay attention…because after slumming through dirt and mud and dodging trees and random, rubber ducks tied to low-hanging branches (aka “duck” ….)? You just want to run…without thinking. You don’t want to have to be all McGuyver-like, looking for the path to lead us to the promised land.

As I was walking back to the trail, Tim (who sat at the finishers area and watched, fuming over our mistake) overheard a lady who just finished, talking about me and pointing as I walked by all, “SHE’S ONE THAT WENT STRAIGHT!!! CHEATER FACE.”

I wanted to whip around and be all, “I’m going back to find where I went wrong and I didn’t even put my name and my time in as a finisher, asshole. So technically, I don’t even EXIST. Which probably means you should sleep with one eye open.”

It has not been a pleasant post-Turkey Trot morning in the Bold household.

I told Tim that one day we’d laugh about this.

He didn’t think that was very funny.

The good news? We’re about to stuff our faces with lots of food…yay Thanksgiving # 1!

I did have Tim take a picture, though. This is me, post-race.

I'm only smiling because there's a camera. And I'm about to fart. You're welcome.

And my dirty feet.

I swear. It's mud. I think?

5 years. a picture story

Today marks 5 years Tim and I have *known* each other. We celebrate this day…our day-of-the-month-we-met-a-versary.  We’re special that way.

I truly cannot believe how much has happened since 11-20-2004. 

It’s been 5 years of…well, more than I ever expected. And damn. We’ve changed.

me: "Holy shit. He's 13 years older and probably thinks I'm retarded." Tim: "I'm totally awesome. Score."

me: "So I'm wearing jewelry and sitting inside a mountain. Whatever." Tim: "She's still here. I'm awesome."

me: "We're engaged! And we totally just spent an entire day painting pottery. Yay!" Tim: "I just painted a damn pot and used a princess dress stamp. Not awesome."

Me: "??!@$" Tim: "Ummm. No. We're married. You don't touch the knife. Or anything else with sharp edges. Including tupperware."

me: "Run up the snow hill! Hurry! It'll make an awesome picture!" Tim: "That's not a snow hill. It's a drift. And it's unstable."

Apparently 2008 was the last year we took pictures together.  All I could find were pictures of me…or of random things like leaves. I mean, there’s the Utah set – but those are all on Flickr…and you’ve probably already seen them.

I’ll make it my goal to take pictures over Thanksgiving so we can prove we were actually *together* during the holiday instead of just supposedly in the same proximity.

Tomorrow morning we’re running our (now) annual Turkey Trot…yay?

And have Thanksgiving #1…with my family.

(So, you can surmise what that means…)

when shit hits the fan…

…you get the hell out of the way.

Unless, of course, the fan is in an empty round room. And then you’re fucked.

That’s kind of where I’ve been lately.

Getting pummeled with shit.

From the fan.

But yesterday…it’s like someone finally threw me an umbrella (I say “UM-brella” and Tim thinks this pronunciation is totally ass backwards. He will tell me that I put the em-PHA-sis on the wrong syl-LA-bla)

And I know I spelled syllable wrong…I spelled it the way Tim says it when he’s trying to make his point that I say umbrella phonetically retarded…so I was trying to help you…so you would read what he says correctly in your brain.

So it would be funny.

But now it’s not funny because I’m sitting here explaining why it’s supposed to be funny…damn.

Anyway, I am utterly blown away at the response from my not-really-for-serious…more like severely-struggling-with-all-the-shit-that-keeps-piling-up threat to quit booshy.

booshy is my outlet…

Sort of.

I mean, I’ve been totally honest with you.  You know my name.  You kind of know where I live.  You know that I’m an anal-obsessive-perfectionist looking for something so few find.

But there are a few things that I do keep close to the chest (shocker, I know). And just FYI: none of those things have anything to do with my little *secret* that is almost a secret no more.

And the secret is not even THAT big of a deal…it’s just a little surprise that’s taken a lot of work…and will hopefully be worth all the effort.

Anyway - those *things* I don’t talk about on booshy are the tidbits that make for really boring or really frustrating reading.  They aren’t funny, at all.  They’re serious.  It’s the real life drama that is best kept between only those involved.

And we all have it.  If you don’t, you are either living in a box out in the middle of nowhere (which probably means you don’t have access to the internet…and aren’t reading this anyway) or you’re a robot.

Let me answer the questions I know you’re thinking:

Is anyone in the hospital/sick/hurt/discovered they are really an elf: No.

