What's YOUR inner child's age?

For a long time I thought of myself as 10 years old. The perfect age. Life was so simple, fun, free and replete with infinite possibility. I had not yet begun the complex, confusing course of puberty. I was still a child but one with so much I loved to do. Play was my profession. I look back on that time as my golden age. As I am now nearing a new stage of life (30's) I feel like my inner child has grown older. She is not as carefree. She cannot possibly return to the idyllic age of 10. Now she is 14. I remember that age as well. I was experimental, a risk-taker and pushing the boundaries of my self-concept. My inner child is maturing to 14 now. My husband and I are a bit like father and daughter sometimes. I want to redefine myself and try new things. He wants to keep me safe. I feel like he never lets me do what I want and he feels like I'm going to run amok. Is this normal? What has come over me? Tell me how old you feel inside. Do you ever catch a glimpse of your reflection and think to yourself, 'that's me! I'm me!'? A sudden self awareness.
I used to play bloody Mary with friends after school in 1st grade in Pakistan. We'd go into the school bathroom to do it. Sometimes I would think about doing it at home by myself in my own bathroom but ultimately I was too afraid something would really happen. I did a little 'research' online about the origins of bloody Mary. It seems to me that one of the most frightening things would be to look in the mirror and see something other than your face. Let me know how old you see yourself and if you ever played bloody Mary or something like that.
~Angie

Bummer Day

So yeah, I had kind of a downer day today. Remember the film I auditioned for? They gave the part to someone else. I'm supposed to be hearing back from McCarty agency about if they want to represent me and I'm still waiting. Ny's also waiting to hear if BYU wants to hire him. I put my video camera away and all the handouts from my acting class. I guess I just need a lift today. I have a very special dress that I wear. It's my lucky dress. When I wear it I am invincible and fabulous all at once. I think I need to go put that dress on right now.
I discovered an ingenious way to show that I do actually clean the house! My husband comes home and he doesn't believe that I did a single thing all day because the house looks messy. If only he could see all I do and how frustrating and discouraging it is when it all gets undone by, you know, the kids. And now that our baby is walking, he's getting into more trouble than I can keep up with.
So my solution was actually pretty obvious. I wrote down all the things my husband specifically requested that I clean. I checked each thing off and included each and every thing I did in addition to his requests. Now I have this long list that looks very impressive. Even if the house no longer does. Proof that I really did go to a lot of pains...for nothing. No, actually my husband was very generous and gave me a cash reward for making the house spic n' span. I'm spoiled. If I don't start acknowledging my blessings and appreciating them I'm gonna get struck by lightning. I can feel it.
So, not to type your eyes out, I'll leave it at that and say, fare thee well until I post again. <3, Angie

Ichi ban!

If you happen to be Japanese or know someone who is, you will know that all Japanese raise their index and middle finger in the 'peace' sign when a picture is being taken of them. Here I am doing the same so as to pay hommage to my heritage. (Really quick funny story: We went to a Japanese restaurant a few months back because I was obsessed with sushi. When we entered the restaurant the sushi chef called out 'irashaymasen', which, I think, translates roughly to 'welcome'. I wanted to look like a seasoned connossieur of all things Japanese and so I replied 'irashaymasen' back. I ended up ordering their sushi special: Egg-on-Face roll.)

Eh heh heh (ahem)

I just thought of one more eensey weensey thing that sets me apart: I'm secretly afraid of horses. And phone calls.

