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The Recalcitrant Goddess is four years old today. Thanks to all of you who show up here on a regular basis! A bigger thanks to those of you who comment! I'm also pleased to report that I have seven followers. Seven! But there must be more of you out there, unless you devoted 7 are showing up 23.4 times every day. Which means that you have less of a life than me and are in desperate need of developing some hobbies. I'm celebrating by washing my hair and going to physical therapy. And even though these words never failed to irritate my dear mother, I must insist that all of you have a nice day.
How many times have I watched the 1981 Lawrence Kasdan film noir Body Heat? Well, I would estimate probably twenty or so times beginning to end, parts of it another dozen times. So I feel that I'm more than a little familiar, perhaps bordering on obsessed with it. Numerous times throughout the film, a character is mentioned but never seen. Betty the housekeeper. She's up to something involving a certain piece of evidence pertinent to the murder of one Edmund Walker. Before the murder took place, it seems she was a little nosy as well. Resident femme fatale siren Matty Walker washed the sheets after trysting with local lawyer Ned Racine to allay any suspicions on the part of Betty as to the extracurricular activities of the lady of the house. Matty went so far as to switch to the same brand of cigarettes that Ned smoked so Betty wouldn't wonder about any stray butts she might find in the course of her day cleaning about the house. Matty eventually fires her because she doesn't trust her. But does Betty really exist, that is my question. The credits show Betty being played by an actress named Ruth P. Strahan. Numerous Google searches don't turn up any more information about Ms. Strahan, they lead to the same IMDb profile that has no photo and only one movie credit. You guessed it, as Betty the housekeeper in Body Heat. Now that I own the dvd and have watched all the deleted scenes and other bonus tracks, there is still no sign of Betty. Is this an inside joke perpetrated upon us by Mr. Kasdan? Is Betty merely Matty's invisible imaginary friend? One who comes in handy to blame for Matty's own underhanded activities to frame her lover for the murder of her husband so she can make off with his money in order to acheive her high school yearbook dream of being very rich and living in an exotic land? After such a long-winded question I am out of breath and no closer to an answer. All I can say is, if I'm ever in a financial position to hire a housekeeper, I'll expect her to clean up the dirty sheets and butts and keep her mouth shut if she wants a Christmas bonus. Until then, I'm going to blame all the messes on my imaginary housekeeper, Betty. That's right, the next hairball on the rug and the pile of dishes that didn't get into the dishwasher and dustbunnies under the bed are all Betty's fault. It's just so hard to get good help these days.
I knew there were more than ten...
*Cloris Leachman
*Julie Andrews
*Gilda Radner
*Mary Tyler Moore
*Candice Bergen
In honor of Ellen DeGeneres, whose birthday is today, I have compiled, and shall now reveal, my top ten list of favorite funny females.
*Lucille Ball
*Elayne Boosler*Carol Burnett*Ellen DeGeneres*Nora Ephron
*Judy Holliday
*Madeline Kahn
*Amy Sedaris
*Lily Tomlin*Last but not least, my sis Martine, who almost never fails to make me laugh! Don't ever try to carry anything heavy any great distance with her. With all the setting down and picking up again due to hysterical laughing intervals, it takes forever.
I love Kathy Bates! Due to my separation from the broadcast television world, I only caught the last half of her debut tv drama last night, Harry's Law. I need to remind myself to watch at precisely 9pm next Monday night. I did enjoy what I saw, and was not surprised that David E Kelley produced the show. His signature earthy characters and snappy dialog were all over it. And even though I am a self-admitted pottymouth, it surprised me to hear gutter language on a network broadcast. Asshole, douche bag and pissed were featured. While I have heard Miss Oprah utter pissed off in the mid-afternoon, outside of movies and cable offerings the other two terms were a first. At the very end, as we fade and pan out through Harry's storefront window, I saw something about shoes. For Kathy and shoes, I'm definitely showing up.
