Pithy quotes

On the occasion of my new phone, a freebie from Verizon, I need to unload everything from my old one. One of my favorite things to do is go back and read my daughter's text messages. While they might not seem that funny to some, there are a few that just crack me up, others are just, well...L****. You have to remember that some of these are just random...not in response to anything, I just get them and it never ceases to make me smile.

Going to bed soon. signed on to check the lotto. Looks like I still have to go to work Monday.

What is it about a woman sitting in her car, blasting metal and smoking that make[s] street corner Christians think she's buying what they're selling?

In response to my message of "Help help I was held captive by a shopping demon in world market": Resistance is futile, human.

On Mother's Day: Thanks for hatching me.

I am on the Bus of the Annoying. All that's missing is Public Farting Guy.

RAGDOLL KITTENS! FWUMP. NO BUS, AM DED.

After a weekend of fiancé and his teenage son visiting: My house is a scary frat pit. Flame thrower, please.

What doesn't kill us fucking pisses up off.

On one of her cats: I'm being stalked by the wild orange snugglewort. Ah! It got me!

All Day long, the cats have been paperweights with ears. NOW they start playing. (12:02 AM)

My daughter just made a greenbean talk to me.

To me while I was shopping at a bookstore: Step away from the blank books.
[We have a history here, we two.]

I bought items and they're apparently all very dangerous, because they each got their own bag.

The following message: 4 items! 4!

Work! Feh, says I!

Am texting while driving! Mwahahahaha!!! [for shame!]

I'm always amazed at the bratty ways in which grown ass adults will act.

Followed by:

Woman in panera throwing a fit because they don't offer her fave sandwich anymore [recognize yourself, anyone?]

On her way to visit her boy in Dallas: Dude, there is still nothing in Hempstead. [her way of letting me know how far along the road she was...yes, I do worry about my 30-something kid, why do you ask?]

Help! Am pinned under a snuggly orange kitty! Send hot cocoa and blankie!

Red wine and chocolate chip cookie burp. Bleh

HAPPY PANTS! [I have no idea...]*

*have since found out that message was sent when she got home from work and changed into her happy pants, which are those drawstring pj bottoms....the happiest pair being covered with penguins!

Sharing

I have discovered, via a technology class at UT, a link sharing thingy, which I'm sure most of you already know about.

http://del.icio.us/

Mine is http://del.icio.us/MadameBizarro

This is really kind of cool, and will be a huge time-saver when reformatting or using someone else's computer.

Film at 11

To recap: some time ago, I took a rambling dive off into some sort of self-absorbed, self-wanking, self-analysis. I never found myself.

I don't think we ever do. All those hippy-trippy 60s types who wandered off on acid-induced journeys into the Great American West (or India) never found themselves. They became the establishment, drive Beemers now and can't find their shoes without their Day-Timers...or...they got stuck in the rift in the time-space continuum, migrated to Austin and sell flowers on the corner (All Hail Max Nofziger!) and then run for city council...or mayor. The rest kind of get stuck between the teeth of progress and adamantly refuse to sell out to bigger, badder bookstores or chain restaurants.

I've become convinced that "finding yourself" is not just a tired cliché, but the magic door into insanity. To find oneself does not lead to producing amazing works of art and music, or writing the hippest poetry, nor does it beckon us to normalcy, sanity, soccer-momness, or coffee klaches. It leads to finding that molten inner core that's too bright to look on...too hot to sit next to...the inner self is a scary bitch, and I'm betting you don't want to meet her (or him). The Inner Self, I'm guessing is best viewed through small garden gates as you wind through the labyrinth of your own mind (gah..where did *that* metaphor come from?)...sort of like glimpsing the marvelous courtyard gardens in the French Quarter...yeah, they look cool and inviting from here, but if you got in, would you really know how to act?

It's all about changing your viewpoint, changing the way you process things. You are as unhappy as you allow yourself to be. Hard shit to take when the world has dumped on your head, I know....and everyone is allowed grief, shock, anger and the whole range of emotions that go with any kind of loss. And, I suppose my daddy's old axiom applies: It depends on whose ox is being gored.

The only thing that really depresses me lately is thinking about what a fucked up world we are leaving to our children. Things are going to get much worse before they get better--if they get better. The worst thing we can do in this country is take our standard "God Bless America-head up and locked" attitude and think we are immune to it all. It's scary, really scary, and the thought of my 11-YO son coming of age in the middle of it just freezes me with panic at times. But then I cling to the hope that maybe he'll be one of the ones to help bring peace...or at least a respite.

All we can do at this point is keep our heads up, out of the sand, and not let the turkeys get us down, as they used to say.