Pregnant/adopting/magically fertilized by a unicorn: No.

Moving/job woes/unwanted surprises surfacing from the toilet, like an alligator: No. Well, Tim’s job can really be a pain in the ass…and Albert actually snapped at Lexi the other day for getting too close to his lair, but that’s nothing new.

Stress/anxiety/severe constipation: I think this happens to everyone.  And I have the answer -  swallow about 5 candy-coated exlax pills and then immediately go for a walk while pretending you’re being chased by winged clown heads. Then about halfway through, start praying to the porcelain gods that you don’t explode all over the sidewalk before reaching their sanctuary. Cause the clowns would totally jump all over that.

And by the time your bowels are empty, you’ll forget whatever it was that was bothering you…cause nothing is better for short and long-term memory loss than that kind of explosion.

We all have ups and downs.

I have been experiencing a down.

Not like, black-hole-no-way-out kind of thing…more like too much shit day after day after day…combined with growing pains.  I mean, I’ve come to terms with being a spoiled brat…but there are many, many, MANY things I’m still learning…and every time I do something incorrectly that *most* of you are probably already pros at, I get knocked down all, “Wrong, bitch! Try again.”

And that’s been happening a lot lately.  I mean, the build-up of mud has been awesome for my complexion but I’m pretty much getting tired of having to strip down and change clothes every five minutes.

But all of your comments…they helped me see that there is a light somewhere in the distance…that this is not done in vain…that booshy has become…well, booshy.

And you’re helping me learn, even though it doesn’t seem to matter how many warnings I get.  Apparently, I actually have to fuck it all up myself a requisite 17 times before I finally get it right.

But at least you tried to warn me and you give your two cents while watching the shit storm unfold that is my life.

Those two things mean more to me than I could ever express.

(Actually, I think that was three…dammit)

Thank you.

You make me smile.

(did I say “fuck” the appropriate amount of times? Yah, still struggling with balancing the fuck-scale)

what if i just quit?

Let’s play a game.  How many blogs are there in the entire universe?

Ok, nevermind.  That’s the start of a really bad idea. I just realized that game requires math.

So, let me instead go a direction I can usually manage, on a good day when there are exactly 15 birds chirping and 35.2 ants crawling on the patio and Mozart is playing the background.

Come into my little world for a few minutes.

(which, is actually really boring…and this is probably part of my problem)

I write in this blog every single day…and I suck?

I wonder if I should keep going…and then I tell myself I have to…I’m quitting if I stop.

That statement usually leads to my asking WHY it’s considered quitting when I set my own, self-imposed deadlines.  I mean, there’s no one around to be all, “THE HELL? WRITE, WOMAN!”

I still don’t have an answer to that…other than I just flat-out refuse to quit.  I mean, when blog life is all happy and cheery and glittery winged kittens, of course I want to keep going.

But when blog life is in the toilet?  Well, that’s just no fun.  I don’t particularly enjoy swimming amongst the floaters.  Just sayin.

I can’t even blame this on the mixing of random medications, unless you count vitamins, fish oil and airborne.

Exactly. Totally lame.

Whoever said a blog was a popularity contest: You win a fucking gold star.

Whatever *the answer* is, I haven’t found it.

But I kind of need it, I think.

That and a rousing pep talk.

For my sanity.

(I pretty sure my little rant just cost me 5 readers. Which probably brings me down to like, 4, who I’ll probably scare off by saying fuck)

(Dammit! I totally didn’t *mean* to say fuck…outloud)

a conversation between me and babs, my conscience.

Perseverance is a funny word. 

Basically, it means don’t quit. Ever. Even if you’re bleeding, broken and without a shred of hope. Keep going.

But isn’t it hard? I mean, be honest with yourself.  It sucks when you work…and work…and work…

And then watch someone 10 years your junior climb right to the top.

THE. HELL.

It frustrates the shit out of me…and I know I’m not alone.  Don’t you get tired of climbing that same damn hill over and over?

I think half the problem is the conscience. It’s always all, “risks are stupid.”

Well, to all those little Jiminy Cricket’s out there: FUCK. OFF.

My cricket’s name is Babs, by the way.

And Babs, I’m going to do it my way from now on, beg, borrow or steal.  I don’t need you on my shoulder all, “But, that’s not the safe way…that’s probably a bad idea…”

Babs: But…why take a chance, dumbass?

Me: Because I can.

