Saturday the 14th. Still Here.

Um. Yeah. That counts as a victory 'round these parts.


In fact it counts as a big ol' "WOO-FREAKIN'-HOO!"


We take our triumphs where we find them these days.


And now Percy and I are going to settle in for a long (painless) winter's (it actually is cold) nap (yeah — snooze, sleep and snore — the whole shebang).


Carry on. 


Wait. What? Yes. Yes, of course with your bad selves. Is there any other way?

Who's Feeling All Kinds Of Awesome? This Girl. That's Who.

At the risk of sounding like a giddy 14-year-old, which differs from any other day how, exactly? OH! MAH! GAH!

Some of my loyal minions, er, faithful subjects, er, followers, er, dear readers, especially those skilled in the-between-the-line kind of reading you already know what has had me full of freaky geekiness for the past month and geeky dee-lish-ous-ness for the past week I am over-the-everlovin'-moon happy to proud to announce:


I have a new job. I am now employed by Anonymous-In-This-Venue-Until/If/When-It-Ever-Becomes-Appropriate-To-Integrate-My-Cancer-Warrior-Princess-Persona-With-For-Now-Anonymous-Good-Works-Done-In-Another-Arena-Promotion-Persona Non-Profit (ANP).


And I am thrilled beyond words, despite any evidence to the contrary.


ANP, you rock. Thanks for believing that I do, too.


IMAGE ©2010 CCW/HALFGLASSISTAN

Cheesy Is As Cheesy Does

Thank you, Al Franken. 


Thank you for creating Stuart Smalley.


Thank you for providing snickers, eye-rolls, and laugh-out-loud moments when your satirical self-help guru dispensed his saccharine words of wisdom from his easy chair at 30 Rockefeller Center.


Thank you for creating a catchphrase that 20+ years later is embedded in my subconscious. It's so ingrained, I hear your character's whispery voice, measured cadence, and joyous lilt in my mind every time I think of your words:

"I'm good enough, I'm smart enough — and doggone it! — people like me."

Thank you very much. Because, however ridiculously mocking your character and his bon mots were intended to be, they both contain kernels of truth — as all good satire should.


And today, that pithy little punchline got me through the day. One more day when this lifelong overachiever weathered through a lingering fog of uncomfortable underachievement. One more day when this self-proclaimed attention whore announced her self-affirmation and greedily accepted others' acknowledgements. One more day when minor victories, once too trivial to be remembered a moment later, will instead be noted in the win column.


And that, sir, will push this ordinary Tuesday across the finish line and squarely in the category of A Good Day.


And I thank you, very kindly, for that.


P.S. Thank you also for clearly demonstrating the undeniable power of a teddy bear hug.

STUART SMALLEY CHARACTERIZATION AND QUOTATIONS © AND ™ AL FRANKEN

"Oh, It's A Doozy!"

" ... Today you are You, that is truer than true. 

There is no one alive who is Youer than You ..."

MARCH 2 IS THEODOR GEISEL'S BIRTHDAY

QUOTES AND IMAGE DR. SEUSS PROPERTIES ™ and ©1937—2009 

Oh Snap! Look What I Saw ...

 [drumroll .................................................]

TA-DA!

Hi. Welcome to a new year here.

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

You Knew What You Were Getting Into When You Married Me

... is pretty much what I say every year to Mr. J when he would just as soon let the 8th of November pass without fanfare.

But birthdays? Are not ignored in my world.

I don't care how old you are, Mr. J; and I sure don't care how broke we are, 'cause I don't need money to make a fuss. I only care enough to never have anyone sing to you in a cheesy restaurant, and to never (never, I promise!) throw you a surprise party.

And that's only because I expect the same in return. The only cheesy singing on my (oh, and yours, too) birthday shall be done by me. And the only surprising on my birthday shall be done by you. We agree on that.

But that's it. 

I will never ignore a birthday (I might forget, but that's a whole other story), because I am exponentially cheesetastic like that. I will never stop being grateful that one day in November, 1962, you happened. I may have taken another six years to show up, and then another 29 to find you, but none of that's important.

It was always meant to be.

What's that? Er, no. 

No. It's not easy being this cheesy.