This is so darn funny. And if I'm not mistaken, if this bit of ink art was self applied, the artist is a lefty. Which doesn't surprise me in the least. As for the third unadorned finger, I would like to have seen the horrified reaction of an innocent bystander depicted upon it. Or perhaps an accomplice wielding a gun. Could you do that for me?
This is me. Showcasing some type of disco move through the Christmas gift opening leavings on the living room floor. While quaffing a caffeinated beverage, it would seem. Also spokesmodeling my new slippers. Today's title refers to how my husband described my appearance in that late 80's fashion trend, the belted knit dress. In my memory, the closest statement resembling a compliment on my appearance that he ever paid me. We worked through this particular issue in counseling, where I finally got an answer as to why he never told me I was pretty/attractive/hot/anything remotely positive. His answer was, he wasn't sure what the criteria were. Which finally helped me understand how his brain works. I think it was in that moment I felt a tenderness toward him I had never experienced before. At the same time, I also knew I could not stay with him and attempt to resurrect our broken marriage. A thousand words in this picture? For me, only four.
When you move the furniture and it hasn't been moved for a while, you find things. Like the nasty area near the baseboard where little boy feet twitched against the wall and wore away the paint. When the computer desk faced that way. This is a room in progress. Welcome to my office. Nearly two years ago I moved my computer out of my bedroom and into this room downstairs. This is the third reworking of my office space, my office is the fourth incarnation of this corner of the basement. The first incarnation was the finished with rustic recycled barnboards corner of the basement, a relic from the former owners. I thought it was kind of cool. My husband hated it. The barnboards stuck around for a few years until more serious finishing occurred. Then this space acquired a tile floor, closets, was wired properly, walled in and painted and had a door that closed. We had a guest bedroom. Then it became the guest bedroom slash office when we acquired our first computer. Further remodeling and adding on ensued and a new guest bedroom with a proper egress window came to be, leaving this a room occupied by boys and computers and video games and came to be known as the Computer Lab. I annoyed the boys by freshening it up with leftover paint. It was no longer dingy. They protested, particularly over the sunflower I painted free hand on the wall and hung a clock in the center of. Now it's mine, and in nearly two years I've never quite finished it. With the addition of my lovely new to me glass and metal desk, I feel inspired to finally organize this room properly. A place for writing and paper crafty projects. A refuge with a big comfy chair for reading and journaling. I am working on it! The furniture has been suitably rearranged, a set of shelves have been moved from one wall to another. The walls have been repaired and touched up with paint. I have found dust bunnies and cobwebs and a missing pair of earbuds. Undoubtedly a few poems will emerge. With any luck, maybe I'll find my next novel in here.
It's not new new, but it's new to me. An older glass and metal frame Ikea model. Of course, now I have to rearrange the furniture and figure out where to put all the stuff that was languishing in the drawers of the old desk! So far I like it ever so much! Particularly I like that I can see the pretty rug on the floor. I can't resist a deal, especially when it involves a great price, free delivery and set-up, and moving the old desk out to the garage. I am so on top of crafty projects. You can see that there is a fabric swatch draped over my office chair, hmmm, think it's been there at least a year, but the point is it's gorgeous fabric that will look great once my hands are less cranky and are able to tackle recovering the chair! Guess I'll be in the office this week fine tuning the feng shui in here. Maybe, just maybe, facing south while I write rather than facing west will get me that long coveted publishing deal.
I feel as though I'm auditioning for a part in a play. Or maybe it's a screen test for a movie. Over and over and over again. I'm under the impression that this is the plum role that I would be willing to give a kidney for the opportunity to inhabit. It's always me, but with a different guy dropping in to play opposite me. We're usually on location and without scripts, improvising a similar repartee with one another. The details change. So do the costumes and the setting. What remains the same every time is my relentless optimism. I am fearless and honest and relaxed. Well, mostly relaxed. I hope my hair is okay and that I haven't over-accessorized and that I don't have something unsightly stuck in my teeth. At first it doesn't seem possible that you are here with me, although I am open to what may transpire simply because you are here. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. So I trust you. You make this big play for me and the scene is over. You exit, never to be heard from again. And I'm left wondering if this role will ever be cast, if we'll ever proceed to rehearsals, if opening night will ever arrive. Like Mattie Ross, it seems that I am in need of a man with true grit.
