WHAT DOES I DREAM OF JEANNIE AND A DIRTY BATHROOM HAVE IN COMMON?

Well, let me tell you. I had a dream night before last night. Or, more of an acid trip while I was asleep. It all started with blog envy. Somehow, while surfing all of the blogs that I do, I see amazingly designed blogs. I see blogs that start out with a cookie cutter template and transform into an amazing piece of art that is totally in tune with the blog title and the theme....personality abounds. In my dream I was exceptionally jealous. I recognized how plain and ordinary my blog was. Yes, I had managed to figure out how to change the color of the background for my title...and, that was about it.

So, in my dream I approached one of the marvelous web designers that are displayed on all these beautiful blogs and these magical women created the perfect reflection of me. It was "I Dream of Jeannie" who I had decided represented a princess, sitting cross legged with her magic bottle with a wonderful color combination that was a light orange and a kind of burnished green. It was absolutely perfect, I couldn't believe my luck. Now, I know that Jeannie has nothing to do with a Princess like me, and there wasn't a damned cow in sight. But, in my dream it made perfect sense. I think that was the acid part.

What does this have to do with a dirty bathroom? There is the ongoing aging problem which requires waking in the middle of the night to pee. When I finally do get to sleep, it is difficult to awaken for this nighttime ritual. At first, I developed this habit of reaching down to feel the cold porcelain toilet bowl to make sure I was awake and not just dreaming I was on a toilet. That worked great for a while. That is, until I reached down one night and apparently laid my hand on my cold butt and thought it was the toilet and, sure enough, I peed the bed. Now, at age seven that is uncomfortable. In middle age, it is not only uncomfortable, it is damned uncomfortable and a real pain because I had to clean it up myself.

I knew then that that tactic had failed me and I was constantly afraid of peeing the bed again, so my unconscious mind developed the one sure thing to keep me from peeing the bed. The dirty bathroom. Not just dirty, but filthy, disgusting, rank and enough to make one lose one's stomach contents. If you know me just a little, then you know that I am selectively obsessive-compulsive. And one of the things I have selected is the cleanliness of bathrooms. Therfore, it is the one thing that wakes me up immediately.

Until night before last. Because I was in such awe of my new template, I couldn't even tear myself away from the beauty of it and thus was in dire danger of peeing the bed again. Luckily, a cat that had teeth like a tiger started to rip at my fingers and thus saved me the travesty of peeing the bed again. When I woke up, immediately, I was pissed off. I was pissed off because I knew that my blog still had the same crappy look it did before I went to sleep and on top of that, I had to wake myself up before I peed the bed again.

What's a girl to do? Obviously, I had better get a new design or just get used to washing the sheets every other day because the next time, I'm going to continue to bask in the beauty of my wonderful new blog. Now, my biggest fear isn't that I will pee the bed again, it's that Dead Guy will put it ithis into one of his cartoons and I will be wearing one of those horrible house dresses. Maybe it's Pampers time for the old girl.

Your Brain is 26.67% Female, 73.33% Male

You have a total boy brain. Logical and detailed, you tend to look at the facts. And while your emotions do sway you sometimes... You never like to get feelings too involved.

What Gender Is Your Brain?

Does this mean I have to start paying more attention to those damn erectile dysfunction ads? Will I have to give up my ability to stop and ask for directions? How about finding stuff in the refrigerator...will the ketchup be lost to me forever? And, horror of all horrors, will those dark stains suddenly start appearing in my underwear because I don't know how to wipe my ass?

And, why the hell is blogger screwing up the HTML on this display? Answer me that, wise gurus of the internet?

THE JOYS OF SPRING

It is here. No, not spring. The notices that spring will be here before long. In Northern Minnesota the harbingers of spring are many. And yet, they are not necessarily the delightful signs of daffodils and robins.

Our animals are usually the dead ones. Uncovered after having been buried by many layers of winter white. They can be seen in varying stages of consumption by the "dead flesh eaters" of the North Woods. Some of these eventually become road kills, thus, fulfilling the circle of life in a small, but meaningful fashion.

