I Am The World

Them's big words for someone who feels like there's an acorn in her gums. I stumbled across this What tarot card are you? thingee and that's what it had to say. Just remember, if you try it and it also says You Are The World, I will not sing "We Are The World" with you. Not even at drunken karaoke. Not more than two verses, definitely not.

I am The World

The World represents the moments when we feel fulfilled and blessed and all that goes into them. It is a very positive sign that you are in a position to realize your heart's desire. What that is for you depends on the situation, but it will always feel great. Remember, though, that Card 21 is a symbol of active contribution and service. To hold the World in our hands, we must give of ourselves to it. That is the source of true happiness.

For a full description of your card and other goodies, please visit LearnTarot.com

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What tarot card are you? Enter your birthdate.

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Notably, this blog was named The World According To Me well before this tarot came up as The World. So, if I = The World, then The World According To Me = Me According to Me. Or, The World According To The World. Ack. My brain hurts now. Psychologically, I don't know if I am ready to be the world. Sounds like a lot of responsibility and bagillions of annoying i-dottings & t-crossings. True happiness sounds good though.

Otherwise, my debriefing session at the CIA went smoothly. After endlessly sitting under hot lights, with sharp evil looking instruments hovering menacingly over my face, I cracked and told them everything I know about the department of homeland security.

"Eeesh schtoopid."

I vaugely recall being told (in ghostly voice)

"Don't go into the light"

or it might have been,

"Let the nurse have the suction straw"

Afterwards my memory was wiped of the event with nanonic tooth implants.

Hmm. Maybe I really was at the dentist as S says I was? Chalk up one more lost day to halcion, dental wonder drug. A fun time was had by all, or so I have had to be told. Hmph! Or maybe... that's what they want me to believe. I woke up at home, 2PM Friday, and asked S if I had overslept and missed my dental appt? Nope, he said, we went. Indeed I have a shiny new crown tooth where the little chicklet looking temporary had been. I would like to tell you more, but apparently, that's classified.

Breathe

The universe was trying to send me a message today. I found myself in traffic, feeling as though I would never get done all I needed and wanted to get done, amplified by the knowledge that tomorrow will be a total loss (more on that later). The little white car in front of me had a vanity license plate that said...

BREATHE

I was impressed. Impressed that I really needed to hear that right then. Impressed that someone plunked down the $50 for a custom plate and chose to put out such a positive message for others. BREATHE. And so I did.

Surreal moment #2 happened on the return trip as a bus passed by in the opposing lane. It had a billboard along its side that said, "You have the right to be you." Or something like that. It was selling identity theft insurance. You know how they say goatees are the new mullets? Well, I say "identity theft insurance" is the new bomb shelter. Scare tactics can make some buy it, but when the chips are down, will it really help? In any case, apparently I have the right to be me. BREATHE.

But the weird moment of the day award goes to Stephan, who makes me laugh often to where I can't breathe. Last weekend he made a pilgrimage with Craig to the newly discovered hardware store nearby. And yea, they cast awed gazes upon the many wares upon display and proclaimed their joy at such a find, and fear that the wives would change the locks if they purchased all that they wished. Verily, it was so. Stephan made a single, reserved purchase of a small vernier caliper, used to make precise measurements. Unbeknownst to me, the new caliper held the place of honor, bedside, so as to be last gazed upon at night and first in the morning. I know this now because I was typing away on my computer, long after all decent folk are asleep (and after some are awake again), when Stephan's alarm clock went off. He shut it off and I heard him "mumph!" and turn over. OK. I give it 10 minutes, then go check to see if he really needs to be up yet. I see him, sitting up, carefully measuring the tip of a mechanical pencil with the shiny new vernier caliper.

"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Just checking if the lead is really .7 millimeters."
"What?"
"You know, they say it's .7, but I thought I would..."
"First thing in the morning?"
"Well, I just want to measure and see."
"If it really is .7, as advertised?"
"Yeah."
"Before you have even gotten out of bed?"
"Uhh... yeah."
Silence, only broken by my snorting laughter.
"So, is it?"
"Is it what?"
".7?"
"Oh, yeah. It is."
I tried to say something like, well, that's good then, but I found I could not talk and laugh uncontrollably at the same time.

Tomorrow will be interesting, if my last dental appointment is any indication. For those of you who have not heard this yet, I have had to see a specialist because of this one tooth that won't go numb. So this dentist is a specialist in "problem cases" (always an apt description of yours truly) and can administer serious anesthesia. He decides to give me halcion. He also gives me a brief and colorful history of halcion along with the usual warnings about operating heavy machinery. Halcion came out as the new wonder sleeping pill to replace those pesky addictive drugs, like valium. I am sure there was the usual extensive testing - 3 college freshmen (all male) and six hamsters - and then the beta test of wide release to the public. And it was great! People slept! Or, thought they did. Until one day a guy went berzerk and shot a bunch of coworkers. Turns out halcion is the source of the phrase "go postal." Halcion creates temporary amnesia. So if you are sleepy already, yep, you go to sleep. But if you are not sleepy, you walk around, do the laundry, regrout the tile, and eventually pass out. In the morning you have no memory of anything, are probably confused by the fresh clean grout, and you assume you slept all night. After a few nights of not actually sleeping, you go insane (legally, and in truth). So, the dentist gave me halcion because a big part of experiencing pain is the memory of having been in pain a moment ago and anticipating pain to come. Halcion wipes the slate clean. Very very clean. Last time I had no memory after sitting in the waiting room until that night. On our way home, somewhere on the 520, our truck's accelerator pedal fell off. Oh yes. FELL. OFF. Stephan pulled out of traffic and called a tow truck. We rode in the tow truck to the dealer. Memorable, right? The only memory I have of any of this is the doughnut Stephan brought me at the dealership. It was plain with chocolate frosting on top and I was soooo happy to see it. Then, nothing until I woke up that evening at home.

Tomorrow I go back to this dentist. More halcion. No Friday for me! I will try to remember to BREATHE.

Just when I thought...

... nothing was going to happen today worth blog space, Stephan says,

"Get the magnifying glass so I can take a look at your ass."

So, naturally I said, "My ass is not *that* small."

:)

Does it matter that he meant he would look for the mystery splinter that is really at the top of my thigh (not in downtown ass proper)? I say, no it does not, because I had the rare opportunity to say that my hiney bumper was not, in fact, microscopic.

Squirrels up to no good

Historic First Post ;pppPPPPppppp

Helloooooooo vast unknown audience! This is a test post to see that my uncensored mental shenanigans really will corrupt the innocent minds of today's youth.

Check... check....
Check 1, check 2....

*ah hem*