Monthly Archives: July 2009

Smart Indeed

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Last weekend was the first weekend I stayed in town, El Boysaaaayy, the big city of Idaho, this entire summer. I can’t say why we decided to stay put, but if I remember correctly, it went something like this. “We should probably stay in town this next weekend, do some yard work, be adult like in behavior.” Sense the maturity and wisdom in that? Had I known, or taken the initiative to check a weather report, I would have seen it was publicly predicted that life as we know it would swelter under a kite of triple digits over said weekend. If I realized heat stroke was on the menu, I would have packed in 5 minutes and headed North, probably to Alaska.

I didn’t. I’m not smart like that.

Photo Credit ~ My daughter Kaitlyn

Photo Credit ~ My daughter Kaitlyn

Since we were officially stuck in a town where Mizz Sunshine was pulling up her dress and flashing her blazin’ 105 degree panties, we did what smart people are expected to do. We said a prayer for our sizzled lawn and went downtown to boil our brains and watch people even smarter than us, bike race the Twilight Criterium.

During the hours of 3 p.m through ohh, about midnight, it felt like we weren’t actually downtown, but in a crematorium sanctioned by Mizz Sunshine herself~~~ ‘Fry those morons who think they can withstand me’ her righteous panties declared.

I honestly tried not to whine, and complain as I sat (melted) in my lawn chair. I tried not to fling the back of my hand to my forehead and beg for mercy. I was after all, sitting and there was (clearly deranged or super human) people racing bicycles under the opressive heat.  We all knew it was HOT because we were reminded every 5 minutes by a loudspeaker ” Folks! According to our thermometer it’s 110 degrees on the concrete out there!”

Although my mind certainly suffered under a degree of heat stroke, I do remember a few things. For one SWEAT. Let me state for the record, I’m not a sweat producing individual. I’m just not. The rare times I have felt the salty sensation called perspiration, it’s usually contained to the armpit region and I’m typically hiking up a steep ass hill when such a breaking of the body rank occurs. I don’t like sweat so I’m pro-active. My Ladies Speed stick is my friend and usually all the reinforcement I need. But on Saturday I could have rolled an entire stick of Ladies shower fresh Speed stick over every inch of my body and it wouldn’t have helped. I discovered there’s more to sweating then just traitorous armpits. I discovered the human body is fully capable of sweating in the 1) armpits, 2) elbow pits 3) knee pits 4) arches of feet 5) back of neck 6) finger pits 7) toe pits 8) upper lip 9) between breasts and 10) I will just say, underwear region. Who knew!  

Share photos on twitter with TwitpicNow, we were all hot and bothered enough. Truly. The excitement of the race, the sweating that could not be contained, the euphoric phenomenon of heat stroke. We didn’t think it could get much better or enjoyable then that, but add a boobie show to the mix and we’ve got smart perfection.

You know somethings up at a bicycle race if suddenly everyone is looking up, instead of keeping a close watch on the bikes zinging by. Your eyes follow the pointing of fingers and bam, there they are–Boobs. The only thing that could distract fanatical fans (because only fanatical fans would suffer under 105 temps to watch right?) from watching the bikers fly by.

I did what any heat fried brain under such distraction would do. I whipped out Mizz Blackberry and her 1999 pic quality capabilities and captured the Boobs for memory (proof) sake. (Ok, I twittered it, I could. not. resist.)  I guess if I was a youngin, and hordes of sun crazed souls were melting onto the ground below my city apartment, it might have crossed my mind to flash some breast just so the last thing the sad souls below would remember before they flat-lined in the sun was boobs. In the days, I might have been that person. I’m not saying I was that sort of gal because I admit nothing. Anyway……..

The gal seemed to enjoy her place, up there, watching everyone point, strain their necks and cover little kids eyes. She shifted, she flashed, she twisted and gave us different profiles. All in the name of sporting good fun. Come to think of it, she was probably the smartest of everyone that fine Saturday. She was inside, nice and cool, she stole the show from the bikers and I doubt she broke a single droplet of sweat up there in her ivory tower of flashdome.

