Tag Archives: Rebecca Garlock

Better Believe It

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Well Helllooooo Darlings, how’s it going? Whats up? Are we shakin and shimmerin? Does everyone have life by the balls, you know, the balls that we prefer rolling smoothly downhill and not being pushed up thee hypothetical hill? I do hope so. I’m of reliable authority on the matter of life balls (repeat:life) and can say, pushing them up a hill is rather tedious.

Over the last week or so, a few individuals have waved their magical wands and bestowed upon me various mentions and awards. Now, I know I’m notoriously bad, awful, most certainly lacking and downright borderline anti-social in the blogging world. (Fault admission by definition is the level of truth one willingly puts forth, not to be confused with excuses) However despite my social deficits, I do take notice, most certainly appreciate and always feel grateful for such mentions.

So without further tongue tripping, I’d like to publicly thank:

friendsDrey of Dreys Library for picking me out of her huge fan base for the “Lets be Friends award” Thank you!! I read the definition of this award and felt most humbled. Thank you for the smiles~

If you are a book lover, a giveaway seeker and enjoy reading reviews and insight to new books on the market this blog is for you. I for one have WON, as in chi-ching-winner-winner-winner, books from her site and was beyond delighted. Go check it out and may the book force be with you~

honest-scrapIndigo Roth from the illustrious Indigo Wrath Blog chased me down and pinned the Honest Scrap award on my forehead. When I realized what he had done I tried to come up with a quick lie that could get me out of it, but telling him I was really an Internet robot programmed to write occasional random and irrelevant words of subliminal messages didn’t seem believable, I figured I would accept. Thank you~

Indigo Roth has one good ear and an entertaining blog with some rather witty and interesting commentary. I suggest checking it out. Oh, and since I’m the honest soul let me remind the world~ Snicker Bars and Diet Coke are like, totally healthy~

superior scribbler awardDebra, Debra, Debra of Debra l Schubert sent my direction the Superior Scribbler Award. I take this as quite the compliment considering Debra is a real live, real deal, as in writes books, hobnobs with agents, goes to book conferences sort of writer.

In fact, I’d bet my favorite pen that Debra even has writers stench which I happen to think is a very admirable trait and I completely aim to emulate. In my humble opinion there’s nothing more divine than the aroma of a day full of writing.

Go visit her site, it’s always rockin good fun ~ Thank you Debra and ehhh, don’t take that writers stench the wrong way, it’s snort-able in the best of ways.  

So do I get a tiara with any of those? Or maybe a sparkly staff I can swing from the rock I’ve squatted on perhaps? Creepy, why is it when I typed those words a menacing voice spoke up in my mind and rumbled, “No sparkles for you, evahhh, rule breaker!”

 There’s a lot of rules, guidelines, terms and conditions that I’m pretending never existed with those above awards. Soo… I have a doctors note? I know, I’ve got me an internal defense system that revolts at reading instructions? My computer imploded when it realized I was trying to follow the proper steps? I got kicked off the cheer leading squad for doing an unauthorized back flip which has traumatized me for life in the rules department ? No? None of those excuses work? Ok, fine, back to the truth zone of personal admission. I suck.

Psstt….Snicker Bars and Diet Coke are the lifeline of humanity ~

Honorary “guy” Status

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Combat Salmon Fishing

Combat Salmon Fishing

In the Great Outdoors, when it comes to either fishing or hunting, participating woman are the minority.  Meaning, for every 10 or 20 guys, you might discover one lady tucked into the group giving the activity a whirl.

In my experience, usually that one lady is there by conversion effort rather then true individual desire. Meaning, a guy started dating a lady that had never fished or hunted and he told her that’s what he was into….. in turn she automatically gushed, “OH, I love the outdoors.” Translation “OH, if you love the outdoors, I’ll learn to love fishing or hunting, at least until we are married anyway.” ~~For the record, loving the outdoors and loving fishing/hunting are two different balls of wax, I’m just saying ~~I liken the conversion ladies to—-Eventual Weekend Fishing and Hunting Watchers & Widows.

Conversion ladies gets the full treatment. The men will put in an impressive effort to take care of these gals, tying bait, fixing snags, carrying a backpack etc….. Guys become quite the gentleman in a zone where typically they can relax and flex their manly instincts. Bless their little hearts, these guys want desperately for their ladies to love what they love……….

And then there are a few of us gals participating in the rougher side of the outdoor league that are there, not to impress a guy, but because we want to be there. I’ll call us few, The True Bloods. A True Blood will go fishing all by her lonesome self without the need of a male babysitter and love every second of it.

