This week's "Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am":

Speaking of bears

Just sold the river house and feelin' extra-groovy about that.

So bear with me while I disappear here and there
for the next couple of weeks,
unhooking and rehooking my internet stuff
into a 1923 midtown
two-bedroom apartment.

Hardwood floors, French doors,
and upstairs with a porch, so I love it already.

And, Fall's coming. So I love that, too.

Plus, I've decided potted plants will do
very nicely for a whole new Yarden.

So back soon with some good stories.
And more jewelry and beaded things, too.

(me with the Divine Miss Mamie and Lovely Lady Tara)

Somebody had fun at a prom party.
No, really.

That's it.
From now on, I'm wearing silk dresses everywhere.
Or velvet. The truth is out. I love swanky dresses.

My "Breakfast at Tiffany's" hair
needs to be bigger though.
Noted for next time.

If anyone wants to book us as a 40's All-Girl Singing Trio,
just let our agent Marty know.

Should the headline read:

"Bears Barely Eat Bare Man at Beer Festival"?

Or is that too much?

Either way, I think I'm going to hurl.

"Whatter You Doo-o-o-o-o-o-ooon" Wednesday:


Getting a stellar report for the month.
Of course.

Take that, aplastic anemia.

This week's "Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am":

"Whatter You Doo-o-o-o-o-o-ooon" Wednesday:


Waiting for Sylvia Browne at 2:00pm,
what else,
and conjuring up the neighborhood association with my Victrola,
why not.

Whatter You Doo-o-o-o-o-o-ooon'?




Also,
my follow-up on the
"Product Review, Product Review" nail polish:
It passed the "furiously diggin' in the weeds all weekend" test,
no chips, no cracks...you know you care.

Indestructible. Highly recommended.


Now, I'm hungry. McDonald's is trying these days,
and I hear they have some sort of chicken wrap?

I'll let you know...

This week's "Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am":

Collect a few, and make a nice bracelet.

If you just tried to call me, sorry. "Product Review, Product Review" time.

My nails were wet. And wild. With the New Wet'n'Wild Rock Solid nail lacquer. Yeah, yeah. Giving it a test run today, hoping for the best. Nice so far. Got the Pink Sapphire.

Oh, you know you care.

First off, the bottle almost knocked my eye out with that big rhinestone on the top of the applicator. So that makes me happy. Reminds me off my preferred polish by L'Oreal, but the *stone* is bigger. So that makes me even *bigger happy.*

It doesn't take much to make my day, if you've ever noticed.

Says here it contains "strengthening diamond powder"..."Well, for $2.99, it better!" hollered the girl who got excited over the big, fake diamond on the bottle.

Nails dry now...so for that, I give it points for quick drying time. They do feel fortified yet flexible. Nice color, too. The sparkles are a tad bling-ish for maybe the preacher's wife, but the finish is smooth. This stuff claims to be chip-proof, too. Hmm. Tomorrow, I will give this new polish a test of endurance as I dig in the front flowerbed like a frenzied kitten. I'll let you know how it holds up.

There's a lot to love about being a girl. But being a boy never stopped anyone either as far as polishing nails goes. *sigh*

Which reminds me of a long-lost acquaintance I really do miss. I hate not being able to tell him about the "Celebrity Dreams" I've had. Ah, well. Seems like not many people care about those things, but I've had such good ones lately. So, to the memory of "His Majesty's a Pretty Nice Gairl: The Hair", I will at least post my "Celebrity Dreams" here when they come along. If you don't like 'em, sort it out. But I actually like this one myself:

Night before last, I had a dream that I was hanging out with Sylvia Browne in what I thought to be New Orleans at first, but it turned out to be the real deal somewhere in Europe instead. Not sure where we were, but the architecture was gorgeous, very "Notre Dame" with the rose windows and flying buttresses. We were hanging out in an old hotel in that district; it was dark on the streets, and the lights made everything look green. We were talking shop, and decided to walk outside.

When we got to the street, construction was going on. At least it looked like construction with the old-fashioned, earth-chomping equipment. Looked like a wrecking ball at first, but really, it turned out to be a giant digger with those prehistoric looking jaws that chomp the dirt when you drop them from high above, then as the cable pulls them up, the jaws clamp together and chomp up a big mouthful of dirt. Scary enough, I thought, and then it turned to our crowd of people on the street and tried to smash us by dropping its huge jaws on top of us. Of course, we scattered, and I lost Sylvia in the escape.

So you know how dreams go: next scene, I'm hanging out in a vacation house with Paris Hilton.

Boring.

But then I saw that Stephen Merchant was fiddling around in the kitchen. Paris slithered up to my side and said, "Steve is going to take us to the beach this morning. Get ready." I stared back and forth in disbelief at them both until my eyes dried out. Literally. Not just because Paris had just taken a dose of prescription diuretics (don't ask, just...don't); but really, I was thrilled out of my flip flops that Stephen Merchant was in this dream.

Would I endure being around Paris Hilton just to hang out with Stephen Merchant? Love makes you do some pretty crazy things, so the answer was obvious.

I ran around the house to gather up my stuff to go with them. I was too embarrassed to talk to him myself, so I would tag along with Paris just to be around. Isn't that sad? But as most dreams go, an even sadder thing happened -- they left the house without me.

That is the first and hopefully the only time I run around a dreamscape screaming out for Paris Hilton to come back.

I knew I didn't like her, I thought as I woke up with a heartache. That's what I get for trusting Paris Hilton.



Today's "Product Review Product Review" was underwritten by Diet Pepsi MAX, the invigorating cola that's not so bad once you get the taste down but disappointing in comparison when you actually bought a very rare Vault Zero instead, and the sales clerk forgot to put it in your bag and you get all the way home and realize she forgot to give it to you yet she charged you for it so you get back in the car braving the 95 degree heat to go back and get your Vault Zero knowing that it was the last one in the store and you love them so much it's bad and now someone else in Memphis now has your yummy, refreshing, flavor-blasting, burpinator soda by mistake.

Something tells me that tagline should be shorter.