You Live You Learn

So kiddos, thanks to Stephen, over at The Chubby Chatterbox,  I learned something new today. RSS stalking a blog does not mean you've joined their site. Hmmm. Lots o people don't know I love them yet. Sigh. Yet another compulsive hoarding behavior has begun. I must go spread the news that I love people's writing.

Please try not to laugh too hard at yet more evidence that I am turning into my mother and will probably be completely technologically outdated in another 10 years. I've been blogging for the past 6 years and I still hadn't figured this out. Sheesh.

Becky

A product I just don't need.

Oh nice. I just received a spam comment about penis enlargement. Well thank you so much, whomever you are. I surely would have considered your ad had I actually been in possession of a penis of my own. Since I don't...I'm afraid I'm not interested. And please, do not visit repeatedly like you promised. Mmmkay?


Becky

Suitcase Loot, Workaholics, Cars, and Anti Socialism - It's been a busy weekend

Mood: Neutral. Don’t laugh, that’s the best description I can come up with right now. Not good or bad, just meh.

Listening to: Dirty Little Thing – Velvet Revolver

So. Daddy G has once again safely landed up in Bangalore. The G household is more than thrilled to have him back - especially me.  I tend to function better with him around, but I won’t gag you with all of the sap that goes along with that. Anyhow. One of the reasons we are glad he is back is all the loot he brought with him. I would rather he not leave, but it is lots of fun to open the suitcase and see what he brought us, even if I know what I asked for and it’s mostly simple things like caramel coffee syrup and cranberries. Take note Craisins, I don’t know if you have any other fans who get quite so excited about getting a few bags of Craisins than me. Am I getting paid for this lovely endorsement, unfortunately not. One more thing: Target you are on notice.  I know what size jeans I wear. When did you decide that regular jeans should sit just over my pubic bone, be ridiculously tight and seem to be geared towards a junior sizing than regular jeans. Not cool.  I just can’t pull that look off anymore. I’m 30, not 17. So yeah, the jeans were a disappointment. I’m not looking forward to walking around with too loose jeans until Daddy G heads back to the states.

Speaking of which, what is it with workaholic men? Daddy G was back in our house for all of 7 hours (5 of which he was asleep) before he was ever so curiously pondering the fact that there was only 6 weekends left until he left for another trip. Of course I took the mature route and asked him if he would really rather be in the US without us because he can’t seem to let the whole damn idea go for awhile and just enjoy being home. Because, you know, I’m such an amazing wife like that. If I can’t control it, I’ll sure as hell sniper grenade the hell out of a conversation that I’m tired of listening to. I’m more of an ostrich type of person when it comes to these things. Please stop forcing me to address this, I’m perfectly happy with my head in the sand.

Daddy G just rolled his eyes (which is the most common response when I start bringing the drama to coffee time) and told me he was just figuring out how long he had to work on buying a car here until he left again. I wasn’t too thrilled about this conversation either. We’ve been in Bangalore for 7 months now and have been going around and around about buying a car, whether we need one, why it’s so hard for Daddy G to haul his brother in law out one Saturday and get some research done, etc. To be fair, there are some really good reasons why buying a car is more difficult here than it was in the US. On the other side, there are some really good reasons why I need to have a car. Namely when my spouse disappears off to the US and I have transportation problems. It tends to make me stabby. Also, trying to walk and buy groceries in monsoon season. Stabby, people. I guess we shall see if the car materializes. I’m not counting on it as this was a point of non negotiation before he left last time, and we can all see how well that worked out as we don’t have a car right now anyways. We shall see I guess.  

I’ve been trying to be more friendly while I’m around people here. Stop laughing you bastards; it doesn’t come easy for me. I’m just as happy sitting quietly to myself or reading a book as forcing conversation with people I don’t know. In fact, that is one of the least favorite activities of mine. However, I am getting the idea that if I don’t make some friends, I probably will not escape India with my sanity intact. My mother will also probably ask me to stop calling her if I insist on talking for 3 hours each time. Because, you know, I don’t wait 2 months in between each phone call. Ahem. So I’ve left home the book I used to read at the bus stop, been trying to talk to the other moms at the bus stop and even went to a DJ night in our complex. It’s coming along slowly and is measured by one victory at a time.  I’m a nice person, just one who keeps to herself. That does not earn a person friends on this side of the world, especially if you are different. You must put a lot of effort. It’s definitely not something that comes naturally to me. I actually have to think about making conversation and reaching out to people once in a while. I feel completely normal, but reading back through this paragraph, I sound rather maladjusted. Hmm.

