As It Should Be

I've been accused on occasion of living in a fantasy world. Yeah? So what?

Ok, I realize it might not seem healthy if, for instance, I come to work and in my mind I'm Xena Warrior Princess and I'm all breast-platey and sword-weilding and, as people approach me in the hallway, I am raising my sword over my head and swinging it 360 degrees and chopping off their heads as they walk by with their morning cup of coffee. But seriously, I don't carry it quite that far. Unless a ducked head and mumbled "good morning, Hasan, how are you?" could be considered head-chopping.

And really, can you see me in a breastplate? If I was wearing a breastplate, it would likely not have geometric romaney swirls on the cups; more likely, there would be wisteria trailing from one cup to the other and ending in a delicate swirl around one nipple. And instead of being made out of pounded metal it would be made from...em, gossamer, spider-spun since this is my fantasy and, in it, spiders are my friends. Not very protective in a "save me from a dagger to the heart" sort of way, but with a yet-to-be-discovered protective power every bit as strong.

And I would hardly carry a broadsword; have you felt my arm muscles?? They aren't of course non-existent, but darned close and I'm fairly certain a sword, broad or not-so-broad, is well beyond my capabilities to hold over my head and swing 360 degrees. There's the very real possibility that I would drop it on my own head and cleave myself in two. And I'm pretty sure the world, fantasy or real, could not handle two of me.

No worries though, my strength is in my legs which are, of course, uncovered in my fantasy, no surprise there, uncovered and unblemished and without a speck of cellulite because cellulite comes from eating potato chips and in my fantasy I eat air and sun and music. And these three combine to make a perfect pair of long, firm well-tanned legs that are capable of outrunning any opponent and thus just as good a weapon as a broadsword. Retreat is not my enemy; it is a well-beloved friend to both me and my opponent even if my opponent doesn't think so.

Of course, there are times when retreat is not a viable alternative; a wily opponent might very well back me up against a rock, a strong arm (much stronger than mine, which isn't saying a whole lot) locked across my wistering-around-the-nipple spider-thin gossamer breastplate (by the way, in my fantasy, the design on my breastplate is very much alive and moving, it grows and blooms and withers and seeds and grows again), sword-arm raised to strike the death blow. In these instances, running won't get me out of the jam, so I will have to employ other life-saving techniques. And since it is my fantasy world, it will be my eyes that save me at this point.

From this close range, my opponent will look into my eyes, noticing that they are not brown at all as first appeared, but rather green with a ring of orange around them. Startled because I am not at all what he thought I was, he will drop his sword-arm, and his hand will move up my gossamer breastplate, and his fingers will trace the curve of my chin and his thumb will caress the fullness of my lower lip and he will lean forward, sword at his side and kiss me with incredible delicacy, then again with power and strength, and we will consider each other symultaneously conquered and victorious, and we'll walk hand-in-hand to a bed made of the softest moss and I will show him just how strong my leg muscles are and he will show me just how broad his sword is.

And the wisteria will bloom in rapid profusion and riotous color on the discarded breastplate, and neither I nor my opponent will take the least heed as this is as it should be.

Caption anyone?

A Dingo Ate My Baby

I'm just putting this out there - Irish Eyes should not be allowed to watch children.

"The Dream:
We (the pool team and birdman) were staying at a hotel/mall/park type of place. Princess Ladybug was there and J was there with her baby girl (who was very cute). J gave me the baby to mind, I went to the bank with her and then on to do other stuff. When I got back to the hotel room I didn’t have the baby!! Yes, I lost J’s baby, left her in the bank..hehe.

So anyway I ran frantically around the hotel/mall/park looking for the baby but no one had seen her, she was only about 6 months old. Then I met up with J & birdman again in the park and J said “I can’t believe you lost a baby” but wasn’t too upset and so I asked if she already had the baby. She laughed (in her evil laugh) and said yes, the bank found the baby and gave it back to her hours ago, even before I got back to the hotel.

I got really, really mad. Everyone was in on the joke except me. So I marched off hopping mad. Then I woke up."

Now, you may be wondering why Irish Eyes having a dream would translate in my mind into "don't let her mind the baby!" Well, it isn't actually the dream - it's this:

"Yes, I lost J’s baby, left her in the bank..hehe. "

Who laughs about losing someone's baby even if it IS a dream??!! And does she not remember what happened the night she lost a CLUE CARD?? If it had been MY dream, I would have woken up in a cold, clammy sweat of fear, and I would NOT have fallen back to sleep until I checked under the bed for a hidden and wrath-filled J.