What Makes Me Different

You could say I'm a little different from your average Jane. Could it be that my DNA has been a scrambled up by secret nuclear testing done on my as a child? Or is it because my life experiences have been so utterly unique? Perhaps I'm just 'special'. Well, to help you see just how different I really am, I will ennumerate for you all the idiosyncrasies about me...Because I know you wanna know.
1. I don't like Oreos, potato chips, Rice Krispy Treats or cheesecake.
2. After playing a few rounds of ANY word game most people get tired of it and want to move on. Me? I'm going One more round! One more round! Same goes for Pictionary and Cranium. Can't get enough of them!
3. On the other hand, games like Risk and Monopoly bore me to death.
4. When I was a child, my head was a target for birds when they pooped.
5. I've never smoked cigarettes or drunk alcohol. But camping with my family years ago we'd light the end of a twig and try to smoke it. Oh wait, I think everybody's done that before.
6. I think it would be cool to have glasses.
7. I WASN'T crazy about the New Kids on the Block.
8. I've never lived in France but I have lived in Japan for 5 years and I'm part Japanese. My French is very good and my Japanese is nearly non-existent.
9. My mom says I used to swing all day on the swingset in preschool and never come back to the classroom. Now when I swing I get terrible motion sickness.
10. I didn't get my driver's license until I was 21 and I had a child.
11. I'm not the kind of person who saves my Halloween candy all the way until next Halloween. I sort it out into different categories and eat my favorites first. And I don't get sick, no matter how much I've eaten.
12. Pumpkin pie is gross to me. And pumpkin seeds? What's so great about them?
13. My daughters want to be rock stars when they grow up. I STILL want to be a rock star. Does that mean I haven't grown up yet?
14. I have a picking fetish. Zits, scabs, hangnails, dry lips. I don't know why-maybe it's like pulling weeds from the garden of my skin??!
15. I love chocolate so much, I once ate half a dozen chocolate devil's food Krispy Kreme donuts and nothing else all day because that was the most appetizing food in the house.
16. I still like jumping on trampolines and running through sprinklers.
17. I hate being late to the point that it's pretty much a phobia. I totalled my car because I took a dangerous short-cut in order to avoid being late. I have recurring nightmares about missing the school bus. Sometimes I'd rather not go at all than be late.
18. When everyone is all gracious saying, "Oh, you go first" or "please take this money. It's the least I can do" I don't fake modesty and play the polite game. I just take them for their word and go first/take the money and run. I'm a very literal person.
19. When I finish a shower I absolutely have to clean out my ears with a Q-tip or I feel so uncomfortable.
20. As a girls, sometimes I wish I were a boy. Boys are allowed to have short hair, take their shirts off, get dirty and they don't have to change anything about themselves to be acceptable. No shaving legs or underarms. No makeup or ear piercings. You know? And they so get away with more stuff. They can be lazy, selfish, childish and cold. But if a girl does that she gets called all kinds of things. Think about it. It really is unfair. I'm on a mission to make life fair-somehow or another-for girls!!
Well, that about sums it up. As you can see, I'm very different from ordinary people. Your job after having read this? Yup, I'm giving you a homework assignment-and you thought your school days were all over! Prove me wrong. Tell me that one of the things I listed applies to you too. If you do, you'll get a gold star.
Some kid is pounding my door down. Better go see. ~Angie

Guards, arrest that man!

Well, my 'a' key is still being a pest but I wanted to tell you some fun stories about the guards in my life so I'll just keep administering CPR with my pinky and hopefully everything will work out.
My first memories involving guards was in Karachi, Pakistan at age 4-6. We lived down the street from KAS (Karachi American School, naturally). Our house was surrounded by a brick wall and there was a black iron gate at the front entrance. Everyday stood a guard inside the gate, keeping us safe. I don't remember ever having any incident where the guard actually had to fend bad guys away or anything but nevertheless it's comforting to look back and say, 'yeah, we had a guard.' I only remember 2 different ones, maybe we had more, who knows? The first was tall, dark and not un-handsome. He was lanky and somewhat nerdy. He wore Coke-bottle glasses and an olive-colored uniform. [I must digress for just a bit on the topic of uniforms. I have a theory regarding why women get all weak for a man in uniform. One, it's like the french maid thing for guys, in reverse. If every so often you see a french maid stepping out of a house to take out the trash or water the roses you (guys) would be like 'whoah, that's pretty hot'. So girls see a cop, army guy or even UPS guy and suddenly we're all a-flutter. Two, maybe it's an authority thing or an authority/fantasy thing. I haven't quite figured out the psychology of it yet but I just know it happens unconsciously.]
So anyway, maybe it was his uniform, maybe his geekiness but I was always trying to provoke him. I'd go out and try to talk to him, ask him questions, and for candy. He seemed perturbed and really wanted to be left alone. Once in a while I'd see him eating some pale yellow food he'd brought with him. Vague memory, not a lot to say about him. But the second one was older, shorter and stouter. He was much more congenial toward kids. Infact, whenever he was there my little brother and I would always go out and ask him for candy. He had a magic trick that we loved. He'd reach up toward a tree on the other side of the wall and clap his hands as he said "Come on! Come on!" with the claps and vocal emphasis on the word 'come'. Then he'd close his hands together and have us blow on them. When he opened his hands there would be two toffees in plastic wrappers. Never failed to amuse us.
My next guard memories take us four or five years later when we lived in Tokyo, Japan. We were in a part of Tokyo called Roppongi. Anyone who knows the area knows it's kind of a naughty party spot but my friends and I were never aware of this because we were like 10 and our version of going out together begins with a phone call where we say 'Hi, can you play?'
One of our favorite games was called 'Spying on the guards'. This time we lived on an american compound with a front and back gate and a guard at each in a little box not much larger than a telephone booth. In this game we'd start our clandestine mission a ways away in some trees and we'd creep along stealthily, seeing how close we could get to the guard before they spotted us. And they always would before we got too close. It was great fun. Among our group of 4-5 girls, we had one friend who always seemed to get hurt or in trouble. She was the daring one, the one with the untamed tomboy spirit. Once we were crawling in the grass on another mission toward the back gate when our friend stuck her knee in some really mucky dog doo-doo. My thought was, 'of course this was going to happen to her! It always happens to her, no one else.'
Another place we lived there were MP's (military police) at the gates. By that time I was too old for such games. When we moved in they had just started to beef up security. Everyone had an ID card required to get in. They said it used to be that the guards hardly really checked your ID. You could just hold up a graham cracker and they waved you through. Seems they learned their lesson by the time we got there.
Final memory with guards. The last place we lived had really tough ones. You didn't even want to think about playing with them. They carried around machine guns! Or...something like that.
I'm getting carpel tunnel so I'll leave you with something to ponder until next time. I ask my husband this one all the time: If a tree falls down in the middle of a forrest and no one is around to hear it, did it really fall? Think about it and what it means in your life.
Angie