Anyhow, hope everyone had a lovely weekend.

Becky

New Bee Pictures, Kanada movies, and a Skirt

Mood: Happy

Listening to: Safety Dance – Men Without Hats

So. I found one more of those crazy bee like things in my house and just for you, dear reader, I put on some big girl panties and got close enough to take a picture or two. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, the back story is here. Actually, it took about 15 pictures. Do you know how hard it is to photograph a psychotic insect? About as easy as taking a non-blurry photo of a toddler on crack. That and about 5.4 seconds after I finished taking pictures of it, it started with the dive-bombing. Ugh.

So here it is. If anyone can tell me what the hell this thing is, I will be extremely grateful. I would hate to be killing innocent mock-wasps if they don’t actually sting. I make no promises about not ducking and swinging if you dive-bomb me bugs. You’re on notice either way.

By the way – my curtains are not actually smoker-tar colored. They’re white. The light bulb was yellow.

So here’s some footage of the Kanada film they shot right outside my back door. These guys really do look like actual Goondas (gangsters).

Meanwhile, in a North Bangalore Neighborhood....

A Scene was being shot

With lots o Bad Guys

With lots of sticks and huge knives

This guy would scream in that mike for a half hour just to get the 30 second clip below. All day.

Here’s a picture of my new favorite skirt. Love it.

Thank you Mz. Tink for inspiring me not to be so retarded and figure out how to flip a picture on my computer. 

The pattern up close - turquoise and pink with gold design. it is not in fact black like it looks above.

Becky

Attack!

Mood: Happy

Listening to: The ever present construction noise. Seriously – I don’t recall voluntarily deciding to live in a construction site.

 Hello, hope everyone is having a brilliant week. I’m in an especially happy mood today because we only have 2 more days before Daddy G is back in India. Yay!

I was contemplating things today as I was making out with/drinking my morning coffee. I started out by having a serious fantasy about some pasta. Don’t judge, besides, it was a lot less hot than you think, it was all about me eating some Thai flavored pasta. Then I moved on to the problem of the bees.

Before we get to the actual problem, let me let you in on a secret: I am seriously afraid of bees. Like the kind of afraid that includes me flailing my arms wildly (I know, that pisses them off, but it’s an unconscious response) ducking when they dive bomb (you can’t tell me that random flight at my head wasn’t intentional!) and running out of a room if one is there. Of course this amuses Daddy G to no end. Anything that flies and has the capacity to sting me generally inspires massive panic attacks from me. I know we need them to survive, I just don't need them to be near me.

In India, we have a various assortment of bees and wasps.  Of course there was the evil wasp/hornet that stung me in Delhi.  Worst. Sting. Ever. I seriously wanted a horse tranquilizer after that – it was that painful.

@#($&@#%& Ouch!

This is exactly what evil looks like. It was huge.

Then we have the standard rock bees, which of course build nests in my apartment complex. They’re pretty harmless if you leave them alone, but in the night, they like florescent lighting and tend to careen around wildly once they find their way in your house, stinging you if you get in the way. Think giant honey bees.

Hives of evil.

For honey bees, Indian rock bees are pretty darn big too.

And then there are the wasps/whatever they are that found their way into my house the other night. Let me explain because even Google images is failing me at finding a picture of these things. They look like wasps. Front end, thin waist and then back end that looks pointed. However, they don’t have wings like wasps. I suppose I could have tried to take a picture, but they were in full on dive-bomb mode, so I wasn’t taking any chances. Anyhow, only about 20 of these things found their way into my house the other night, much to my chagrin. I wasn’t quite sure how at the time, but nighttime and florescent bulbs around here tend to bring out all the crazy bugs. As I’ve mentioned, our house doesn’t have screens. I ended up counting about 20 of them when they settled down on the walls next to the lights. 


After a while, they get a bit gimpy and end up crawling across the floor. This is when the flip flops came out. I ended up killing almost all of them and sweeping them up. No way in Timbuktu I was going to step on any of them in my dazed stumble for the coffee in the morning.  *Shudder* I’m not even sure if they were bees, but I still can’t stand them. Turns out one of my lovely offspring left the porch door open a smidge, which may as well have been a hand written invitation for these guys to come party at my house. Thanks a lot kid.

