Well. Soon-ish ...

By order of HRH Princess Snarkerella, Halfglassistan is undergoing renovations. All of the populace are alive and accounted for, but undergoing their own various reconstructions. Any inquiries should be addressed to HRH and will thoroughly reviewed by the second assistant to HRH's third assistant and replied to at HRH's whim.

So, you know, you should feel damn lucky if you were to hear back from her. I guess that you would mean you were pretty flippin' special, huh?

Um. Well, yeah.

See you on the flip side, kids. Be careful out there.

Cake. It's What's For Dinner. (And Breakfast. And Lunch.)

HRH Princess Snarkerella has declared today the official start of Birthday Week 2011. Typically all of May is Birthday Month, but everything in Halfglassistan has been wonky these past six months.


(CatCon and Tilly, however, would like it noted that they began celebrating my existence at 12:00:01 EDT May 1 and haven't stopped. Which isn't much different than the way they act every day. So I've got that going for me. Which is good.)


I may be getting a bit of a slow start, but by the order of HRH (you might not think so, but she can really be a bitch when she wants to), I am commanded to have fun. So a little less than 36 hours from now, I'll be with one of my ATL munchkins, who just happens to be the most awesome boy one of my siblings has ever birthed. The fact that I get to watch the eerie reincarnation of my sister as a toddler giving herself hell is just icing.


Then less than 24 hours later, I'll be on my way to my Midwestern tribe of munchkins in Chicagoland — provided the TSA, ATL and MDW all cooperate. And no random atmospheric activity mucks it all up. (Iceland? I'm talking to you.)


You can call it running away from home. It's OK. I am and I'm lucky enough to have my choice of awesome homes to which to run. I need tickles, giggles, oohs & ahhs, sister, cousin and munchkin therapy. And lots and lots and lots of love.


And cake.

"cake." (c)2002-2010 natalie dee

BREAKING NEWS: Renovations in Halfglassistan

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MAY 1, 2011 - HALFGLASSISTAN


HRH Princess Snarkerella has announced that Halfglassistan is expanding and undergoing renovations to better express its ideology and full potential. Immediate increases to the kingdom's Gross National Product will be largely fulfilled by Half-glassed Design. 


"The time is right to go public with our graphic design for print, web, wearables and home decor," stated HRH's official press secretary CatCon. "Lucky customers also receive three decades experience of professional writing and editing." The outspoken CatCon went on to add: "Win-win, no?"


Improvement projects are already underway, and announcement of official launch date is expected imminently.


###

Tee Gee Eye Eff Eff

(lace up your roller skates and cue Donna Summer and a spinning disco ball here)


"Friday. Thank God It's Flashback Friday!"


Yes, my darlings, I am once again feeling:

A. Lazy; 

B. In need of yet another dose of alliteration; 

C. Smugly satisfied (see B); 

D. Like I am the undisputed queen of my universe and all that revolves around it (see C); and/or

E. All of the a-freakin'-bove

Ding-ding-ding! If you chose A, B, C, D, or even E, you also may revel in your own sense of smug satisfaction, for you are correct. Today we'll revisit the first appearance of HRH Princess Snarkerella and her establishment of one of Halfglassistan's many arbitrary and capricious holidays.


Enjoy.

By Royal Decree ...

As Her Royal Highness Princess Snarkerella, it is my duty (one of many) to consider (many applicants) and determine (eeny-meeny-miney-moe) the High Holidays of Halfglassistan.

[trumpets sound]
[trumpets sound again, as HRH is late to the podium]
[trumpets playing a light jazzy number while HRH is delayed behind the velvet curtain as she fiddles with her hair]

And ...
[TRUMPETS SOUND]
Ahem.

I — your humble leader — declare (-are, -are, -are) — today (-ay, -ay, -ay)  Overflow Day (-ay, -ay, -ay) — upon which (-itch, -itch — OK, kill the echo effect) — upon which we fill the official drinking vessels of Halfglassistan (Libbey®) until they overflow with hope. 

Why today? Why today? 

I say, "Why not today?" 
We overdose on hope, not because it is easy — but because it is hard. 

Hmmm? What's that, you say? Ummm, yeah — no, I can't take credit for that last turn of phrase — good catch. But — I like it. And — it fits. 

So — go forth, and — hope. 
That is all. Carry on. 

CROWD: "Snarkita! Snarkita! Snarkita!" 
ME: "Don't cry for me, Halfglassistanita ... " 

Oh, please — you didn't see that coming?

Because I'm Lazy And I Like Alliteration ...

 ... I declare today Flashback Friday. (And, of course, because I can.)


If you're new to Halfglassistan, you may not have been properly introduced yet to my alter ego Cat Con. Following is a shameless rerun on my part an accounting of one of her appearances this past summer.


And now, for your adoration entertainment, may I present the obnoxiously awesome delightful legend in my own mind.