Whqt do you do when you hqve no Q's?

In cqse qny of you qre scrqtching your heqds over my new quirky spelling, our lqptop keyboqrd is very old qnd stqrting to complqin. It doesn't wqnt to let me use the "A" button. Qctuqlly, qs you cqn see, it reqlly CQN (aaaaaa) be used but it tqkes enormous energy on the pqrt of my little pinky finger, thus bqsicqlly stopping the flow of creqtivity qs it is trying to ooze from eqch finger. Beqr with me, this is gonnq be q more unusuql post thqn most. For thqt series of lowercqse 'q's I hqd to use both hqnds pressing firmly down rhythmicqlly, not unlike giving CPR.
I promised my dqughter I'd mqke her some wqffles if she unloqded the dishwqsher for me so now I hqve to go. I'll come bqck lqter when my keyboqrd feels like cooperqting.
Until then I remqin your fqvorite blogger, Qngie

"Celebrate good times, come on!"

Hot dog! I got one comment. Thank you Ishiis for taking an interest in my blog. I now feel fulfilled as an online presence. Next time you check back I'll be practically famous!
~Angie

La Dee Da

I accidentally published a post that simply said "K". So now I'm just sweeping the dust under the rug and walking away inconspicuously and whistling.

Can anybody hear me?

I was just looking over my posts so far and it seems I have no comments from anyone. I'm wondering if they're being read at all! Somebody please let me know that this is reaching you and it is in the least bit interesting! I am rolling this note up and pushing it down the neck of a glass bottle. Now I'm stopping up the bottle with a cork and hurling it into the deep ocean. I'm hoping that someone will find it on some distant shore and read it. Hopefully it's in a language they can understand.