Bring on the Sexy

So. If you guys have a thing for accents, I strongly suggest you go listen to these guys. Not only is it excellent fun, you get to listen to Australian guys talk and say sexy. Check it out. Rusty and Michael.

On to the sexy.

Rusty: I'm rather disappointed! I've been trying to pimp Nutella for you this whole time.

Enjoy.

It's That Time Again!

Mood: Easy. Not that kind of easy! Jeez. Maybe I should have just said relaxed.

Listening to: Macy’s Day Parade – Green Day

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s that time again. Time to take care of some outstanding business. Yet another beautiful blogger decided that I deserve an award. What can I say; I’m not gonna turn it down. Gossip Girl over at Whatever Blog was kind enough to do the honors. Do check her out – she’s lots of fun to read. So here’s the rules.

1. Include award logo in a post or on your blog page.

2. Answer (10) questions about yourself 

3. Nominate 10-12 other fabulous bloggers.

4. Link your nominees to the post and comment on their blog, letting them know about the award.

5. Share the love and link the person who nominated you.

Oooh Sunshiney. Aw yeah. Award-gasm going on.

The Question/Answers about me:

1. What would you most like to change about yourself? 

There are some neuroses that I could definitely live without…but then I wouldn’t be me. Come to think of it, I like myself as I am so no. Screw it. I like me even with the not so great parts. 

2. What's your theme song? 

Welcome to the Jungle, GNR. Ok, this should surprise exactly no one. Becky G 101 – I am an unapologetic GNR freak.

3. One part of your life, a memory, action, etc. that you wish you could surgically remove from your brain?

Hmmm. That’s an interesting one to think about.  I generally am not a big fan of removing things that make me me, even memories, but let's give it a go. 

I visited my family last year before moving to India. My grandparents have a huge house with a finished basement that we sleep in when we visit. I was laying in bed reading and heard my grandma fall on the floor directly above my head. She’s old, unsteady, and has had both knees and hips replaced a few times. I ran upstairs to help my grandfather pick her up (he had a back problem at the time) and found her on the bathroom floor with blood pouring out of her head. It was a superficial scrape, but it scared the shit out of me. My Grandmother may be my favorite person on this earth and seeing her like that was awful. It took me a few weeks to sleep normally after that because every time I closed my eyes, I could see her in my mind all bloody. Yep, that one can go.

4. What generation do you wish you had been a part of? 

I actually like this one. Screw you Generation X and your sense of superiority. There are things that I wish I could have experienced (an original GNR concert, the Beatles when they were popular, free love back in the 60’s), but the internet kind of blows that all away. Sorry pop culture, you lose. Plus, growing up in the 80's=priceless.

5. What was your favorite childhood toy? 

Probably a flintlock pistol style cap gun. It is one serious miracle that I’m not stone deaf by now. My brother and I used to shoot it all the time in our basement, and it was hella loud. Funny enough, I'm still the girl who likes aggressive symbols. It looked exactly like this, only it popped paper filled with little dots of gunpowder instead of shooting bullets:

Seriously mom and dad, who lets kids play with gun powder filled paper???

6. What is your favorite housecleaning chore? 

I have a serious thing about scrubbing bathrooms. It’s just so satisfying to see all of the dirt and grime disappear.

7. Do you use Twitter? 

Yes, but I still don’t get the huge hard on people get for tweeting. I’m not saying I’ll stop, just that I don’t really get it. By the way, if I don't follow you on Twitter, hit me up. I like following people and being followed.

8. Any goals? 

Short Term – turn my piano lessons into an afterschool entrepreneurial venture with a tutor, different activities and bank off of it. Take my damn vitamins every day. Actually exercise instead of just talking about it. Go to bed on time. Eat properly. And no mom, I have not grown up yet, even though I'm 30.

Long term – go back to the US and actually settle down in a house, have a dog, etc. I’m getting too old for the wandering. Get a kick ass job and take over a company. Not kidding - I am totally doing that.

9. Do you really drink margaritas all the time? 

I’m not a big fan of margaritas. If you happened to be talking about red wine, coconut rum or whiskey, I might be tempted. Since alcohol is so jumping expensive here, the answer is a sad no.