A day full of smart, all the way around indeed.

Mental Programming?

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avatar103253_9Provocation Quick Take:

If you innocently type the word  ~~~ Organic~~~ why do peoples eyes haze over and their minds flow like butter down a hot slice of corn into recognizing only the word orgasmic? ? ? ?

I ask because I most innocently sent this tweet on twitter:

#followfriday The ladies that delight ~ @KittenSaysTweet @Rootedinstyle @Tara_R @Sarahndipitea @missheathyrm Guaranteed organic twitterbirds

(the strike through line is to protect the innocent) I meant, by using the word organic, that the ladies were real, non-spamming, actual people.

Evidenced by the orgasmic tweets that came pouring back all atwitter, most people have short circuiting minds.

Sorry ladies, ummmmm, enjoy any new followers you may have attracted. My bad.

Google, We Need to Talk, Second Edition

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google2And now for the second edition of Google, We Need to Talk~

As before, the explanations of what we see:

  • 1) All these stats only show up if the person actually visits my site from their Google search
  • 2) Pink, which is the most important part here, is the exact search terms the person typed in to discover my blog as a potential information source
  • 3) Occasionally, I’ll include the main Google page result to illustrate why Google thought I should be included with the search…….
    4) Lastly, I just may have something to mention or suggest to the Dear wayward Google travelers……….

Caracas, Distrito Federal arrived from google.co.ve on “When did huggable become social grace? « Provocation Of Mine (d)” by searching for Am I a cold person just because I don’t melt my body with someone else’s physical structure.

Dear Caracas ~ Ohh sweet human soul, no, you are not a cold brick of un-yielding flesh just because you don’t contort your body around others. Take heart and take heed,  I have some advice as I have been in training of late. The next time someone comes in to hug you, quickly pretend their body is a swizzlestick you want to lick. Not only will you smile involuntarily, you’re mind will go to a happy place and the entire experience will melt away quickly. Might I suggest peppermint, oh and do not lick the inside of their ear. That would be considered bad hugging behavior! Manners now. R~

Bergen Op Zoom, Noord-Brabant arrived from search.yahoo.com on “Saturday Slumber « Provocation Of Mine (d)” by searching for ballkicking stomping pain.

Dear Bergen Op Zoom ~ Quick, get me a map, where in Gods name is Begen Op Zoom? I seriously like that name location. Someone, “Where do you live?” and I’d smile and say, “You’ll find me in the Zoom zone.” Anyway. Ballkicking. I wouldn’t recommend ever exposing your nuggets to the kickzone of an irate female. Folklore and Urban legends indicate that’s a very, very bad place to go as a male. If you came to my blog because you’d already experienced the ballkicking stomping pain, first, I swear, I didn’t do it. I learned my lesson many years ago. My foot has lost the itch and testing desire to kick any male in the sacred zone. If this had indeed happened, may I suggest visiting a male holistic blog with possible remedies. R ~

Brooklyn, New York arrived from google.com on “Provocation Of Mine (d)” by searching for dont let nuffin provoc u.

Dear Brooklyn ~ That’s right, you tell ‘em. Don’t let no nuffin, –although may I say, if you pronounce nothing as nuffin, you may lose intimidation points based on 1) baby gibberish tone or 2) which is worse, they may whip out a Kleenex and tell you to blow your nose—provoc u! Just take a stand against provoc-tion.

Auckland arrived from google.co.nz on “I am, without Color « Provocation Of Mine (d)” by searching for my eyes are sensitive it’s too bright, even in a darkened room, I’m thinking of wearing more pink this year to make up for my lack of earth tones.