Anxiously Awaiting

Hey, I'm back and I have anticipatory vibes going on because I actually went out and auditioned for a lead role in a no-budget film called "Escape from Echo". It's based on a short film called "Invasion". I thought I have nothing to lose so I might as well get out there and do something that scares me. It was fun, a little nerve-wracking. It's not as bad as I thought it would be but the waiting game is a bummer. I should be hearing back soon-the guy said by the end of the week. The part I auditioned for is a girl named Samantha (I've always loved that name-reminds me of Alyssa Milano's character in "Who's the Boss?) and she has escaped a slave camp and traveled 2 days to find this guy named Nick. I hope I get the part. That would be such a thrill. If not, I hope at least to get representation from McCarty Agency. Either way, I'd like to continue training in acting because I do know deep down that I'm not a stellar actor-yet. I am a movie star, don't get me wrong. That is my affirmation and belief about my inner character. I just need to advance toward my full maturity and that means painful rejection and mistakes along the way. I know it's no fun being turned down and I tend to throw in the towel easily if at first I don't succeed but that's the only way I'll grow. I'm in a funk today. It's cold and gray outside and I think I'll take a nap soon. I just don't have anything going on today. I need to stir up a little trouble just to feel like a dynamic person.
Here's something kinda interesting to tickle your brain. Ever heard of Nad's natural hair removal gel? Those infomercials with the sticky green goo? Well, I got me some of that stuff at my local grocer and guess what? It works! And I love having smooth whatever-I-want for quite a long time. I must like pain just a wee bit because it does hurt but it hurts so good. Whatever that means.
Oh, you know what else? I went with my amazingly fabulous younger sister Mandy to her kickboxing class last night and it truly kicked my booty! I was red in the face, sweating ev-er-y-where and dying for breath. Mandy warned me about the TURBO sessions that come up every so often. It's when you're dying to take a water break and about ready to fall on the floor. Then suddenly this siren rings out and guess what? You have to throw yourself into a 2 minute anaerobic torture routine! By the end you're thinking-I'm so exhausted but somehow my body keeps moving-I feel strangely detached from it. Can this really be good for you? I look around and see limp bodies and zombie eyes trying lamely to mimic the instructor's moves. I must admit I was trying to look cool and focused while I was doing my stuff. I pictured myself as a hardcore kickboxer who had to fight to stay alive. It was invigorating-exhilarating-liberating and then my heart wanted to drop dead. I had this uncanny suspicion that I'd wake up SORE this morning and flop on the ground when I tried to get out of bed. Miraculously, I was pretty much fine except for some shoulder/bicep soreness. So I guess I am pretty hardcore. I got clout now-watch out! Here comes the tough-as-nails girl who ain't afraid to bust out some killa moves on ya if you so much as look at her wrong.
Now for a dramatic departure from that topic: I'm lucky that I have Asian blood in my veins. Asians are famous for keeping their youthful looks long time! So it helps with the whole late bloomer thing I've got going on. I don't know if this is just flattery to get me to loosen up and smile but the photographer from my photo shoot said I looked like I was 18. That sure did make me feel like a million bucks. Reminds me of another time (this was 3 years ago, mind you). We lived in an apartment and had 2 kids at the time. Our old washing machine had gone the way of all the earth and I'd haul our laundry to the corner coin-op. So I'm loading up a machine when some pre-pubescent punks are knocking on the glass windows at me and goofing off. I just mind my own business but I know they're thinking I'm kinda cute or something. I'm smiling to myself and ignoring them. Then they get up the guts to come in and approach me. One of them says "so-and-so thinks you're hot". I decided to teach them a lesson. I asked them how old they thought I was. They said 16. I told them how old I really was and that I had 2 kids. Ha Ha-Boo ya! What does Boo ya mean anyway? I can figure out the essence of it by the context and intonation and what-not but where did it the words come from? Kinda like burn on you or (my husband's favorite) 'moted!
You know, I kind of have this radar thing where I can tell pretty accurately when someone is attracted to me and staring at me and such. You know what I'm talking about. There's eye contact and there's a spark of interest in their eyes. The body language is betraying their inner feelings. And you just wave at them with your gold wedding band glinting in the light and laugh as you speed away-just like Father of the Bride. No, I'm not that cruel. I just figure it's a biological instinct that can't be helped so I'm sympathetic and friendly in a down-to-earth way. At least I imagine myself that way. My imagination and the stark reality of things, I've come to learn, are two distant worlds. But I'd rather have things my way in my own little brain than to be told that in truth the guy was staring into space and I happened to be where his eyes rested.
I'm hungry. So I'd better skiddadle and get me to the kitchen.
Laters!-Angie

My arm is being twisted here

The only reason I'm doing this is so my husband can check out the 'user interface' of this system. So don't get all interested. I had a long day of running errands and I was stuck in traffic on the way home. YAWN! Before you fall asleep I'll just stop typing.

