(Not)Wordless Magical-Mystery-Flower Wednesday

©2011 ccw/halfglassistan

So. As if enough signs from the universe haven't already been telling me to get my glass in gear (I'm talking about you, @altgeldshrugged at your PHX signing. Stay tuned. I've got something coming with your name all over it.) — this popped up. 


Mr. J bought random plantings because he liked how they looked at Lowe's, and then subsequently in the yard. Never paid attention to whether they were annuals or perennials. No particular planning or coordination. What mattered was a funky shape and an unusual color. The leaves on this what-appears-to-be-some-kind-of-lily are what attracted Mr. J to the above bloom. That and the hot pink ombre petals.


In the five summers since it was planted, it hasn't returned every year. Just a couple of times. Thus, the name we gave it. This is my first summer without the magical Mr. J, yet the flower is out in full force.


Mystery? I don't think so.


Thanks to CVZ, the Governor of Jennsylvania and the amazing Mr. J for the kick in the glass. I needed it.

Step Two

©2010 workisnotajob

(more to come)

Under Pressure

(cue David Bowie and Queen here)

This is my one hundredth and ninety-ninth post. Or 199th, depending on how (melo)dramatic you're feeling. Whatever shall I write for the oh-so-monumental two hundredth (200th) post?


Should I be inspiring (or at least as inspiring as I aspire to be)? Should I be sentimental (or as sappy as I can tend to be)? Should I be retrospective, introspective (or at the very least, somewhat circumspect)?


Should I celebrate my awesomeness (or should I exercise a little restraint)? Should I celebrate all those who have recognized said awesomeness by bestowing awards and recognition on Halfglassistan, and whose acknowledgement is sorely overdue (or should I continue to feel guilty — forgive me, Dame, Belle and Laura — for not having composed the perfect appropriate response yet)?


Should I stop shoulding all over myself? (And, thank you, Stuart Smalley for that kind reminder.)


Or — before I get all worked up about how I've procrastinated considering this monumental topic until now — should I check my figures? And realize that I've composed 199 drafts. And published 179 posts.


Oh. Well. Whew! That gives me 20 more posts to continue procrastinating figure this thing out.


Or finally figure math out. Whichever comes first. Hmm.


Carry on.

Monday, Monday

Can't trust that day.


[sigh. deep, withering, bordering-on-pathetic, sigh.]


The danger of being a procrastiperfectionater is the blind trust that tomorrow will be better. Better to start. Better to finish. Better to just be better at whatever it is one is procrastinating until it can be perfected.


Well, just slap my ass and call me Scarlett. Because tomorrow always is another day. And I can't think about it now. And I will go crazy if I do.


What seemed like a swell plan on Sunday night seemed to vanish like the stars in the sky when the sun rose. Which I saw. When I walked into my back yard with a tinkling terrier who can make 17 pounds feel like 70 when she's standing on your chest demanding to be delivered to her lavatory on the lawn. 


I stood in the cool grass. 


I looked at the glorious spread of color across the sweet Carolina sky.


I felt a crisp nip in the air, just enough to bring hope that the day would, in fact, feel like spring and not the summer that is creeping ever so closer, and much too quickly.


I smelled a melange of dirt, clover, oniongrass and mysterious wafts of unidentified blossoms.


I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said out loud, breaking the tiny little word into at least three syllables: "Shit."


Because I knew I was supposed to be up in an hour. And my vision of hearing my alarm, stretching, pouring a cup'o'caffeine and trotting on my merry way had been thwarted.


Thwarted.


I was to trot nowhere except my office over my garage, but big things were on deck. Beginnings were to be begun. Endings were slated to end. Ongoings were to keep going on. Important things were going to happen. 


Very. Important. Things. I'm sure of it.


But that alarm — set on Sunday night when oh-so-very important things seemed oh-so-very possible — still hadn't gone off. So I lay back down to grab my last hour of slumber before the clock started on my scheduled "Day That Will Change The World." Not just my world, mind you. The world. Oh! The brilliance that today could have been!


Save for one fatal flaw ...


I scheduled it on the wrong day.


Well played, Monday. Well played.

I Want You To Want Me

Oh, I am feeling all kinds of special.

Halfglassistan is becoming quite the not just my imaginary kingdom of all things awesome destination of curious bored work-avoidant discerning loyal subjects minions readers within six degrees of anyone everywhere.


Which is, ummmm, just freakin' awesome.


Because, as CatCon would tell you — loudly — if she were here: I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'd love you to love me.

'Cause I'm just a needy obnoxious melodramatic attention whore an extrovert like that.

Kiss Me Goodbye ...

... I'm defying gravity.

Things have been hopping in my little center of the universe of all things awesome corner of the world. I've been getting my glee(!) on like the painfully deluded and in need of serious help wannabe rockstar I am.

Mr. Santa put the Season One cd in my stocking, and it has been a tres fab soundtrack for my oh-so-gleeful endeavors these past few days.

Oh, that man must so wish for spontaneous selective and reversible deafness love me.

... sigh ... 

glee logo ©FOX Broadcasting Company

Not So Very Wordless, But Certainly Shameless, Wednesday

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?