Just tasty

I am not a fangirl, typically. I don't find guys "hunky" nor do I buy calenders featuring beefcakes. My taste in dudes tends to be bigger dudes and like my beloved Anne Shirley said "I would like it if he could be wicked, but wouldn't." and I want them to look the part. Which is why I don't enjoy a Tenor, usually...they tend to be "feathery strokers" and I just don't have that kind of time. I don't enjoy pretty boys who turn a slim calf. And I don't talk about cute boys, unless I am speaking either ironically or condescendingly. I do not work in accounts receivable so I do not talk about making love to Brad Pitt or George Clooney (I am not made of wood, if the opportunity presented itself, I would fuck 'em....yummers). ALL that aside...I got to see Tosca last night. And Greer Grimsely was in it. He isn't a tenor, but he is slim and does turn a shapely calf. And he is hunky. And I would buy 10 thousand calendars of him. He is amazing, in all ways I have been privileged to see him.
This is my second time seeing him, and in both shows (the other was The Flying Dutchman) he was wearing a similar costume; hose, breeches, a cut-away coat, a ruffled shirt...essentially the gayest thing a man can wear without wearing a dress, and yet, AND YET...he looks so amazing in it that I can't picture him any other way. To quote Empire Records "Baby, you are sex.". And, the mf can sing like there is no tomorrow. And frankly, if my last is spent listening to him and looking at him (alongside my loving husband and fabulous friends and family of course) I would be okay with that.
And yes, I am sure Richmond will smack me. And man oh boy do I deserve it.

Lucky.

I think it is no secret that our beloved van is elderly. And the elderly are just as good as the young, but certain things start to happen when we get older. Like, we shake a little when we go over 90 mph. No biggie. It happens. But, one of the advantages of youth is that we don't shake when we go over 90. Or at least, it seems like an advantage, at first. However, getting the shimmies can help you keep track of just what speed you are going, so the lack of the aforementioned shake takes away that little clue, thereby making dirty, evil, naughty speeding just a little easier.
My Dad's car is new. And the road to Vancouver is a lovely freeway with several lanes. And my Dad has satellite radio with lovely show tunes and hilarious comedy. And B.C. plates. The drive up was great. And the drive back down was great too, mostly.
Until I came up over a little hill and right up beside a King County sheriff. Now, my Momma didn't raise no fool, so I slowed the hell down (and I wasn't going THAT much too fast, only a little) but the lights came on anyway.
Now, I have never, ever (knock wood) been pulled over. Ever. But everyone who watches enough T.V. or enough movies knows what the lights mean. It means you are f**cked. It means that the couple hundred bucks you were going to use to pay some bills, or buy a purse or have a nice dinner are going to the state coffers.
So, I swore violently, got the sick feeling in my stomach that all Canadians get when facing figures of authority, and pulled over. I pulled out my wallet as I waited for the Sheriff 'round these hea parts to come and wrestle away our hard earned cash...And then he turned on this HUGE, insanely bright light, and I was sure I was also going to get a free roadside rectal. And then I remembered the tiny baggie filled with tiny, whitish crystals in my make-up bag. It was only sea salt for my new piercing, but it was unlabeled and I am panic junkie.
The cop makes his way over to the car, giant flashlight in hand. He was not, however a huge, hulking anger ball, but an older, smallish, sheriffy looking fellow. That seemed like either a really good thing, or the worst thing ever (see: Dukes of Hazzard), and then he said the most classic cop line since "A honey dip and a double-double please (see: Canada, former hockey player owned donut-shops of)." He said "Evening. Washington state Sheriff office. Do you know why I pulled you over?"
I am not blond. I am not delicate. I am not terribly girl. I am incapable of flirting. I am not tiny. I am not bubbly. But I ain't stupid. "I'm sorry Sir, no, I don't." Nervous smile.
"You had to be going over the speed limit. You came up over that hill and then had to slow down to drive right beside me and I was going the limit. You had to be doing at least 80."
"Oh my gosh Sir, I am so sorry. I thought the limit was 80 Sir."
"No. It is 70. There isn't anywhere in Washington state that is 80."
"Oh no. I am so sorry." Chagrined look.
"You can't just slow down when you see me. It doesn't work that way."
"Oh no Sir. I know." Very tiny nervous laugh.
A curt nod. "Alright. It is 70 here. Have a good night."
"Thank you so much Sir, you too."
And he waited behind me until I merged back in the flow of traffic. Which took a minute because I was peeing my pants.
And I drove in the far right lane and set the cruise control for 68 for the rest of the trip home.
Oh and Happy Valentine's Day.

Beyond vile.

G(g)od(s) bless science. Truly. And by truly of course I mean *OUTRAGE*! http://www.flat-d.com

TWINS!

Which we already knew...but they are here! Names to be announced, ya know, by the parents, but one is a Ms. and one is a Mr.!

All Happening!

So, my beloved and oh so tiny friend Steinunn is officially starting to perform her first heroic act of motherhood; that is to say, Diplomacy and Diversity are on their way! She has carried those giant babies alllllll the way to the end and they are so comfortable inside her wee little body that they don't want to come out. Enter, medicine. So, she is having a bunch of stuff done to her to coax the little hipsters out and I know I am not alone in hoping this all passes swiftly and with the minimum amount of torment. But, darling Steinunn is a tough broad, so I am sure she will tromp through like a trooper.
And not to turn this into a me thing, but seriously, why isn't there more for "spectators" to do to help? I felt this same level of complete useless helpfullessness (copyright me, now) when the also beloved Deb was bringing the equally beloved, although smaller, V into the world. The menfolk who got these gals into this mess must feel even worse. I kid, of course, but really, it ain't right. There should be SOMETHING we can do. I think I am going to get some clean towels and boil some water.

EXTREME!

I got my nose re-pierced and therefore, I am alternative! No, not really, but I do dig it. I had it done when I was a mere slip of a lass (and was the first in my school to get body pierced btw) and have always wanted to get it redone. And the dude who did it was really cool. And I must say, it did my little "square" heart proud to gross out the very modded Piercer with the tale of my previous experience. He was actually physically, full body, cringing. I AR XTREME. Or was, in the early 90's, without really knowing it.