10.  What is the ugliest car you've ever driven and were embarrassed to be seen in? 

I haven’t had that many cars in the first place. My first car was a 1975 Grass Green Ford Granada. Everything was bright green – the paint, the upholstery, the dash, the steering wheel, everything. The transmission crapped out after 2 years, so it didn’t last long after I got my crazy driving self in it. It’s ugliness only increased when someone stole a car and plowed into the side of it one night. From then on it was a wrestling match just to open the door and get it. It was ghettorific. I’m pretty sure it’s a death trap though. They didn’t have fun things like air bags back then and wresting two kids into a 2 seater car is just not something I want to do on a daily basis. Actually, most of this paragraph is a lie. I loved that car hard. Here’s what it looked like, only much GREENER and minus Lee Iacocca. Now THAT would have been epic. I want another one.

The Bloggers I want to pass love to:

1.      Michael D’Augostino at The World as I know It. Even though he’s a shameless promoter of peanut butter over nutella, I still love him. Check him out.

2.      Lady in Red at A Bozo’s abozzo. Because this chickie is the reason I stuck with blogging this time around. She has currently absconded to the US, but I hope to see more content from her soon. Love her writing.

3.      Can’t Keep it in No More blog. This one is relatively new for me, but I love her writing. Check it out.

4.      Wily Guy over at It’s my Mynd. More great writing to be found here.

5.      Perverted Imp. I know this may not be to every one’s tastes, but I like *her* writing. If you’re adventurous, check *her* out.

6.      Pickelope. Half the time, I don’t understand what the heck this guy is talking about, but I always enjoy it anyways. Check him out. Anything referring to a jackelop is a win if you ask me.

7.      Pintester. If you are addicted to Pinterest, like I am, and wonder how many of these crafty/recipe ideas actually work, this site is for you. The results are almost always hilarious.

8.      Another semi-new one for me, Miz Tink At Mouthy Bitch is great fun to read. Check her out.

9.      Something Authorly. Just think of it as a good tickle for your brain. Love the writing on this blog.

10. Last, but definitely not least, The Bitchy Waiter. If you’ve ever worked in a service job, you’ll go nuts for his blog. It is just that funny/awesome. If you haven’t worked in service, you still need to read this to make sure you’re not being a dick to your waiter.

That’s all for today folks. I’ll be back another day with more entertaining content. Thanks again Gossip Girl!

**My apologies to Perverted Imp. I was not trying to do a random gender re-assignment for you, just got caught by some internet anonymity. 

The Fallout of Drunken Nonsense

Mood: Weird, I just can’t seem to get back to normal

Listening to: Losing My Religion – R.E.M. Kickin it old school today

So I’m having a day today that really should be devoted to working. Am I? Hello, have we met? I’m like the queen of procrastination when it comes to writing. Writing is an excellent enabler, for those so inclined. Anywho. On to the fallout of last weekend.

I decided to conduct a little experiment/last ditch effort in order to avoid going to the hospital in search of a qualified physician to eradicate the plague going on I my stomach. I was running out of interesting ways to describe this nonsense, so it was time for it to go.

Off I went to my local liquor store, where I’m sure all of the degenerates out front thought that I was an easy, drunk lush for buying alcohol by myself. Yes, that’s how the locals view that kind of thing here. Luckily, not only is none of that true, I don’t care if they do think that. One overpriced bottle of vaguely red wine later and I’m heading home. After being a mostly responsible parent and packing the kids off to bed at the appropriate time, it was time to pop that bad boy open.  Although not what I usually drink, it was from the same winery and very, very drinkable. Trying new wine in India is kind of a crapshoot. They didn’t have my regular bottle, so I was hoping this wasn’t going to taste like industrial strength floor cleaner. Stop laughing, it’s a tragic thing to look forward to a bottle and have that happen.

Said virus had been making me very uninterested in eating anything beyond an occasional piece of bread or other bland carbs. As the evening passed, I got engrossed in some outstanding work and suddenly realized that not only was I completely snookered, I had forgotten to eat, which probably explained the whole situation. A few things to note:

1. This Dutch girl can handle her liquor. Or I used to be able to. As drinkable alcohol here costs about as much as a first born child, we don’t drink anywhere near as much as we did getting wholesale liquor from New Hampshire when we lived in the states. Thus my tolerance has been cut in half and I tend to forget it.
2.  I’ve lost some weight, which also translates into a much lower vino tolerance. I tend to forget this too.