Then we have the gifts of our own animals. Old Piss Eyes, who in summer would never poop where anyone can see it, has the amazing need to poop within twenty-five feet of the front door. After all, she might get lost and frozen in the 2½ acres of pristine white that covers my yard. Who would possibly expect her to go into the woods and take her dump when the potential exists that the whole house may pack up and leave her there to fend for herself. Yes, as the layers drop down, pile after pile of processed dog food and treats show themselves in varying stages of decomposition. They await my diligent plan of getting them all off the yard before the first rays of summer sun hit the shit and thus bypassing the delight of the aroma of the warming of their putrid remains.

We do have a fitting close to winter up here...The Birkebeiner, a long distance cross country ski race, The John Beargrease Dogsled Race that honors a Native American who delivered mail up here through the proverbial snow...and the last of the Ice Fishing contests.

As the carcasses of winter are dragged off, as the pooper scooper extraordinaire trudges through the slush, as the final winter sports draw to a close...I close my eyes and wait for spring, ah, beautiful spring...which brings its own lovely travails and traps...

POTHOLES, MUD AND TOURISTS!!!

WHO WOULD HAVE EVER THOUGHT?

...that I could be so hopelessly in love with my grandson? Friday nights are our nights. He hasn't been here for a while...that growing up and all...basketball games, birthday parties, after school activities and all. Last night we were together again.

He hasn't been feeling well. The Minnesota winter cold and cough season and all. He usually rides into work with my roommate on Saturday morning and leaves around 8 in the morning. Today his game is at 1 PM and I am going to see the future of basketball play. (Did I ever mention that his Dad is 6'7"?) To him this meant that he could stay up late and "sleep in" in the morning.

Dinner was a burger and fries. Since he didn't feel well, I carried a tray up to his room and he ate in bed while watching The Family Guy DVD. If anyone had ever told me the absolute joy that doing something so simple could bring to a person, I don't know that I would have believed it. Watching Little Mr. sit there and simply say, "This is great, Granny." almost brought tears to these cynical eyes.

He went to sleep around 11...which is the time he usually goes to sleep on Friday night...that staying up late stuff sure is fun. He only coughed a few times during the night...but I heard every one of them...and worried.

He woke up this morning around 9...came in my room for a hug...and, I made him breakfast in bed. What else are Grannys for? His favorite, scrambled eggs with ham and toast and again, just handing it to him melted my heart. Now, scrambled eggs with ham is not so tough a dish to prepare, but, to him..."It's the best breakfast I ever had."

Anything you want, my little one, anything you want...if I can get it for you, I will. Then..."Granny, you know what I really like about my room? The beautiful sunrise." Okay, if I have to steal it for you I will.

A small cough or two and from his mouth issues the words, "Don't worry Granny, I'm just trying to clear the cough out." I love this boy...I really, really love this boy...

If I ever wondered on the meaning of life, if I ever questioned why we are here, if I ever pondered the reasons for existence...well, the answer came in loud and clear this morning...It is the untainted love of and for a grandchild.

THERE IS A PROBLEM, HOUSTON!

And the problem, my dears, is the number of hours in the day. One might think that 24 would be sufficient. Alas, it is not. I want 30. That's right, 30. Then I will have enough time to do what I want in addition to what I have to do.

Time to do now:

• Work 8 hours
• Sleep at least 6 hours
• Eat 1 hour
• Play with dog 1 hour
• Drive time 2 hours
• Laundry Household Stuff 2 hours
• Entertainment 2 hours
• Surf web 2 hours

Time to do with 30 hours:

• Surf the web 2 hours
• Work 8 hours
• Watch movies 6 hours
• Eat 4 hours
• Play with dog 2 hours
• Sleep at least 6 hours
• Laundry Household Stuff 2 hours

Now with the simple adjustment to the number of hours in the day, I could do what I want and have to do. No matter how I try and adjust things...like simultaneously watching movies and surfing the web, there still isn't enough time in a 24 hour period to do what I want to do.