Babs: I totally advise against such rash decisions.

Me: Oh…it’s not rash. It’s calculated. It’s with complete forethought.

Babs: Really?…You? Forethought?

Me: Ummm. Yes. If I think about it even two seconds before it happens, it counts.

Babs: You really are stupid.

Me: Actually, I think it’s the smartest thing I’ve done.

Babs: Reallly?…

Me: Ignoring you? Yes. So freeing…

Babs: …and do you recall what happened the last time?

Me: I’ve blocked it from my memory. Getting lost in my own neighborhood?…Allowing the ex-boyfriend to take my keys and subsequently get my car stolen?…no, those never happened. It was all just a bad dream. You said so yourself.

Babs: That was more like a lesson…as in: “remember this like a bad dream so you don’t do it again.”

Me: Well, you  probably should have adjusted your approach…something like, “remember this like getting your arm ripped off by a velociraptor.” Now that, right there, would have been a good thing to say. Cause who wants to go through THAT twice?

Babs: And where in reality would THAT happen?

Me: Jurassic Park, Babs. It’s totally real. Where’ve you been?

Babs: Cleaning up your mess, asshole.

Me: Really, Babs? We have to resort to name calling? I thought you were supposed to be the all-knowing-voice-of-reason.

Babs: It is impossible to reason with an asshole.

Me: You know, Babs, you’re totally right. Asshole’s don’t have a brain.

Babs: ….

Me: See? You should’ve listened to me in the beginning, then you wouldn’t be all pissy.

Babs: Listened to WHAT, exactly? Your babbling nonesense?

Me: No, the part where I said I was ignoring you. Had you just shut the hell up, we wouldn’t be fighting.

Babs: We’re not fighting. I just hate you.

Me: That’s really not very nice, Babs.

Babs: Since when have I been nice?

Me: Since always, Babs. You don’t really have a choice. No one listens to a conscience if they’re all bitchy and mean.  You’d get fired.  And then you’d be out of a job, holding up a cardboard sign all, “I have the answers.”

Babs: I have a choice.

Me: Technically, you’re inside MY brain, so no, you don’t have a choice.

Babs: I quit.

Me: That’s perfect, Babs! You disappearing is way better than my attempt at ignoring you.

Babs: Enjoy your life as an asshole.

Me: Oh, I will, Babs. I will.

Babs: WTF? Who the hell is this?!

Me: Oh, her? That’s my security net – aka my subconscious – just incase you ever SERIOUSLY decided you were going to quit. Totally brilliant, I know.

Babs: WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Me: Her name’s Moxie.

Babs: WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Me: I think I just heard Moxie say that name calling wasn’t nice. And that quitting as a conscience was totally a bad move.

Babs: …

*updated* the damn answers

*update* apparently I should have said: here are the damn answers…I think the whole iq test part just confused the hell out of everyone, including me.

I think you have managed to stretch my brain in about every direction possible, which is exactly why I think the following should be immediately converted to one of those online IQ tests.

The questions…followed closely by the answers.

Since you are a newlywed, I’d like to know how you handle those moments when your husband just gets on your last nerve. Don’t lie and say it doesn’t happen … because it happens to EVERYONE. Do you look him in the eye and tell him to leave you alone? Do you mercilessly make fun of him? Or do you avoid him entirely? Or, is it something totally different?

I lock him in the closet, actually, until he swears to behave. Truthfully, we usually just go to our separate corners. It’s safer for everyone that way.

What is really keeping you and Tim from getting the heck out of Georgia?

A job…for Tim. He’s Mr. Breadwinner, so…yah. It’s kind of important that he has a job. I mean, at least until I make my millions…….which will probably happen exactly three days after unicorn’s begin to shit skittles, so…

What kind of computer do you use?

Does an iPhone count? Well, hell, I’m answering, so yes, it does. I use my iPhone…usually to respond to comments or send emails…and then there’s the laptop…a Dell something…a really small one…and the actual *computer* is a Dell XPS One (I had to call Tim because this information is out of my realm of knowledge that I refuse to store).

What is that secret you’ve been mentioning?

To debut shortly. I’m completely sworn to secrecy. I mean, I’ll be drawn and quartered if I say anything, and then booshy would disappear…which would mean that you wouldn’t get your daily dose of…whatever the hell this is…entertainment?

Why do I keep reading this?

Because who can avoid a train wreck and the resulting aftermath? Nobody.