* Holiday decorations are removed and packed away for next time. Oh, that sounded so lovely. I'm too pooped to type it five more times, so be a dear and read that first sentence at least twice.
*While I still find the current state of, I hesitate to say affairs, so I'll say dating/mate finding, deplorable, I did just watch Sense and Sensibility and may I just say it was indeed worse in Jane Austen's world.
*It seems that I am throwing a dinner party next Saturday for Tigh, who is departing for Australia on January 26th, which by coincidence is Australia Day.
*In addition to my workplace's HR Specialist, my nurse case manager in Massachusetts, my work comp claims rep in Florida, my orthopedic doc in Sioux Falls, and my physical therapist here, I now have a local nurse case manager who will accompany me to a PT session next week as well as my doc visit next month! It seems my nonstandard recovery has delivered unto me either an eyes-on caretaker who can attest to my plight and be an advocate for me, or maybe just another layer of paperwork.
*Speaking of PT, they really gave me a workout yesterday! I was hurting for a full twenty-four hours! Ibuprofin, sleep, and a heat pack have worked their magic, though, and I'm feeling more flexible! What's weird is that as I gain strength and flexibility, I notice the aggravating and lingering burning, itching, achy stuff that much more.
*Embarrassingly, I discovered just today how easy it is to crop photos and print them.
*Still no word on my publishing submissions.
*This morning, before I was entirely awake, to my horror I used the word literal when I meant to say veritable. And just a few days ago I learned that orientate is actually a word. Shudder.
*While I was sleeping the other night Facebook foisted upon me the new profile format I had resisted voluntarily adopting. Bastards.
*Reid has just informed me that he is craving home made cinnamon rolls for breakfast tomorrow. He has infected my brain so thoroughly with his craving that I am considering a trip out at this late hour to purchase the primary ingredient for said rolls. Damn!
To say I identify with Danae is a powerful understatement. Wish I had a little black dress with the heart and skull embellishment. Now get off my lawn.
The view from my patio door about an hour ago. There's a deep, still, bleak, and chilly beauty in the fading light of a January afternoon. Kind of how I feel inside today. Though the increasing minutes of light each day help take the chill off. Got them one week into the new year blues, baby, nothing seems to change unless you look backward. Yet underneath that blanket of snow lie hibernating ferns and sleeping perennial flowers. The evergreen reminds us that winter's cold clutch will eventually fall away and release us into the warm embrace of spring. Better days.
Isn't he cute? When Michael and Liz said they found me a man while on their trip in Germany, I had no idea what to expect. This is the front view. He's just what I like in a man. Anatomically correct and full of wild strawberry schnapps.
This is his rear view. I think I ought to name him, but haven't as yet been inspired. Maybe I'll need to remove his head and partake of his contents to find inspiration. And if you hadn't noticed, those are some darn fine buns. Cheers!
I've seen him around for a little over a year. We have a large number of mutual friends and acquaintances. I'm pretty sure we met last New Years Eve. I thought he was cute, I told him he reminded me of a young Elvis Costello. He said thank you and grinned at me, but I still don't know if he has a clue who Elvis Costello is. His girlfriend elbowed him sharply and wasn't aware, or maybe she was, that I could see the angry glare she was aiming at him. I'd bump into him occasionally when I was out and the only way I can describe how we interacted is that it was oddly formal. Like he was deliberately keeping a cushion of space between us. I thought maybe he was shy, but when I observed him from the other side of the room, he seemed to be the life of the party. Goofing off for the camera. Anymore, there is always a camera. Camera cameras, phone cameras, stills and video. Surrounded by women. Telling stories and jokes. And I wondered what it was about me that kept me apart from this gregarious, entertaining, very attractive fellow. I will admit upfront that I can be off-putting, to many I'm an acquired taste. I'm an unapologetic opinionated pottymouth feminist. It's part of my charm. A charm that he was immune to. Sadly relegated to the periphery, I watched and contemplated what the ticket to inside that circle might be. What it might cost, was I willing to pay, what if it looked better from the outside than it actually was. Just a few days ago, for reasons I have yet to discover, he extended a friendly hand and invited me inside his circle. And I have to say, the inside is infinitely better than the outside. He is charming and naughty. There is an intelligent, quiet intensity about him. He looks you directly in the eye and the eyes are deep blue surrounded by impossibly dark, thick lashes. His smile is gorgeous and quick and dimple adorned. He's an old soul in a young body. Don't get me started on the body. As usual, I have no idea what's going on. What I do know is that this is fun. And I would love to stay a good, long while.