At a much younger age, with the additional help of a variety of drugs, I was able to sleep only 2 hours, eliminate eating all together, and while housecleaning took up a little more of that time, it was not the healthiest or sanest period of my life.

If I could eliminate work, that would help a lot. But, with the dependence upon shelter and food that I have and no one around to pay me just to exist, that does not seem to be a likely choice. I suppose I could put up a PayPal button and see if I do as well as those who get the free IPods. As far as retirement goes, I'm just as screwed. Remember the hippie period...working off the books for cash, selling a variety of things that didn't get reported as income, living on a pittance so I could "create" art that would never sell...well, it bites you in the butt come 50. I love getting those Social Security Statements every year. Helloo Reality!

I can see it now...Age 70 and the Princess is still putting numbers into boxes for someone else and saying..."Just think, in another two years I can retire and enjoy my golden years." Ooops, looks like I already had them.

STARTING THE DAY WITH A POSITIVE OUTLOOK

1. Open a new file in your PC.

2. Name it "George W. Bush."

3. Send it to the trash.

4. Empty the trash.

5. Your PC will ask you, "Do you really want to get rid of George W. Bush?"

6. Answer calmly, "Yes," and press the mouse button firmly

7. Feel better, don't you?

(Please, don't bother leaving a nasty comment. It's funny. Put in any name you want. Get over it.)

NO MORE SCARY PICTURES

THE REAL VALENTINE STORY

I am sorry if that last picture frightened any of you...not really, I just said that. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, though, I'm absolutely certain that's exactly what I looked like in the third grade.

I am sure many of you have seen this guy's website, he has over three million hits, if his counter is to be believed, and I believe it. His name is Mil Millington and he has written a book that started out on this website. It is Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About and is the most hilarious take on a relationship I have ever read.

So, if you're alone and wonder why...or together and wonder why, check it out and put a shield on the 'puter screen to keep the contents of your nose off of it.

SO, TELL ME SARAH, HOW DO YOU REALLY FEEL ABOUT TODAY?

For those of you who want to start a Blog or for those of you who would like to improve your Blogging skills, please, allow me to suggest:

Blogging 101

NOT ALL MEN ARE PIGS

There are six words I never want to hear in my life again...

ERECTIONS LASTING MORE THAN FOUR HOURS

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

29 FOR THE SECOND TIME!

My ability to take the symptom of a headache and foresee the onset of a cold was not there. Now, I have the cold. I view this as bad for me, good for my diet. I have lost five pounds in the last three days without even trying. All of it is snot, of course, or brain matter. The reason I think it might be brain matter stems from the fact that I just watched Starsky and Hutch and thought it was pretty funny. I never watched the tv series, so maybe that helped. Netflix sent me Ray and I will attempt to watch that tomorrow. I am avoiding the Lifetime Movie Network this illness go round. I am, instead, using Netflix to fill my hours.

The real Hollywood news here in northern Minnesota is the beginning of the filming of "Class Action." This is the movie based on the true sexual harassment of a woman working in the iron mines. Now, there are a lot of blondes here in the North Country, but I can't wait until I see how they take Charlize Theron, put a hard hat on her and turn her into a "you betcha" girl. She doesn't look like a lot of the female miners I have seen. Then, Woody Harrelson is going to play her attorney. Looking more like he needs an attorney than F. Lee Bailey, this will be an interesting take.

People lined up at the Iron Gate Mall for over six hours to attempt to get an extra role in the movie. Not a lot happening up here, so it's something to break the winter monotony. But, six hours in a mall? Puh-leeze!

We are not unused to celebrities here in Northern Minnesota. The tales spread like wild fire when Jessica Lange is in town. Hell, I even once sold her books. She does look like a Northlander without all the make-up on. But, the fur coat kind of gave her away...that and Sam Shephard. The big story on Jessica up here relates to how could a nice girl like that, from Cloquet, film a scene showing her pissing on a beach. (Rob Roy) We just don't act like that here, you know. Hell, I had to see the movie a second time to catch it after the scene was brought to my attention.

