Finale

Today I finally finished my mural!  It's a miracle and I must say that I feel a celebration coming on...doing a dance now...
 
I'm pleasantly surprised with the way it turned out.  Never in my dreams would I have attempted to do something like this on my own, but I heard a need and jumped at the opportunity.  Hopefully I will have some pictures of it to post later.  That way my fans can market me and I could make some money off of this deal.  Yeah, that'd be real nice.
 
 

Weddings. They're good for a free dinner.

I have stood up as a bridesmaid in eight weddings. That's right. Eight. Hundreds of dollars have been drained into dresses that will never fit, never be in style, or simply don't have a place to be worn. Hours upon hours have been devoted to side-by-side preparation for showers, parties, and the ceremony.

Then there is your one job. Walk down an aisle to stand and stare at the back of your friend/family members heads...when your third cousin twice removed has a better view from his seat in row 21. Don't get me wrong - it is a very noble honor - timing is everything when you cascade down the aisle. Extreme awkwardness prevails whether you tread solo with an unsure smile and darting eyes or whether you have linked arms with a complete stranger. However, there is a strange feeling of accomplishment as you look on. Like you had something to do with those two getting there.

But, why exactly do we have weddings? I always hear people insisting that the wedding day is "for the bride and groom, not us." However, all planning and ensued exhaustion is often provoked because of the couples obligation to please everyone involved in the ceremony...except themselves. Just think about it...

*The dresses have to look great on everyone. (And more than likely won't)
*No one is allowed to question the MOB...or she'll kill.
*Is anyone going to be upset because they aren't standing up with the couple?
*Make sure Joe Schmo and Windy Jo the Pirate Ho don't feel bad when they see each other.
*Did we leave anyone off the guestlist for the: showers, wedding, reception?
*Everyone needs to wear an awful corsage on their overpriced tux.
*We can't dance at the reception. Aunt Flo will be offended.
*The unity candle.
*Traditional music that really doesn't sound all that great to begin with and has absolutely no personal meaning.

The list could go on forever. But the overlying irony of the situation is that no one really likes going to the weddings and sitting through 30-45 minutes of predictable and boring motions.

That is why I am encouraging all to consider doing a wedding for themselves if the day should ever come. Plan a wedding that screams "YOU." Have a party. Be adventurous. Take up your father's offer of $ to elope on a beach in Cancun.

And I'm spent.

Into the Now

Okay, so I haven’t been the best blogger as of late. Time has crunched into a little wad of “who knows what’s really going on” and I’ve been floating from one unusual circumstance to the next.

So, I committed the cliché housewife crime of the day. I babysat for the five Tracy children as I cleaned their home and listened to Rush. I was contently vacuuming the living room when it struck me that I was enjoying myself. I was completely engaged in the radio program and liking it. Then I felt old. Then I knew I had arrived to that ungodly place my mom would retreat to every afternoon when I came home from school. Accepting it.

And to clear up any confusion: Luc and I are not engaged.

With that said, I need to get back to my mural and then hit the road for Chicago. I hope you all have a fantastic holiday weekend.

Eat kielbasa.

Drink pop.

Light a sparkler.

Around

Adam is right; it has been quite some time since I have waved the life of Lindy before the open grip of the public. Truth is, anytime I feel like blogging, I can’t and any time I can, I don’t feel like it. But things have slowed for a few minutes, so here you go.

Just got back from seeing Dodgeball. I'm not about to recommend that movie to anyone. However, if you wanted my opinion I would say that I found it obscure, vulgar, hilarious, and entertaining. Sorry Dad, I liked it.

As of June, I have been house sitting for a family in a psychotic neighborhood located on the south side of America’s hometown. It is all I can do to contain my excitement as each day I awake to a strange face staring up to the large home. What are they thinking…are they planning an attack or house raid or are they wondering where I have hid the four bodies of those who once lived there?

Job searching has been less than interesting. The job I wanted in Mass has all but fallen through the cracks. I was offered a position at Chaddock in Quincy, but turned it down for fear of slow, painful, agonizing death. Actually, the hours were horrible, the job stressful, the pay very low, and I just feel the need to keep looking for something a bit more suitable for my personality and uh, size. I still wonder where I belong. I wonder where I should look. I wonder if it is really out there.

So the saga continues. It hurts a little. In the meantime Luc and I are having a blast and a half in Hannibal marveling at the dysfunctions of life. My family resides in Danville and I wonder if I am to join them once again come mid July.

I’m paralyzed in a cloud of confusion, indecision, and discontentment. Dinner anyone?

With This Pen

Journaling has been a feverish addiction of mine for as long as I can remember. Consistency in journaling, when unleashed in the chaotic uncertainty of haphazard schedules, can prove to be a bit challenging. However, my obsession with the journal itself shall never cease. Holding the leather bound, cryptic collections of acid-free paper brings me sudden bursts of joy and little gasps of bewilderment. The crisp pages outlined in goldleaf, pictures, and creative expressions take hold of my attention and I get lost in a world unfamiliar to many. Choosing a journal from the shelf, I flip to the center of the masterpiece, and inhale the scent of the glued binding. Perhaps one of my stranger rituals in life, I cannot help but associate the smell with something of my past...maybe an elementary school textbook or a magazine from the doctor's office. I choose to collect journals with hopes that each one can be filled with an adventure. Some of them may sit on a shelf untouched by my magic pen, but their purpose is not to be filled with nonsense. Instead they push me to the next step.

The Contradiction of an Acronym

I spent a good 15 minutes this morning constructing the most amazing blog known to mankind only to have the wretched grip of internet folly to erase my entry. Thanks to Emily, I have something to fill the space.

L	Luscious
I	Intelligent
N	Naughty
D	Dignified
Y	Yucky

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

Reality Bites

This is my cousin, Erin. Everyone say "hi" to Erin. As you can see to the right, she is a new addition to the blogger realm. A little grasshopper in the game, if you visit her site, please keep a mentoring spirit of encouragement and delight. She's 19 and attends EIU while studying art (which she kicks butt at). This may too imply that she is creative, artsy, and "depressive"...but I don't really want to label her.

As for biting reality...I am currently feeling torn about reality television. I just spent an hour of my evening journaling and simultaneously watching "Candid Camera" which could possibly be one of the first reality shows, seemingly innocent in its genre, but providing laughs at the expense of other people's self worth and dignity.

Here is my dilemma of sorts - Being a social service nit wit, I enjoy watching the twisted interactions offered in reality TV; however, they are each the same vicious, narcissistic freaks of nature who want nothing more than money, fame, and success. They will go to any great lengths of public humiliation, sexual appointments, and dangerous dares for a few seconds of sick attention. Why on earth should I enjoy watching these people?

When I thought I have seen it all, they come up with something else. Have any of you seen advertisements for "Superstar?" These horrible singers think they are in the finals to be labeled as terrific talent...but they are in midst of a countdown to find out that they are the absolute worst musicians in the United States. I'll be honest, my initial reaction was humored horror, but how awful for these young people.

I hope that we are approaching the extinction of this form of social suicide. Because their reality bites.