WanderingAmylessly 2.0

I'm a beastly person. But I bet I'm not the only person who read the following and laughed her butt off... Miss USA Rachel Smith slipped and fell to the floor during the Miss Universe evening gown competition. And then of course I HAD to click on the link that said: Watch Miss USA take a tumble in an evening gown. Mean. I'm just plain mean. Oh well.

I had the opportunity to attend a family gathering this weekend, at which time someone to whom I am only very marginally related took it upon herself to grill me about when I'm going to give H a brother or sister. What does one say to that rude, unwelcome inquiry? I wasn't altogether shocked by this line of questioning. Another relative on the same side of the family asked at our wedding reception when we were going to have a baby. I had no idea just exactly how fascinating my reproductive system is to people. Not known for being all that quick witted, I stumbled for a moment then simply said, "H is just so wonderful that we didn't think we could top our perfection, so we won't be having any more." The relative wouldn't let it go, of course, blabbing on about how we wouldn't want an only child (said in the same tone as if we were rearing the spawn of Satan) and about how it was so unfair of us not to give the grandparents more grandchildren to dote on.

It may be a national holiday, but daytime television doesn't take a day off from tacky to celebrate. As I was flipping through the 12 channels we get now since we ditched extended cable because we're cheap, I discovered that the Jerry Springer show is still on the air. I don't know whether it was new programming or years old, a "Best of..." if that's not totally oxymoronic. The theme: "My lesbian mom stole my girlfriend." Jerry just never disappoints.

Maybe I was in a strange mood. But I was struck by a fit of giggles as I opened my Gmail account today and saw a new link listed on the navigational bar across the top of the screen. In big red letters. With exclamation points and everything. It said... Mail - Calendar - Documents - Photos - Settings - NEW! BIGGER ATTACHMENTS!! I think all those Spam mails that promise enlargement of appendages safely and effectively have had quite the influence on the email program itself.

I'll admit, state tourism promoters have a tough job. Especially those creative folks tasked with inventing new slogans to sum up their state's attractiveness and WOW factor. Say you're on the committee responsible for reinventing the reputation of North Dakota. I'm sure North Dakota has a lot going for it, although I have no personal knowledge as to what that might be. Which is proof positive that a little extra promotion wouldn't hurt. Let's see, North Dakota: America's Answer to Siberia? North Dakota: Like South Dakota, only without the tourist attractions? Ok. They're not going to hire me. That's obvious. I ran across a list of current and former state slogans and thought I'd share. I'm not sure most of these capture the essence of the state as much as they're just catchy (or in some cases, shocking and maybe even downright absurd). And who knows if they're true...I found them on Wikipedia. At any rate, I was amused, puzzled and/

When you're being interviewed by a professional journalist for publication, there are a few basic rules you should follow. This is not rocket science. This is not even taxicab-driving school. I had a couple experiences in the past few days that leave me muttering, smacking my palm against my forehead and wishing I could reach through the phone to knock some sense into the nitwit on the other end. Instead, I'll share my wisdom (or warnings?) with you. If someone asks you to answer a question, just answer it. Don't hem and haw and start over a quote 15 times, each time saying "strike that, please don't use that, I'd rather you forget I said that..." I've learned that if you go with your gut, you'll sound much more eloquent and much less scripted (and therefore much less brainless and idiotic). After you've finished answering the questions, please do not say any of the following: "Oh, you've understood what I mean. Feel free to adjust my

Those of you who watch the U.S. version of The Office on NBC are probably rejoicing, singing and kissing your Dwight Schrute bobblehead dolls after watching Thursday's season finale when Jim finally asked Pam out, and Pam finally said yes. Woohoo! No more dimwitted Roy! No more bitchy Karen! We've waited three freaking seasons for this. I hope it all works out. The big question marks are still out there for me. Especially after reading that last week, during a cast party at a bar in New York, actress Jenna Fischer (who plays Pam) FELL down a marble staircase and BROKE HER BACK. Not once. Not twice. She broke her damn back in FOUR PLACES. I'm all for slapstick comedy, Jenna, but perhaps that's taking your job a little too seriously. Really though, in all seriousness, it's a wonder she didn't sever her spinal cord or worse (can it get worse than that??). Her publicist insists that she is NOT horribly wounded and will be back at work this summer, filming season fou