Below, birthday happiness 2009:

Nom, nom, nom ...

One dozen little cups of happy.

Red velvet.

Caramel apple and chocolate peanut butter.

The black bottom, a brilliant concoction of dark chocolate cake with chocolate chip cheesecake and cream cheese frosting.

Nurse Tilly, asking for the 4,782nd time, "Why? Why can't I have a little happy cake of joy?"

Why? Because you can't have chocolate. And there'd be fewer for me. But mostly the chocolate reason. Really.

Thank you, Cupcake, for coming to Columbia. And thank you, anonymous college girl (ACG) working at Cupcake for your validation when I picked these out.

ACG (smiling): "Are these for a special occasion?"

ME (drooling): "Yes, they are. My husband made me promise not to get him anything for his birthday, and this is the anything I'm getting anyway."

ACG (seriously): "Ma'am, you did the right thing."

Yes, I did, ACG. 

Yes.

I. 

Did.

I'll Take #beatcancer For The Win ...

It's still on, my friends.


It is still so on.


Well, until noon EDT, anyway.


Check yesterday's post (#100, btw) for all the geektastic details. 


And #beatcancer. 


Thanks.

Blogging, Tweeting, and Facebooking, oh my! (#BeatCancer)

OK, my social-media-savvy* subjects, er ... followers, ahh ... readers! 

Readers, yes, readers. That's what you like to be called. 

So — my social-media-savvy* readers —today, Friday October 16, is #BeatCancer day. I know, I know ... coming on the heels of yesterday's proclamation of arbitrary and capricious holidays, you may doubt my veracity.

But this is legit, my friends. And cool as hell, to boot. 

(*keep reading, non-social-media-savvy readers — I promise it will make sense ...)

All you need to do — my social-media-savvy readers — is blog, tweet, or update your FB status with the hashtag #beatcancer. That's it.

And then what happens, you ask? Well, some folks with some very deep pockets will donate $.01 for each mention of #beatcancer. (I KNOW, RIGHT?)

Hmm? How deep are the pockets of these donors, you ask? Well, we're talking EBay/PayPal and MillerCoors Brewing. Hell, I put some of my money in both sets of those pockets just within the past hour (professional dues and a six-pack, but that's not important right now). And I'm cheap. They? EBay/PayPal? MillerCoors? They've got lots of moolah to donate. So make 'em.

And to what, exactly, are they donating? Just some utterly awesome non-profits, all 501(c)(3) and accredited by The American Cancer Society. 

They are: 

SU2C (Stand Up to Cancer)

Alex's Lemonade

Bright Pink 

and 

Spirit Jump .

I know what you're thinking. I do.

You're thinking: "Wow. Just wow. This HalfGlass Chick lets us know about some pretty sweet stuff."

But wait — there's more. (Yeah, I said it.)

There is more: You'll also be helping to set a Guinness Book World Record for the most social media mentions in 24 hours.

(!!!!!!!!! That's just my inner geek spazzing out over being part of a real, live, honest-to-God Guinness Book of World Records record! !!!!!!!!!!! Ooops, there it was again.)

And actually, there is even more. (Wait! What? No, you're not getting a Snuggie®.)

Click on this link: http://beatcancereverywhere.com/  and see a live, streaming update of all the action.

You just can't get more geek-chic than that.

*And, now, for my non-social-media-savvy-readers (you know who you are — you don't even know what social media means, even if you do use it, Mom. And some others, too, but yeah, this is for you, Mom): it's a lot easier than you think, so don't go all "Oh, I don't know how to do that stuff" on me ... ALL YOU NEED TO DO, MOM, IS TYPE THIS: #beatcancer in your Facebook status. That's the pound sign, b-e-a-t-c-a-n-c-e-r, no spaces typed into the little thingy at the top of your FB page that says "What's on your mind?"

Just type, along with whatever else is on your mind: #beatcancer.

And to think I was trying to think of what to write about today.

'Cause it's kind of a big deal.

It's my 100th post.

So this worked out just fine.

Thanks for playing, guys.

p.s. #beatcancer, #beatcancer, #beatcancer

p.p.s. I love you, Mom :-)

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

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 imaginarybest 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?"

Wordless Wrapped Wednesday