Posts Tagged ‘Hump Day’

I’m such a kid…

January 25th, 2012

I’m such a kid.

I don’t apologize.

Lunch…

Tomato, baby! Campbell’s. There is no other if you’re a kid, or me.

In this…

There is no other if you’re a kid, or me.

I’ve had these soup mugs forever. Okay. They didn’t exit the womb with me, but a long time. Long. Time.

I have four. Still chip-free. That comes under the heading Miracle.

I paired my Campbell’s with a grilled Granny Smith apple and white cheddar — of the old variety — cheese sandwich on multigrain. Knocks my socks off every time.

Lunch as God intended.

Sometime on Friday, I’ll be in Matinee-land seeing this…

Mr. G, honey is girding his loins.

No, really. He’s a good sport.

No, really. I’m going to owe him big time. He’s gonna make me see The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo on the Big Screen, when I would prefer to see it on say, my iPhone.

Try not to judge me. I’ve been a Stephanie Plum fan for a long time.

I’ll let you know.

Who else is going?

That’s all for Hump Day, aka Wednesday, folks!

Flashback…

January 11th, 2012

I’ve been feeling all nostalgic about blogging over the last week. I can’t say why. I just have.

The first blog post I ever wrote was October 14, 2007 on WordPress dot com at Could Be A Blog.

Because I’ve been feeling all nostalgic and sentimental, here is that first post in its entirety.

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I’ve been thinking about The Kiss, like we think about The One. All week long, It’s In His Kiss (The Shoop Shoop Song, a 1964 hit single by Betty Everett) has been going through my head. Others have recorded it since then, Aretha Franklin comes to mind, but I’m humming Betty. Okay. Sometimes, I’m actually belting it out. Sorry, sweetie. We all know I’m tuneless.

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“If you wanna know, if he loves you so,…” One look at these couples and you think, oh yeah, it’s definitely in the kiss — from the sweet caress, to the playful buss, to the smooch, to the full clinch, tongue-dueling lip-lock that’ll set off sparklers in your brain like the 4th of July.

In the movie, French Kiss, to distract Kate (Meg Ryan) from her fear of flying, Luc (Kevin Kline) starts a dialog with Kate about the first time. For Luc, this was at age 12 with Magda, a putain or prostitute. He said, “To kiss a prostitute, it costs more. It has always been.” Kate nods. “…You could probably disconnect from everything else, but a kiss…All I mean is a kiss is where the romance is.” Evidently, Luc thought so, too, because he told Kate that the next day he stole 50 francs from his brother, “…and I went back and I kissed Magda for half an hour.”

Faith Hill, in her 1998 hit single, calls it “unstoppable,” “unsinkable,” This Kiss.

We’ve all read heroes who can deliver on the kiss. Boy, have we ever! The Morelli Kiss flashes through my brain. You know, the one in Hot Six where Stephanie’s “undies floated to the floor.” (Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series, http://www.evanovich.com). I know. All you Plum fans are thinking, “Wait! What about the Ranger Kiss?” Sorry. So many kisses, so little column.

How about you? Have you got a favorite story hero who delivers on the kiss? And, is the romance really in the kiss?

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How I did sweat over that first post. I look at it today and would do some things differently. Still, it remains one of my favorites.

Happy Hump Day!

Call the Truant Officer…

January 4th, 2012

Yeah, I skipped a day.

Tuesday found me still shredding and tossing and doing a bucket of paperwork in my spare time. A bucket.

We usually don’t box up Christmas at Hacienda Elen until after Epiphany, but I’m feeling some sense of urgency this year. I don’t know why.

Today isĀ Git-R-Done! day.

Because it’s Hump Day, aka Wednesday,

Because the top button of my jeans is open (Curse you, Season of Joy!),

Because we could make popsicles on the patio,

Just because…

Here’s a blast from the past for our mutual viewing pleasure ~

I heart this on so many levels. Love the song. Love the fresh-faced Cher. Love the hair. And the fashion statement, mercy! A 1965 dynamic duo.

You’re welcome.

If I’m not here tomorrow, I got accidentally shelved in the basement with the seasonal joy. Somebody text Twitter.

I don’t mean that.

Mebbe.

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