Enjoy your weekend, my loyal subjects minions devoted followers friends,
HRH Princess Snarkerella

A Legend In My Own Mind


Cat Con showed up one day last week to multi-task for me. She does the laundry here at TWHQ. Frankly, she is as slack about it as I am, but I hate doing it that much. Enough to make my imaginary best friend do it.

Mr. J was the chief domestic engineer before going and getting cancer and needing to move to the first floor. The laundry room is on the second floor. Coincidence? I think not. Great! Way to ensure that laundry never rarely sometimes only in cases of no underwear and clean towels gets done.

So, of course, Cat Con was singing. The Beatles popped up in a three-song set on my player. Which had the randomizer set. Random? I think not. I think it was a sign from the rock star gods that Cat Con was to kick it.

So she did. Warmed up with "Let It Be." Got slow and soulful with "Yesterday." And belted out "Hey Jude," right down to all the "judee-judee-judee-judee-judee"s and even had the crowd waving their arms back and forth to all the "na-na-na-nananana-nananana-he-eey-jude"s.

Wait. What? Ye-e-e-e-s, there was a crowd. On the second floor of TWHQ. In the laundry room. (Was there a crowd? What the hell kind of a rock star do you think Cat Con is?)

Worn out from that jamming set, the randomizer went off spinning in search of something equally awesome. In the absence of music, Tilly had taken the opportunity to run an obstacle course over, around, and through the piles of laundry, running to the bed and taking flying leaps in between each pile run. (The crowd loved it. Really.)

With Beatles on the brain, a riff from "Baby, You Can Drive My Car" popped into Cat Con's head because it fit Tilly's pace perfectly: "be-beep, be-beep, YEAH!"

So we've got a Tilly running, jumping, leaping at a manic pace. Cat Con is at her loudest pitch with all the "be-beep, be-beep, YEAH!"s. Tilly begins to harmonize with a few barks, and just as she's ready to vault into the sea of fans for some crowd-surfing — (YES, THERE'S A CROWD. sheesh) — I hear Jamie call out from downstairs.

JAMIE: "Are you OK?"

ME: Silence

THE CROWD: Silence

CAT CON: Silence

TILLY: Panting

JAMIE: "CATHLEEN?"

ME: "What?"

JAMIE: "Are you OKAY?!? What's going on up there?"

ME: "Yeah ..."

THE CROWD: Silence

TILLY: Panting

CAT CON: "I'm singing!"

JAMIE: "What?"

ME: "Umm..."

CAT CON: "I! AM! SINGING!"

JAMIE: "Are you sure?"

Punxsatawney Till

Hullo, all. Tilly here.


Um. So. Here's the thing:  I wear a lot of hats in Halfglassistan. 


If My Half-Glassed Life were a sitcom, and if this were a very special hour-long episode, right about now would be when the grainy clip montage would run.


But it's not. And we don't have that kind of budget.


So you'll just have hover and click on these highlighted words to check all my mad skills out for yourself:

• See how I am a licensed home healthcare worker here, here and here. 
• Read press releases and snippets from news conferences that reference my status as an internationally known network news CEO here and here.
• Be inspired by my turn as a motivational guru here.
• Delight yourself with my wit as a guest blogger here and here — and, well, right here.

You see? I pull my weight (all 17 pounds of it) around here. Happily. Very happily.


So today, when HRH Princess Snarkerella asked me crawl out my warm toasty bed to see how many more weeks of winter there might be, I was somewhat confused. 


First, that guy in Pennsylvania already has that gig. Second, South Carolina likely only has days of winter left. And third — well, I don't know that I have a well-thought-out third reason.


So. Well. No. Just no.

I suggest you call that fellow in PA. Tilly out.

Wordless Sassy-Scale-For-Self-Affirmation Wednesday

get it at VoluptuArt™

Ho-Ho Mojo

Merry Freakin' Christmas! (And I mean freakin' in the best way. Truly.)


As my dear old, i mean long-lost, er she was never lost, I just didn't know where she was, um, back in touch now thanks to facebook ... aw, screw it friend SPG said: "I heard a bell! You got your mojo back!"


Yes, I did, SPG. 
Yes. 
I. 
Did.


Keep that in mind, loyal subjects dear readers, this holiday season. It's not just angels and wings. Every time a bell rings, some royal pain in someone's ass procrastinating perfectionistic pessimist may just have gotten her groove back.


You never know.


Blessings and what-not to you all,
HRH Princess Snarkerella

Nurse Tilly Reporting for Duty

Hullo all. Nurse Tilly here.

Just taking a quick break from tending to Princess Funky McFunkenstein to help my loyal assistant Piggy reach the tissues off the shelf. Seems it was a better idea to send the 4-inch-tall purple plush pig to fetch them rather than the 5-foot-5-inch-tall grown-up.

While Piggy drags them back to PFF's lair, I thought I'd post a quiz for you dear readers:

WHO is a big ol' whiny crybaby when she's sick?