I'm a grown up. I know how the world works. More specifically, I know what can happen when certain things slip one's mind. Say, a woman forgets to take her little pill. You know. That one. And nine months later she's bringing a new human into this wacky world. Or I could misplace my asthma inhaler and, after a particularly vigorous workout, wheeze myself into unconsiousness. Or I might forget to take my lithium, throw off my medication levels and end up riding a manic high -- pulling all-nighters, driving recklessly and fighting the urge to make passes at every man with a pulse (and no matter how exotic that sounds, it's not in any way a bit healthy). I understand consequences. Managing meds is not something to take lightly. I was reminded of that earlier this week. Granted, the situation wasn't quite as serious as the above scenarios. But it did involve blood-sucking creatures invading my home. I did have some cause for distress. We forgot to give our dog her month

I know what this is supposed to mean. But every time I pass one of these signs, I have the same reaction. I realize, it's probably just the freakoid editor in me, yearning to fix what ain't broke. But still... I see this sign and all I can think is, "Whether you're referring to running speed or intellect, it's simply not nice to call children slow. They'll get a freaking complex."

We're having friends over Saturday night for sushi. They're getting a babysitter; we're putting H-man to bed at 8 p.m. We're opening a bottle (or two?) of wine. And we're spending a grown-up evening chopping and rolling and Wasabi-ing. One of my very most favorite evening activities. I have a slight hesitation. My concern: we usually stick with the sushi ingredients that are cooked. Shellfish. Smoked Salmon. Sometimes just a lot of rice and veggies rolled up in a bed of sticky rice and artfully sliced. It's not that I'm afraid of raw fish, in theory. It's just that we live in Iowa. No bodies of salt water for, say, thousands of miles in any direction. I'm not even afraid of potentially questionable raw fish -- as long as my husband and I are the only ones partaking. I'm sure it's just my neuroses talking, but I envision a dire situation: our guests, an ambulance, stomach pumping, voluminous vomiting, permanent gastrointestinal damage...and s

And we wonder why we have so many doggone dandelions...

I just got one of those e-mail forwards from my niece, one that tells me to do something (or not do something) and in doing so (or not doing so), I will force some sort of cosmic change in the universe. Or not. Anyway, this one was a little less hokey sounding than the ones that urge me not to use deodorant for fear that I'll develop some sort of armpit lymph cancer, or implore me to send the e-mail to 15 of my closest pals or risk my head bursting off my body in an alarming display of blood and gore. I'm passing it on to you all. Do with it what you will. I'd say that anything that cuts gas consumption is a good thing. Although it seems to me that if we all go without gas one day, we'll still need it the next. (And the scenario below involves math, which is completely beyond my comprehension, so read at your own risk.) I'd be all for keeping the car at home and riding our bikes for a day (FYI: National Bike to Work Week is May 14-18). Anyway, Bri, I'm officiall

Our little rascalfarian...

I love my therapist. She has, officially, given me permission to accept my procrastinating nature. Not just accept it. Embrace it. Rejoice in it. Wallow, even. I explained to her that I was having trouble making myself write my freelance articles ahead of schedule. That is, I do all the interviews but when it comes time to write, I put it off until the last possible moment (usually the day before the deadline). I haven't missed a strict deadline, but I spend weeks at a time beating myself up internally for procrastinating. Waiting until the last minute is dangerous (well, as risky as writing can get...I'll admit, it's not like I'm hunting serial killers for the FBI or anything). What if I catch the flu? What if my son breaks a limb? What if the house burns down? Ok...so I might have a lot more important things to worry about in that case. Still, it's my professional life on the line here. I don't want to gain a reputation as a slacker. Even though, technically,

This would be an example of Europeans' great sense of humor. If you're American, you'll probably either not get it or perhaps be quite shocked and horrified by it. Visit http://www.veryfunnyads.com/ Choose "Ikea Toy Cars"