My office in downtown Duluth is up above a silk screening shop. They sell a local artist's CD cover on a t-shirt. The CD was "Duluth Does Dylan." Not a bad CD, actually. All local musicians doing covers of our hometown boy's tunes. (I can't believe I just called Dylan songs "tunes." Must be the Nyquil in combo with the Sudafed.)

One day, last summer, the word hits the street...Dylan was in Bullseye buying the t-shirts. Of course, we in Northern Minnesota are so cool that we act like we aren't impressed. Those East Coast folks have nothing on us. However, upon hearing that he had been there, I marched right downstairs and "MN nicely" informed one of the owners that if Dylan ever crossed their doorstep and again and she didn't inform me of it, well, I'd have to do something not so "MN nice." Of course, I would have been oh, so cool about being in the same room with him, but I also would have probably peed my pants.

Hopefully, the combination of drugs that I am taking to alleviate these cold symptoms will precipitate some dreams of the good old days and I will sleep, perchance to dream of Dylan and me sharing some bar-b-cue and discussing the lyrics that led me through my youth and continue to comfort me in my old age.

I HATE HEADACHES!

I absolutely detest having a headache. I don't get them often. No one deserves them. Anyone who gets headaches on a regular basis, I have a special place in my heart for you.

I used to get migraines. I was in my early twenties and there were times when I thought I would cut off my head to get rid of them. I remember crawling into the bathtub just to lay my head on the cold porcelain sides for any hint of relief. Treatment in those days consisted primarily of a trip to the emergency room and a shot of Demerol. With the birth of my daughter, the headaches ceased. I have always been thankful for her for a variety of reasons, this is one of them.

So, now, some thirty-five years later, everytime I get a hint of a headache, the terror that it's going to be a migraine panics me. After I get over that initial hysteria, I move on to my self diagnosis process. Brain tumor. Must be a brain tumor. I then have to remind myself that if I stub my toe and it hurts, I'm sure its "toe cancer." Two down, next diagnosis, sinus headache. Quick, do I have any drugs that will fix that?

I do try more prudent measures, first. Lights out. TV off. Flat on the bed. But, with nothing to distract me, I fall back into the brain tumor syndrome. Breathing exercises. Let sleep come. If I die from the stroke I'm obviously having, let me be asleep. This may sound dramatic, but the fear of headaches that I have ranks right up there with my fear of birds and shower curtains that I can't see through. (Thanks, Alfred.)

Then the nausea hit. Crap, that rules out taking that six month old Lortab that I have hoarded from my kidney stone. I wouldn't dare take it if I thought I was going to puke it up. Maybe I'm getting sick. I don't want to be sick. I have a physical this week and I would like to greet my doctor just once without there being a medical crisis involved.

I finally drift off to sleep. And I wake up around three and the first the that hits me is that my headache is gone, I am starving and, miracle of all miracles, I am going to live. I guess I was just overtired and needed some sleep. Or, maybe I just panicked myself into it with all of my Drama Queen ways. The reality is, I survived and as a reward, I spent the day watching the first three DVD's of 24 from Netflix and thanking my lucky stars that I don't get headaches that often.

Now that Thursday is here, it's not so bad this week. I have such a power struggle going on inside of myself that all I had to do was say that Thursday was a bad day and it would turn itself right around. Think that works with fat? Hell, no!

This is how I would be spending my day if I weren't at work...Except the Corona would definitely be Diet Coke and there would be at least two more remotes and I sure as hell wouldn't be wearing a New York T-shirt. The tinted glasses, now...it's the old hippie thing you know. I have to get new glasses soon and I wonder how lavender tint is going to look with tri-focals. If they were blended I'm sure it wouldn't be too bad. However, I have had trifocals so long that they didn't have blended when I started wearing them. The first pair I tried with the blended lenses made me feel like I had had a bit much of the wacky weed.

Hmmmm? To quote Ringo...No, no, no, no...I don't do that no more, I'm tired of waking up on the floor....Plus, I'd hate to be put under the scrutiny of Caden (the most wonderful boy in the world) when his granny's name showed up in the paper for possession. Ahhh, the good old days.