My Very Second Post

Good morning world! I woke up asking myself what I would write today. I thought maybe I could tell you the dream I had last night but it was too vague to retell in any way that makes sense. I could reveal how nearly every morning I wake up depressed and I want to sleep in as long as I can. But that's too depressing. Then I was illuminated with a brilliant idea: toilet paper. Everyone has their own way of using toilet paper. I know this because I remember my dad teaching me how when I was quite young. He said you measure about four or five sheets, tear it along the perforation, and then fold them on the dotted line and wipe. So neat and clean. Contrast that with MY way (which I hadn't really noticed until recently). I basically yank the paper and when it stops rolling I rip it off. Then I wad it up in my hand and wipe. I was having this discussion at Costco with my sister way in the back where they keep the TP and paper towels. I explained that I can't be bothered to meticulously measure or fold. I have more important things to get back to doing! But it's interesting to think about. This is another one of those things that reveals something about you. I challenge each of you to be aware of how you use your TP next time and see what you learn about yourself!Onto more 'appropriate' topics: Um, gee. I actually don't have anything else to say. I guess I didn't plan this far ahead. Don't worry I'll think of something in a sec.Aha! I realized yesterday that it would be easier for you to understand my eyebrow issue if you could see an actual photo of me as a child instead of just relying on my incompetent description so here you go:As you can see, there is a distinct cowlick. Infact, my parents taught me as a little girl what I should say when an adult asked me about them. I was to inform them that a cow licked them. Aw, how cute, right? I do appologize for the poor quality of the photo. It's a cropped, enlarged, scanned print that is over 20 years old. My little girl just did this awesome thing I thought you'd like to hear about. She was watching 101 Dalmatians in her room when the doorbell starts ringing incessantly. You just know it's one of the neighbor's kids. So I tell her to go get the door and what follows is the conversation I overhear. neighbor kid: Hi, can you play?my daughter: I'm watching a movie.neighbor kid: Can you ask your mom if you can play?my daughter: It's almost done. And she closes the door and runs back upstairs to finish her movie. Don't you just love how kids are so direct. They don't play those 'polite' games that adults play. So pure. Gosh, am I boring? I haven't taken my antidepressants yet so that could account for it. Oh, I know. I was gonna take you back into my illustrious childhood. When I was a wee girl I wanted to be Pippi Longstocking. Now that girl had moxie. Bright red hair in braids that stuck straight out. My mom was so awesome she actually did my hair like that for Halloween once. She embedded wires in my hair to hold it straight. I also wanted to be a clown. I'm not one of those many people who think that clowns are evil and scary. Clowns are fantastic. They are larger than life, colorful, playful and pull jokes to delight and entertain. That's why I always wanted to be one. I'm just afraid that one of those impertinent kind of kids will yank my perfectly neon pink wig off and I'll be left the crying clown. I wanted to have curly hair when I was a child. Scratch that-I still do want to have curly hair. Wild and free. The kind that no amount of scolding, shaming or guilt trips could ever tame. That's the essence of my spirit. I just want to be uninhibitedly happy. 'Girls just wanna have fun' I love that song.And now, to change subjects: I am not an army brat. I'm not even a brat. I lived all over the world growing up including Nepal, Pakistan, Japan and Korea (in that order). Don't ask me about Nepal, I was too young to remember most of it. I do have one funny memory though: I'm in preschool or joy school or something and there's a man with a puppet singing H-A-P-P-Y and I'm thinking 'pee pee?' and I feel kinda dirty and why is everyone supposed to sing along and smile? My sister and I shoot each other knowing looks when someone asks us where we're from. Oh boy, here we go again. It's such a long story and it always goes the same way. I discovered the script to it and it goes something like this:So, where are you from?All over/Virginia, originally/ heavenOh really? Are you an army brat? (I HATE that question and people always say with this smirk because they secretly enjoy getting away with asking me if I'm a brat!)No, State Department. (Now I have them hooked)Really! Where have you lived?Well, Nepal, Pakistan, Japan and Korea (I deadpan)Holy Toledo! Which place did you like the best? Japan, because that's where I had the most fun. Korea the least because it's a very difficult place to live and I don't remember much of Nepal because I was a baby. I remember it rained one day in Pakistan.Wow, what's it like living all over the world?Well, I can't really say because I've never really grown up in one place so I can't compare. But I can say that I've been around lots of different people and cultures so I think that's helped to make me more open-minded.Now, after having read this you have a responsibility. If you ever meet me in person you are forbidden from asking me where I am from so we can avoid having this whole conversation over again. Because, really, as my sister can attest to, it does get old and very predictable. And I know I'm not the only one out there who can relate to this scenario.I'm feeling tired of typing now so I'll close with one last thought, as soon as I think of it...Children live in the moment. It's very good for your soul. I'm going to try to do this more today. Bye bye-Angie