Papa John's pizza!!! Are you listening? It seriously aggravates me how you have emblazoned on your pizza boxes that your product contains absolutely no trans fats!!! Perhaps the pizza as prepared does not, but the thin crust pizza has a packet enclosed that contains a spice blend to sprinkle on your pie. If you read the ingredients on the packet it clearly states that there are hydrogenated fats inside. Included with the thicker crust pizza is a garlic dipping sauce that contains both partially and fully hydrogenated fats. The sprinkle spices and the dipping sauce are voluntary, you don't have to use them, but the intention is clear. They are provided without customer request to enhance the pizza consumption experience. Maybe this is one of those percentage things, where technically your product does not contain a certain ingredient if it contains less than one percent of said stuff. But still. There should be a disclaimer that warns the consumer that the additional condiments provided do indeed contain trans fats.
Sometimes you don't mean to take a nap. You mean to read the paper. But then you get just a little too cozy creating a reading nest and it becomes a napping nest instead. Next thing you know it's after midnight and you're wide awake. I also meant to bake cookies after I read the paper. Maybe I can do that after I read the paper tomorrow. Except it is tomorrow. Guess that will be later today. I have so many interesting things running around in my head! I'd love to share but this is about all the typing my cranky hands can accomplish right now. Wonder what they were off doing while I was napping. Maybe somnambutyping. Better check my Facebook status for unusual activity...
Not that I actually made any resolutions. I'm not referring to that virtuous activity, however. Talking about that virtuous thing called patience. I did accomplish something today. Something moderately big and satisfying. I submitted the first three chapters of my novel to a publisher. Also submitted a poetry collection. The poetry collection took much too long as it was stubbornly refusing to convert into a format that would fit the publisher's file size limit. Eventually I was successful. Mission accomplished! Now. We. Wait. Thanks for your patience. And perseverance. And for showing up for this relatively inane bit of non-news.
* Met a cute guy
* Said yes to date with cute guy
* Contemplated removal and storage of holiday decorative items
* The Saturday paper wasn't here due to weather closing I29
* Had two crossword puzzles today when I got both Saturday and Sunday papers
* Sunday magazine missing from paper
* Suffered a teensy bit due to slight hangover symptoms, which I attribute to the free and flowing cheap champagne between other drinks
* Neighbor blew the snow from my driveway
* For the first time ever, bargain calendars arrived in time for January 1
* Was stood up by cute guy
* Had an enjoyable evening anyway
* Freezing rain not only cemented my car doors shut, but firmly stuck my garage door down in a closed position. A guy would have used a blow torch. I used the ice chipper, ten minutes later, voila, the door opens
* Discovered that Reid needs a new winter coat, he has outgrown the current one which he has had for only two years. He's lost about ten pounds, though, he seems to be in the process of attaining what my brother Cullen called his man body
* Slept crappy last night due to drinking Irish Creme laced coffee at too late an hour. Seemed like a good idea at the time, you know, a warm drink rather than a chilly one
* Still contemplating the removal and subsequent storage of holiday decorative items
* Baked cinnamon rolls this morning
As a whole, I would have to say this mixed bag of happenings has crammed a great deal of activity into the first forty hours of 2011. The week ahead looks busy as well. I'll keep you posted.