Dear Auckland ~ I kept your Google search for two reasons. First, sympathy, because I get you on the sensitive eyes and the blinding tones of happy colors. Stick with black and white and you’ll remain warm and cozy. Second, I kept your search because it’s SOOOOOOO DAMMNNNNNNNN LONNNNNNNGGGGGGGG. Impressive long. Epic Google search long. As soon as I saw this I raced right over to Google and tried out novel length, random searches. Unfortunately all it got me was porno sites and how to make money on the Internet randomness. You’re so lucky you’re gigantic search brought you to the promised land of Rebecca Anne. Aren’t you the blessed little Google searcher you! R~

London arrived from google.co.uk on “She who goes Walkabout « Provocation Of Mine (d)” by searching for walkabout sex scene. & Woonona, New South Wales arrived from google.com.au on “She who goes Walkabout « Provocation Of Mine (d)” by searching for walkabout sex scene.

Dear London and Woonona ~ So, being that I am American and haven’t visited your side of the pond, I realize based on your searches and several walkabout sex scene visits I’ve recently had……..I am SOOO missing out on something over yonder. So? Whatcha y’all got over there? A whole block dedicated to sex and walking? Is this a health and fitness thing or is it just a street of sex? A walk this way, walk that way and bamm, you get to the sex part? Inquiring minds want to know. ME. Oh the ways my mind can wander in such potential. Today I’m heading to the city hall of Boise Idaho and showing them my google stats for walkabout sex scenes. We could put Idaho on the map of American tourism if we just dedicated a block or so to this endeavor. Google said so. R ~

Caracas, Distrito Federal arrived from bing.com on “Provocation Of Mine (d)” by searching for www.your ass is mine.

Dear Caracas ~ Whoaaa ok, relax, I think I like my ass and no, you may not have it. I understand I mention my ass more then probably necessary on this website which brings in all sorts of ass searches. I’m resigned to this search fact now….. At this point in time I think I need to write up an entire entry just about the noble ASS so that all the ass travelers have an acceptable landing page to focus in on. You know, bulls eye style. I just hate to disappoint and my occasional ass references are hardly worth a visit, I don’t even have a picture of an ass, not mine, but a simple visual reference. I’ll work on that eventually. Until then, all ass visitors, may your searches land softly, squishy or hard as a rock (depending on your preference of course) but thank you for visiting anyway. R~

I should start an advice column. Oh the fun I could have…………

Blackberry virgin to Crackberry whore in under 2 weeks

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Feel The Evolution

Feel The Evolution

I finally did it.

I turned my non-picture taking/receiving, non-keyboard, non-cool status, barely better then a walkie talkie 5 year old phone in and got a Blackberry Curve something or other.

The 20 year old sales clerk was all, and I quote, “Whooaaa, like seriously, according to your account you’ve had that phone for 5 years, we give credits ya know, as in it wouldn’t have cost you anything to upgrade.” ~ Ya, Whatever

Sprint doesn’t have iphones, so I settled for a Blackberry ~ It does have gizmo’s and I’ve only figured out 5 out of 30+ built in applications. I’m sure those other applications have some cool potential, but for now I’m just happy I can:

1) make and receive calls
2) text
3) twitter
4) take a picture and send it
5) Receive emails and painstakingly plink baby keyboard emails

Such advancements in my technological evolution have me feeling like Alexander Graham Bell must have felt when his first telephone connection crackled over the airwaves. I feel like I freakin rock. Sadly, it appears everyone else is already on the cell phone parade so basically I’m the only one truly impressed these days. Evidently, waving around a smartphone doesn’t score any ohhs and ahhs anymore, which is just fine because I ooh and ahh over the new girl enough to give it a complex.

When I first got the phone and was fiddling with it compulsively,  someone who shall remain un-named (cough, husband) asked, “Are you going to turn into one of those people who are on their phone all the time?” to which I responded, “I’m the one who had a 5 year old phone, I hardly think I’m a cell phone junkie. Today I just want to figure out all the bells and whistles, that’s all” Yup, I’m still eating those words……….