Very First Post

Yay! I've officially entered the world of blogging. A song is coming to mind, 'like a virgin, blog for the very first time...' I feel so with it now! As you can see from my title, I am a self-proclaimed late bloomer. Let me tell you, it's pretty fun. Because it's like getting a second chance to go through adolescence, only this time you have the hindsight and wisdom and you don't have the geeky awkward phases, the inhuman cruelty of junior high social class systems, early morning seminary or midterms and papers! This is amazing! Oh, for those of you who don't know what early morning seminary is: it's a Mormon thing. Maybe comparable to a youth Bible study group? But it's at five or something in the morning-the exact time when you're blissfully dreaming away, completely unaware that in a short time your alarm will be shocking you back to life like those white paddles they use in the hospital. You can kinda tell I'm trying to be witty here. Out of fear that I may be boring.
So, back to my discovery of the advantages of being a late bloomer. See, I'm a mother of 3 and I'm approaching 30 in a couple of years. Truth be told: I'm having a bit of a mid-youth crisis. So my attitude is this: it's now or never. You're either gonna live your dreams or scrap it altogether and resign yourself to being the slave of the household and pretty much losing your identity to your family who you love so much and they...love you...because you...do so much for them. Well I think a happy family starts with a happy mom, right? So I'm off on a quest to find happiness through doing what I've always dreamed of doing. Being a star!
Don't get me wrong, I don't believe in running away from my very real responsibilities as wife, mother and homemaker. Those are choices I made intentionally and I intend to live up to. I do believe that I can take my family along with me on the rollercoaster of my life. It's an adventure and I want to be part of it! Don't you?
Some backstory for you: I lived to be the center of attention every since I was born. I am, naturally, the oldest of the family. My mom likes to remind me that I had 2 years with my parents all to myself before the rest of the gang joined in. She also tells me that firstborns are notorious for digging in FIRST when meals are served. So sue us! We're just being responsible, good examples and doing what we're told! So anyway, I relished the spotlight as a child. Did any wacky thing to get it and jealously guarded it. I'm a jealous person and I don't like to share. Greedy, you might even go so far as to call me. Then something happened to me that put a serious dent in my egomania. My genetic code dictated that my eyebrows formed a sharp peak in the center. Not only that but the eyebrow hairs extended beyond the the arch and stuck defiantly skyward. Imagine an upside-down Y, without as long a 'tail'. Now you're starting to get the picture. They're cowlicks. I actually have several on my head. All hiding and swirling around mischievously in my hair, making all kinds of unruly kinks. Don't let me get started. Who knows what my mom was smoking when I was an embryo. Just kidding mom, I'm not blaming you. Kids called me Spock and asked me why I looked so evil. Suddenly I began to see myself as a bonafide freak. Someone who needed to hide. Like the Elephant Man, I didn't want to attract attention to myself or people would start to point out my eyebrows.
As soon as I turned 14 I discovered my friend: the tweezers. Infact I just bought a new pair this week because my last ones wore out. Yes, I still use them and yes, I'm still afraid of the looks, the laughs, the questions. So pluck away I must to keep those dastardly little guys from revealing my deep dark secret--I'm a freak.
But I'm learning the really cool benefits to being different. If you know how to use it right, you can reclaim your long-lost limelight. Ah, that just sound so right. Limelight. So I got into acting and it's cool because people in my class thought I was this fun person. Maybe I am. Like Gwen Stefani said, I'm just the biggest nerd and someday everyone's gonna realize it. Being a late bloomer means I'm still moulding myself into who I want to be. And I hope I never stop changing. That I'm always searching and learning and creating. That's what makes me feel alive.
Another thing about being a late bloomer is that I'm constantly discovering things that are like, so 2 years ago. For example, I discovered how to send text messages a few months ago (sorry, that's actually been around embarrassingly longer than 2 years, I know!) and then I found out what all the hype of youtube was about a month ago. Now it's blogging. But I don't think I'll ever get to a point where I'll actually buy an iPod. I'm not ready for that yet.
I have a keen memory for things that I hear people say. When I was 10 I sat next to an older girl on the bus and one day I approached my seat next to her as she muttered to herself, "Oh great, here comes motormouth". I don't think I'll ever forget that. Do you know why I mention this memory? Because this is probably too long of a blog to start out with. Forgive me. I'm just bursting with ideas to share with complete strangers. Funny how we can open up to people who probably don't care but we hide our real selves from the people that ought to know us best.
So, I now close my very first post and I hope it's been worthwhile reading for someone out there. Until next time...Angie