Jack Salmon

My Bambino Jack Salmon

I’ve noticed, we True Bloods get treated differently out there in the testosterone zone. Once the guys realize we can handle our own equipment, that we aren’t there by association and we are just as competitive and focused as they are, we earn “honorary guy status”…….all the veils fade and the censor chips are tossed into a deep crevice.

When guys absorb that I’m not going to go all hormonal on them, they will first let the cuss words fly. Oh lordy these guys can cuss when they get going. Sometimes I think there should be a new cussing credential that soars past typical trucker cussing. If I say, “Dude, you cuss like a salmon fisherman” that means you could roll grandpa, twice, in his grave with profanity. I never flinch when the profanity flies. All part of the experience in acceptance.

Once a gal has passed the profanity test, nothing seems to be off limits in this honorary status. Guys jump straight to scratching their balls at random and spitting off the river bank without shame in front of a True Blood. In my experience complete acceptance is when the guys seem to forget I have ovaries and pee at random near me. I can’t write how many times I’ve glanced over from a campfire or riverbank and witnessed a guy water painting circles in the dirt. Now if I could just figure out how to pee in front of the guys without exposing my ass to the world, all would be equal and balanced.

I understand some may translate all that I’ve written as crude behavior on guys part, but for me, I see it as a time when everyone can let loose, forget the constrains of city life, pressure, expectation and presumptions. In the rougher outdoors, there is a different set of rules everyone abides by, an honor code and that code has nothing to do with Emily Posts etiquette book.

Pack it Up and Move it Out

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lugszIt would be embarrassing to admit how many hours I spent packing up for this trip. I would like to claim I was organized and efficient. That truly, I thought out every piece and item, only packing based on significance and true need. I’d love to claim I was a harsh critic and spared no personal effects feeling…. what gets to go and what has to stay. Wish I could, but…… 

At one point last night Robert walked out into the living room where I was stacking and arranging, piling, sifting and stuffing. He stopped short to gaze upon the entire bounty of suitcases and handbags, and carefully stacked “needs” and I believe his mumble was, “Jesus Rebecca, we’ll only be gone for 7 days, we don’t need to take everything in the house!”

Back off buddy ~ Oh yes we do!

I’m a pack whore. There, I admitted it. Hundred bucks for a 5 minute stuff job…I stuff real good….

I need it all. I want everything and that potentially includes the kitchen sink. Not that I plan on washing a single dish while I am away, but just in case my hand brushed across something nasty and I would need instant hand washing abilities. Those who are prepared need not worry about unexpected nastiness. Just saying…..

I need my things like I need the air around me. If I’m missing a certain notebook while we are away, my mind will instantly crave it and all writing will feel lackluster and irrelevant because I’d be forced to write in the wrong notebook. If I leave one shirt, then inevitably, that’s the one I’ll want to wear for an evening and everything else I try on will look like shit. It’s so aggravating to be 500 miles from my house and realize, damn, I soooo need that one thing. Why didn’t I pack it! So it’s just safer to pack anything that’s not firmly attached to the house. Now, if I could just figure out how to smuggle one cat and my golden retriever into the car I’d be a happy camper~

This admission either makes me compulsive obsessive, or it simply demonstrates the females natural tendency to gather what is hers, relocate and begin nesting. In my case, I’ll be nesting in a suite in Reno, Nevada. It took 4 hours strategically gathering what was blessed enough to come on the trip. 30 minutes watching Robert try to stuff it all into the car, and once we get there, a mere 15 minutes to nest up my new home away from home, candles included. Yes, candles are just as important to pack as say, underwear. Pack whoring is about meeting the needs of all the senses and body parts~

I know I’m not the only pack glutton who grabs everything not bolted down…..right my gathering lady friends?

Ok, that’s it. Time to hit the road. Let the passenger seat driving begin (Robert loves my instructions, ha) , the battle for the stereo commence (I’ve already hid a few of his worst CD’s) and may I make it out the door of this house without the need to run back inside 10 times to make sure I didn’t forget something~

iLust Blackmerry on the Smart Rocks

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~Now that I have stepped up my technology stock with the mini-me laptop I was sure this occasion would float me for awhile on an electronic cloud of coolness. I’ve been strutting around the house with my babytop riding solo in my palm, just to make sure everyone noticed that Miss Lovely was my new favorite toy.

