One of the best things about watching the recent Academy Awards is not having to actually watch all 3 1/2 tedious hours.
All I can say is, thank you Lord for whomever invented the DVR. I’m able to fast forward through 2 1/2 hours of gloating movie stars to get to the real substance: the dresses. And maybe the occasional spontaneous, heartfelt acceptance speech.
Anthony Wood, inventor of the DVR
I suppose you could call me an Oscar snob. Now don’t get me wrong; I love movies and great story telling. But for me, the fun part of the awards is seeing the latest fashions – who got it “right” and who didn’t; hearing who will humiliate themselves with a thoughtless comment on stage; who trips on her dress; who doesn’t actually smile on camera when they learn they’ve lost.
That’s because within months, sometimes weeks, they are no longer nice things. You see, I have a tendency to spill, rip, stain, break and generally ruin stuff.
unknown goop on my tennis top
On those rare occasions when I do have nice things, I try to be so careful that I usually end up doing exactly what I tried hard to avoid. Like being told not to think about the pink elephant in the room. Once it’s in your brain, that’s ALL you can think about.
Until recently, I sported scabs on both temples and another at the base of my nose. Yes, I was the recipient of an unprovoked altercation where apparently I was the loser. In fact, it happened so suddenly I couldn’t defend myself.
I mean, who knew torbies were a bit bi-polar?
A couple months ago I adopted feisty Tippi, a feral kitten I trapped living under a grocery store. She tamed down nicely but her chronic upper respiratory infection didn’t respond to treatment, making her unadoptable at the humane society. So now she’s mine. Or, if you ask Tippi, I’m hers.
In the short time I’ve had Tippi-toes, I’ve discovered she’s not what you’d call boring. Even so, I thought she’d be like my 3 other cats: easy-going, mellow and predictable. Let me clarify something; Tippi in no way resembles any of those adjectives. When she’s lovey-dovey, draping both arms around my neck, nuzzling me in a warm embrace, I know that tender moment can evaporate as quickly as a puddle in the desert.
Let me rephrase that. I feelviolated. And a little stupid, if you want to know the truth. I’m assuming you do since thisisa non-fiction blog. So here’s the scoop:
My vehicle was broken into a couple nights ago. Technically, it was entered without my permission because it was unlocked. That’s the stupid part. Both my cars were unlocked in my driveway.
Scene of the crime
I live in a safe neighborhood, or thought I did, so I got complacent concerning diligence toward thwarting thieves who count on my complacency. But if you’ve ever had someone steal your property, you know how creepy it feels. That’s the violated part.
Do you believe in premonitions? I suppose some would call it intuition, instinct, or maybe simply a feeling. Whatever, I find it fascinating, mostly because it happens to me a lot. Sometimes I’ve ignored the message and it causes me grief of some sort, as if to say, I told you so! Why didn’t you listen?
So now that I’m older and dare I say wiser, I’m finally good at listening to my innards, so to speak. How about you?