About this time, I decided that going outside for a walk was just the thing. I live in a huge apartment complex in a compound. We have guards walking around 24/7 to ensure nothing crazy goes down. I know, it sounds like we own Bangalore, but it’s not really like that, compounds and guards are pretty standard for normal living here. As it was around midnight, the place was deserted. I found myself outside of a Ganesha statue contemplating religion and then walking around laughing like a hyena for indulging in spiritual contemplation. Religion just isn’t my thing. I ended up getting quite a few smirks out of the guards as I stumbled around laughing drunkenly, which only made me laugh more. What can I say, I'm a happy drunk. I came back home and wrote a post that a few people swear is amazing because it’s coherent. I can’t remember much more than I wrote it and it took forever to write because the red squiggly lines under everything that came out mangled because my fingers were numb drunk and couldn’t type normally drove me nuts.

Shortly after that, I decided it was bed time. I was at that wonderful place where you’re completely and utterly hammered, but one more sip of anything and the world will start spinning. So Put. The. Bottle. Down.

I was not a partier when I was younger. I married young, had kids young, and went to college online because I kept losing credits every time we moved and I had to transfer colleges. I didn’t even start drinking until I was 25. I can count the number of hangovers I’ve had on one hand, and not because I never over did it. Alcohol just never seemed to knock me on my ass the next day.  The last time that happened was on New Year’s eve of this year. It involved lots of vino, blackdog whiskey (I am a big whiskey girl), pouting about missing family, and a very ill-advised coffee intake.

Well folks, I think I had it coming. I don’t know if it was the dying revenge of that virus, an actual, legitimate, make-you-want-to-rip-your-own-head-off hang over,  a completely random sinus head ache, or a combination of all of those, but I was laying on the couch suffering all day Sunday. It was one of those times when you swear upon everything unholy and sinful that you will never, ever, drink anything close to alcoholic again, even though you know you will. It may have been that I didn’t get my morning coffee. Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I am a junkie. A complete and utter coffee junkie. However, coffee is one of the worst things on earth to ingest after overdoing the alcohol. Most of my other hang overs have been directly related to trying to drink coffee the next morning. Coffee, you are one jealous ho.

After much random napping/lots of water/lots of time, I generally felt a bit better. And damned if this little experiment didn’t work, even if it did make me cry for my mommy while hung over. The virus has been vanquished. It’s almost enough to make me want to crack open another bottle. Almost, that lesson is still a little too fresh for me.

There you are folks. Easy stomach remedy. You’re welcome. Hopefully now we can move on to non-scat related posts. Lord knows I’m ready to!

*Disclaimer: I am not a doctor. I do not even play one on TV. Do not come back to me if this experiment backfires on you.

Becky

Drunken Wisdom

Hello Loves,

Hoping you all are having an absolutely fabulous weekend. So here's the deal. I'm sick of the stomach virus that I mentioned in my last post. I am going to go ahead and ask for your pardon for any grievous spelling/grammar/logical errors in this post, because I am just drunk enough to think that writing is a brilliant idea, but not drunk enough to not go back and correct every single error/pass out. Trust me, it's taken almost 15 minutes just to write those 5 sentences. Beautiful torture it is; writing while drunk.

So. I am again flying solo for 2 weeks and tired of the mutating Tyranosaurus death virus for the colon. Now. I know that some people disagree that alcohol can clean out your system. Those people are called "experts." This non expert would argue differently. From experience. Not only does alcohol kill the random colon orcs, it makes for a pretty pleasant evening.
For example, I just went wandering around the compound I live in drunkenly. You may think this would be a bad idea. You, my reader friend, would be wrong. It was an excellent idea. Not only did it give me a little exercise and a chance to pray to the Ganesha statue for a son, it made me realize that walking around for half an hour does not reduce intoxication. Also, damn it, I forgot to eat dinner, which is probably why I'm so hammered in the first place. Hate it when that happens. Lessons from this whole episode: 

1. Don't forget to eat dinner, idiot. 
2. Walking does not reduce intoxication. 
3. Intoxication may induce religious fallacies, which may or may not be wildly amusing.
4. The guards will look at you like you are a neon pink loon if you walk around at 1 am laughing.
5. Writing a blog while stark raving drunk is not necessarily a good idea. It will take you a very long time because your OCD tendencies will make you go back and correct every single thing with a red squiggly line beneath it.

I'll have to let you know if this experiment does indeed cure the gastro-intestinal microbe of agony. It has in the past, but this is pretty much a virus on bath salts....so we'll see.

Bekcy

Lots ‘O Excuses and Underestimation

Listening to: Catcher in the Rye - GNR

Mood: On.