So yes, maybe I was shoving it under the noses of my children suggesting they take a sniff of it. Perhaps I was giving permission for them to touch it with a single finger if they wanted a zing of specialness. I might have taunted them with, look, but ya can’t touch teasing, when bam, these high tech kids and all their tech savvy righteousness did a big old smack down on Moms new found glory.

One of them and once again I shall not call the guilty party out by name, said this dart throwing, balloon popping, tech deflating sentence.

Teen: “Seriously, Mom, now that you have a mini-laptop, don’t you think it’s about time you got a phone that isn’t a total embarrassment to the entire race of cell phones?”

Me:” Whats wrong with my cell phone? It rings, I answer it, I talk, I hang up.I can even text on the damn thing!”

Teen: “Ahh, it doesn’t take pictures, it doesn’t go online, it doesn’t play music, it isn’t even pretty. It’s OLD FASHIONED. As for your texting, it takes you 5 minutes to text back on those number keys. Your slow as a snail because you don’t have a keyboard. Come on Mom, on your birthday 3 people sent you picture texts and you asked me how to ‘see’ them. You couldn’t because your phone and your service really sucks. Mom, it’s time to grow up and get with the times, seriously!”

My Next Phone, Cool Eh?

My Next Phone, Cool Eh?

Well bite my phones ass with a good dose of youthful perspective why don’t ya~  

Evidently, I’m still a loser. A mini-laptop might have given me a few inches on the tech ladder, but I’m still a mile behind everyone. It might be time to up my game.

This uncool status isn’t sitting well with me. However, I am afraid that if I upgrade I’ll get hooked on the high of advanced capabilities and then I’ll become a text whore, and an email junkie who dives for her phone anytime it beeps like this man wrote about…..Paul and his entry, Why Can’t I shut Up?  (by the way, if you’re not reading this blog, you are risking uncool status. Not uncool like I am phone tech uncool because I’m told that’s the bottom of the barrel in uncoolness, but blog uncool because his blog is cool and don’t we all want to follow the coolness of a blog on dry ice? Paul, you can pay me my cut later, via paypal, for that pimp job)

Now that I have mini-metop, maybe it is time to go phone global. I’ve been avoiding the phone upgrade for some time now, but how conflicting will it look if I whip my minitop out of my purse and dazzle the people around me. I can imagine the oohhs and ahhs filled with jealousy and admiration, but then my phone would ring and I’d pull it out just to be suddenly surrounded by a round of snickers, laughter and pointing. Not good. Not good at all. Sigh, a new phone…..if I succumb, I could crown myself  Queen of the Tech hill for at least a good week or two until the next latest and greatest tech toy comes out and makes me all antique once again~

Oh La La, I’m feeling it. The clarity of a non-drugged mind. It took me less the 10 minutes to type this and I felt honest to goodness enjoyment in doing so. Folks, I think I’m back. Yay Me…….ehh, lucky you (grin)

Saturday Slumber

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Sweet Sleeping Bandon~ My Inspiration For the Day

Sweet Sleeping Bandon~ My Inspiration For the Day

Today is all about Saturday Rest.

After yesterdays particularly brutal afternoon, evening and late night, I’ve decided today is about pajamas, text messaging my family from the bed (as good as a bell) and hopeful sleep.

Why did no one mention to me that once the novacaine wore off yesterday I would beg for a quick death? Huh? Whats the deal? Was everyone holding out on me or what?

It was shocking. I’ve never had a tooth extraction like I did yesterday. Usually it’s… fill a diet coke caused cavity and milkshakes afterwards. But this back molar, broken and sad, had to go………I thought Friday would be my day of grace, of sweet mercy. Hell No. Issues I’d never heard before came stomping into my afternoon. Lack of blood clots and dry socket. Score one for the phobia column.

So instead of sweet grace and mercy, I was biting down on tea bags and gulping more then the recommended dosage of painkillers. Robert eventually swiped my pain pill bottle from the side of my bed and had Kaitlyn hide the bottle from me. My frantic and desperate plea’s every 10 minutes insisting it was TIME FOR ANOTHER PILL fell on deaf ears. The traitors. I was reduced to sobbing that any family or friend of mine would smother me with a pillow and consider themselves a hero. It was, truly, that bad…….tears bad and I don’t do tears.

Now, I know I’ve been whining about this tooth thing for a week now. I swear, this is it. Last time. I do feel better today, beyond tired, but better. So, I’m taking a clue from my dog. I’m going to lay my head on thy pillow, squeeze my eye’s shut, and pretend this last week never, ever, happened.

So how was you week?

And yes, the dentist was in full on dental camo. Sneaky little bugger wasn’t he…….