In the mystical “T” facial picture, what are the three tripodish things in the lower right background?

I had to go back and look at the picture…it’s one of the ten thousand miniature boats around the house. Tim collects them…

What is the meaning of life?

Hustle your ass off. Feel the wind on your face and the sand between your toes. Get hurt. Laugh until you cry. Eat chocolate. Love…and lose. Scream. Go to bed with a promise and wake up with a smile. Pet a sheep. Feed a dolphin. Be afraid. Overcome. Live.

Complete these sentences

A perfect day for me would be: Getting up early and hiking to the summit of a mountain, sweating the entire time, legs aching and burning. Then, simply sitting at the top where all you can hear are the beating of birds wings and the wind rushing down the mountainside. With Tim, of course. He’d probably kill me if he wasn’t invited plus there wouldn’t be anyone to handle the scary things that I refuse to confront, like snakes.

Or sitting in a giant bookstore, signing autographs in my (yet to be completed) book.

3 things I loved doing as a kid but don’t do anymore: Playing barbies. Basketball. Being irresponsible. I miss basketball the most, though. I’m pretty much over the whole Barbie-Ken drama that never seemed to resolve itself…

A few ways I am good to myself: Wow…I think I actually suck in this department, because I tend to do nothing for myself that one would typically consider “good” like getting a manicure or taking bubble baths or…I run. That’s what I do. And I write, which is probably better for Tim than it is for me…since it allows me to get the frustration out before I start yelling nonsense at him for no reason other than I’m in a pissy mood…

If I ruled the world I’d: Throw all the politicians and world leaders on an island together. I’d keep them hostage with only coconuts and rice to eat until they came to some kind of workable solution for everyone to either get along or leave each other the hell alone or agree to disagree. Kind of like Survivor, only way worse.

Do you think a sixth sense exists? Explain. Yes. Back when I answered the first set of questions, I shared how I lost my brother. Before I actually *knew* what had happened, I kept having very vivid dreams and I just felt that something was wrong. Granted, I didn’t know exactly *what* it was but my entire being was screaming at me . And it still happens. I called my mom out of the blue around this time last year as she was admitting my brother to the ER due to his appendix rupturing (and he made it through fine and is perfectly healthy now). Somehow I just *know* when something serious is happening to those I am closest with and I’m convinced it’s a sixth sense type of deal.

What “close call” did you have from your past? Describe it. Close call?…as in near death experience? I mean, I’ve been on an airplane that started to land and then took off again about three seconds after both sets of wheels hit the tarmac because we were about to hit another airplane, thanks to who the hell knows why. Does that count?

Do you now, or have you ever, had a nickname. If so, what is it and where did it come from? Ohhhh nicknames. I’ve had lots over the years…”Secka” by my brother Jeff, due to his inability to say “Jessica” along with “Jeja” from my other brother, Mason, for the same reason. I’ve been called JB and UPS during my basketball days…my name has been shortened to “Jess” by most people I know…apparently it’s easier to say…requires less effort or something. Lazy, is what I think. And lots of you are starting to call me “booshy” so I that’s now becoming an unintentional nickname (which, I think is how they all start, anyway. I mean, who walks around all, “Call me Sprinkles!”….”But your name is Jessica?…I’m confused?”)

Hypothetically speaking: if you were playing a game of scrabble and after a word was played it was noticed that this particular sequence spelled a valid word both from left to right and right to left. Would you say the points awarded should be doubled (for spelling a word both forwardly and reversidly?): Sure. As long as someone else does the math because I would probably end up subtracting or raising the points to a negative power. And I have no idea how to even DO that…so who the hell knows what the result would be. I think it probably means you win (I think you totally just invented two words, by the way: forwardly and reversidly - which totally would not count in Scrabble).

Do you believe or are you in the opinion that it is not against the rules to browse through a dictionary ‘just for word ideas’ For example browsing the entire dictionary instead of looking up specific words which you may think you have the tiles to spell but need verification? Thesaurus.com is my best friend, followed closely by dictionary.com. So, no. Definitely not against my rules.

Is you first name REALLY booshy? Ummmm….no. Not technically.

What kind of work did you do before deciding to write your book? I was a Registrar. Yay! Records management.

What did you go to school for? I have a BA in Psychology. Which had nothing to do with being a Registrar…

How did you meet Tim? I mean, I think this sums it up. But, in one word: online.

And I think my brain just exploded glitter and miniature winged ponies.

Awesome.