Hey Folks. Sorry for the disappearing act I’ve been pulling for the last week. It’s been a rather crazy week. Here’s what’s been up.

1. I have been having an epic battle with the evil stomach virus of colonic doom that will destroy all of your gastric endeavors and possibly steal your soul. I live in India. As the stereotype goes, India is a champion at producing intestinal chicanery. Even being super careful, we still have rounds of this nonsense every once in a while. We have a water filter in our house that may or may not be able to destroy the newly found god particle, it’s that high tech. On the other hand, I brush my teeth with tap water and eat street food. I just can’t say no to the street food, and going into the kitchen to brush my teeth all the time just ain’t happening. Not to be too disgusting, but think bad Mexican, mixed with bad Indian, mixed with bad sushi. It’s that kind of an epic virus and it’s exhausting. It’s almost impossible to eat, because I know what will happen in a few hours.
2. I have launched project piano lessons. I am meeting my second student this evening. There have been many documents to prepare, supplies to be ordered, panic attacks to be had that people will actually let me teach their precious sponge-like minded children, advertising, etc. I’m still terrified, but now I’m in (proverbial) balls deep and it’s time to swim. I’m hoping this will turn into an entrepreneurial after school care venture on a much grander scale than just giving lessons.
3. My part time contracting job from the US has slowly been taking over my free time. Don’t get me wrong, I love the money, but it’s doing some serious eating time into my writing time. A colleague took a break to pop out a mini-me, so lots more work is being funneled my way.
4. We have been busy not celebrating the 4^th of July. Here’s why.
5. Daddy G has been getting ready to hop on a jet plane and head off to the US for a few weeks. I am much less than enthusiastic, but I look forward to all of the bribery items he has been told to bring back with him or not to come back at all. I am so excited about the coffee syrup. I know, I’m a cheap bribe.
6. We’re planning a train trip to my inlaws place in Hyderabad after Daddy G comes back. I am super stoked.
7. Sandalwood is filming a Kannada film right outside my back door. Yesterday and today they were doing a fight scene with some goondas. Too cool to watch. The director shouts nonstop into a microphone, not a megaphone, which is really funny. Stay tuned, I'll have to put up some pictures of this soon.

My thanks to Rusty who so graciously noted that every once in a while people need to take a break from blogging. As I told him, I’m a binge blogger. I can’t help *it people, I learned it from the red wine. I tend to do one ginormous brain dump and write about 4,000 words in a sitting and then wait for the tank to fill up again. I write 5 blogs on a regular basis along with fiction stories, so some days I get so exhausted from writing I swear that I will never write again, but then the bug bites again, and I’m back at it.

This piano lessons/business project has been in the works for about a month now and has really gotten me thinking about what I am good at and what I need work on in order to be successful in a business venture. It also has brought on some thought about being underestimated. The reasons this came up are varied, and I’m not sure I even want to explore this further. To keep it simple, Daddy G had some doubts about my ability to handle people in a business setting. I guess this is fair, because I’ve never had a professional job in my life. This isn’t a new theme for me, I’ve been underestimated for a long time. In fact, it’s been consistently one of my mom’s favorite topics.

I am an incredibly focused person in some regards. In other things, I don’t give two flying fig newtons.  If I don’t find something important, I probably won’t do it. You think I can’t cook because I do it differently than you or you don’t see me specifically do it myself? Good for you, enjoy your illusion. If I do find it important/worth doing, it’s best if you just get out of the way, because I am getting it done, come hell or high water.  The thing is, I don’t try and convince people that I’m capable. I know what I’m capable of, and I don’t really care much if anyone else recognizes it without proof.

Aside from finding it mildly irritating, I don’t really mind it all that much if a person doesn’t think I’m capable of something. I know it’s childish, but it always makes me insanely happy to watch someone’s face turn incredulous that I did in fact do what he or she thought I couldn’t do.

In fact, I’m rather glad I tend to not listen to what other people tell me I’m capable of. To be sure, I do listen to Daddy G. He knows me better than anyone else on the planet, and he does understand how I tick and that I do occasionally try to tackle too much at one time. Anyone else? I really wonder why they’re telling me I can’t do something in the first place.

I’m just going to keep dancing to the beat of my own drum over here and achieving the things that I want. If you want to continue being surprised about it, I guess that’s your prerogative. Just try not to look surprised when I end up doing exactly what I set out to.

Becky