I’ve decided getting a smartphone is like introducing a newborn baby into the house. High Maintenance!!! The thing is always beeping and singing and crying for my attention. Beep ~ new email ~ Beep ~ text message ~ Beep ~ picture mail Beep ~ phone call ~ Beep ~ news update ~ Beep ~ come change my diaper all these messages are piling up and I’m getting uncomfortable BEEP

So today, on this early morning, with my Blackberry sleeping peacefully beside me only burping the occasional BEEP out, I’ll admit, I’m hooked. A Crackberry whore, waiting for her next beep hit, addicted. I feel completely aligned with the times and up to date now. My official mainstream integration is complete. Rebecca Anne is a loyal slave Mama to the cell phone influence for which there is no escape. Now I just need to figure out what to do with the jealous Papa…….

Him: “Are you going to be on that blackberry every time we get in the car?”
Me: “It keeps beeping, it needs me!”
Him: BEEP BEEP, goes the car horn-
Me: “Ya, ok, fine,” tucking Miss Blackberry safely back into her pouch, “point heard loud and clear. Geshh”

Mark my history books.
The invasion of the cell phone body snatchers has gotten another, ME ~

Repetitious Behavior

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This could be oh, me, or it could be a stand in with my hat on...

I may, or may not have escaped for the Mountains this last weekend. I might have had a fantastic time and I could have flung a fly line here and there. I possibly felt the dance of a fish or two and I potentially kissed the air of altitudes at 9500 feet.

Those hypothetical possibilities can be left to the imagination because my continued confessions of frequent escapes is getting a bit repetitious and I am feeling reluctant to write about said moments.

So instead I will write that I am a loyal creature of habit. I find a few things I enjoy immensely and typically go at them with tenacity and focus—until I burn out or find a new shiny distraction to zero in on. In some circles my habits could mirror the description of lets say, compulsive obsessive behavior.

This sort of focus applies to the majority of things in my life. For example, I don’t just read a book, I must devour it. I have to be careful when I start a book because I must devote the entire day to it. Reading a book over the course of  two, three, four days is unheard of. My mind would revolt at such a concept. Once I start, it’s a first page to last page race of consumption. Moderation doesn’t come into play, therefore I usually only allow myself the glorious feast of one book per week.

My zero in behavior applies to food as well. Once I find something I actually crave, that’s usually my diet for a week, or two, all the way up to a month or so. Thankfully I’m past my Lucky Charms fascination and currently have moved onto apples. I do have to watch my food focus sometimes. It’s a sad day for my ass when I zoom in on say, raspberry turnovers and eat them merrily until my ass expands by the quantity I’ve chowed down. (This happened once so I switched to yogurt and reversed the expansion)

Sadly, some obsessions turn into all out addictions and for many (many) years, Diet Coke is my beverage of choice. Daily. Bi-Daily. Hourly consumption……lets put it this way, I’ve got enough formaldehyde in my system I’m practically a walking corpse. I’ve taken comfort in the fact that should I ever perish on the side of a mountain, it will take weeks for my body to decompose versus the regular rate of deterioration. By the time some random hunter found my body he would still be able to make out my smile and he will have to pry that last can of Diet Coke out of my cold, well preserved hand.

Some weeks I’m a manic writer, some weeks I’m a fanatical painter. Summers inspire the (dedicated) outdoors lady in me and Winter provokes the (stubborn) hermit in me. No matter what, I’m usually focused in on one thing and that one thing gets 100% of my attention. Repeat 30 times.

I’d like to think the good news, or the positive side to my compulsive attention is the fact I can change on the flip on of a coin and I’m off and running in a new direction, compulsively, but new. Unpredictable behavior is just as delicious to my ever wandering activities as repetitious behavior. Finding the line between obligations and responsibility is the trick and as far as I’m concerned, that is always up for interpretation.