1. CCW
   
2. CatCon
   
3. Her Royal Highness Princess Snarkerella
   
4. NOT me (nor Piggy)
   
5. All of the above
   

DING-DING-DING! YOU ARE CORRECT.

Wait! What? You say you didn't choose an answer yet?

[sigh]

Like it matters ...

Nurse T OUT.

Notes To Self

Half-assed thoughts about things that may or may not deserve whole-assed attention:


There is a disturbing amount of gray in my roots.
There is a disturbing amount of scalp at my roots.
Highlights: They're not just for summer any more.


I never again have to worry about birth control.
I must remember daily to take a hormone-filled birth control pill.
I? Am so irony's bitch.


Maximum density was achieved a few months ago.
A few months from now, I could be well on my way to minimizing myself.
Rationalization: The holidays are coming.
Realization: There's always a holiday coming.
Resignation: I need to step away from the chocolate. And the potato chips. And the peanut butter. And the chocolate with potato chips and peanut butter.


Mr. J is having more good days than bad days.
I am having more good days than bad days.
Other shoe? If you're gonna drop, please go ahead and do it.


There's more, but the cacophonous cornucopia that is the capricious collection of concepts that masquerades as my mind is too much today for even my alliterative ass to absorb.

By Royal Decree ...

As Her Royal Highness Princess Snarkerella, it is my duty (one of many) to consider (many applicants) and determine (eeny-meeny-miney-moe) the High Holidays of Halfglassistan.


[trumpets sound]


[trumpets sound again, as HRH is late to the podium]


[trumpets playing a light jazzy number while HRH is delayed behind the velvet curtain as she fiddles with her hair]


And ...


[TRUMPETS SOUND]


Ahem.


I — your humble leader — declare (-are, -are, -are) — today (-ay, -ay, -ay)  Overflow Day (-ay, -ay, -ay) — upon which (-itch, -itch — OK, kill the echo effect) — upon which we fill the official drinking vessels of Halfglassistan (Libbey®) until they overflow with hope. 


Why today? Why today? 


I say, "Why not today?" 
We overdose on hope, not because it is easy — but because it is hard. 


Hmmm? What's that, you say? Ummm, yeah — no, I can't take credit for that last turn of phrase — good catch. But — I like it. And — it fits. 


So — go forth, and — hope. 
That is all. 
Carry on. 


CROWD:"Snarkita! Snarkita! Snarkita!" 

ME:"Don't cry for me, Halfglassistanita ... " 


Oh, please — you didn't see that coming?

Don't Stop Believin' ...

Cat Con has been holding out on me.

That's the only explanation I can come up with that I had not experienced the joy of "glee" until FOX rebroadcast the pilot last week.

I watched it, and just like that — with jazz hands — I was hooked.

Last night as I was watching the new season premiere of glee(!) emphasis added by me(!) and wondering how I had lived this long without it, I had a flashback:

One night, last spring, Mr. J and I are downstairs solving some crime with either the CSI crew in Vegas, the BAU team from Quantico, or the SVU team in NYC. (Our expertise is unrivaled, and my cell number is on all the top alphabet forensic and/or profiler teams' speed dial. But you didn't hear that from me. It's a secret. My other alter ego is similar to Garcia in the FBI tech lab. But brunette. Yet still wildly attracted to Shemar Moore. Ssssh.)

So-o-o-o-o, this night last May, we're all intent on saving mankind from some depraved mind, when I hear what sounds like music and dancing from the upstairs bedroom. I look over at J, but he's strung out on Phenergan, and of no use to me in any of the evening's investigations — including the one I'm getting ready to conduct in my own home.

I mute the TV, and just a beat later, the music and dancing stops. I turn the TV back on, it starts back up. I'm all "what the ...?" Tilly's all "what the ...?" Jamie's all "where's my Gatorade?" Hmmm.

I get up and get J a fresh bottle of G, and Tilly and I scamper (what? I can't scamper?) up the stairs to see what's going on. About halfway up, I hear the music and the dancing stop, and the sound of someone hopping on the bed.

I stick my head in the bedroom door, Tilly trots in jumps up on the bed where Cat Con sits all innocent-like, reading the latest issue of Cosmo, and looking at us like "what the ...?"

"What the hell are you doing up here?" I ask her.

"What the hell does it look like?" Cat Con says. "Reading."

I give her an "oh-really-Princess-ADD?" look, and she says, "OK, looking at the pictures."

"What's all the noise?" I ask and am treated to a "what-noise-you're-in-your-40s-now-and-quite-frankly-acting-like-it-Princess-Snarkarella" look.

So I go back downstairs. It starts up again, and I could have sworn I heard Journey (not usually in Cat Con's repertoire) up until around 10 p.m. And then it just stops.

It occurs to me now that Cat Con must have been watching the first episode of glee(!) that night. 

I should have known. May in South Carolina is much, much too warm for leg warmers.

glee logo ©FOX Broadcasting Company