Ok, so I got to work a little early this a.m. and decided to see what mon petit scientifique was up to. Her stomach appears to be feeling better, and she is gaining new and exciting experience in how efficiently law enforcement agencies function in third-world countries. I believe she is also coming to grips with the reality that, whether or not she pays for it, her wallet and cell phone will not likely be recovered. Keep the thirty bucks, sweetie...

Then, because it was still early and I was already done going through my inbox, I decided to look up camping sites on the internet. And there I was reminded of one of my favorite things to do - kiss.

(For those of you wondering what the connection is between kissing and camping, there is none, I am just that easily sidetracked at times :)

9 Things You Don't Know About Kissing

(Oh, really? First, you have not interviewed ME at ALL, so how do you know that I do not already know these particular nine things? Hm??)

See? Sidetracked...

Ok:
1. There are tons of nerve endings in your lips (100 times more than in your fingertips!) that stimulate desire. That's why smooching before, during, and after sex can be extremely arousing and satisfying.

(but your fingers have plenty of nerve endings as well, so do include them in your kissing foreplay. Before, during and after sex, fingers like to be kissed, sucked and even gently bit. Or so I hear...)

2. Pay attention to those "See ya later" pecks. If your guy routinely only gives you a quick kiss on the cheek when saying good-bye, it could be that he's guarded and doesn't emote easily. If this is a more recent development, it's a warning sign; he may be feeling ambivalent about the relationship.

(I'm not touching this one...)

3. Forty percent of men say that a really long, steamy kiss will get them immediately ready to head to the bedroom. (Thirty percent said that grabbing their crotch will do it. Duh.)

(Seriously? ONLY FORTY PERCENT???)

4. Instantly turn up the kissing intimacy by closing the "A-frame": a smooching stance in which you and your guy are in the middle of a smooch but your hips are a mile apart. By pressing your hips together, the degree of desire quickly rises.

(Ok, this one is true, but I'd kinda like to try the A-frame once...just to see how incredible awkward it must feel...)

5. The best way to kiss a guy's ear? Kiss and suck on his earlobe for a moment and then trace the outline of his ear with the tip of your tongue. (Bonus points if you whisper something naughty to him.)

(excuse me, I need to take a moment to cool down, I sometimes have WAY too vivid an imagination and I just combined 4 and 5 to rather amazing results...)

6. Men initiate open-mouth kissing to transfer libido-boosting testosterone to their partner. So when he's getting a little more aggressive, it's not just about his desire — he wants you to be a bit more amorous too.

(Oh, well would you look at that! There IS one I didn't know...)

7. Men are more than twice as likely to sleep with a bad kisser than are women.

(NO FREAKIN' DUH...)

8. Fifty-four percent of women between the ages of 18 and 24 say they've kissed another girl. That number drops to 43 percent for those between 25 and 34.

(And what? The statistic for women 35 through 55 is of no interest???)

9. During the Middle Ages, people signed legal contracts by making an "X" on the document and then kissing it to pledge their honor. That's how XX became shorthand for a smooch.

(Did you REALLY just waste your final point on kissing talking about the origins of the XX? Sheesh...)

9 Things A Woodnymph Does To Heighten The Enjoyment of Kissing:

1. (Ok, yeah, no, I've decided NOT to go down that road at this moment - I may not be seeing monkeyboy for a day or two and I cannot possibly think about kissing without wanting to...well...5, 4, 1 and 3 him...)

Gov. Chris Gregoire ordered flags at state agencies lowered to half-staff Friday for an Aberdeen soldier killed in Afghanistan. Microsoft ordered all flags on Redmond campuses lowered for same. 20-year-old Pfc. Aaron Fairbairn, was killed on the Fourth of July when insurgents attacked a combat outpost in an explosives-filled truck. He'd spoken with his father just 12 hours prior; his family was relieved to hear he was not the soldier taken hostage a few days previous...

Said Fairbairn's father, "If there's any day when you're going to make that kind of sacrifice ... I realize Aaron's just one guy coming home not sitting in a seat. Lots of other guys have made that same sacrifice." This statement breaks my heart, that a father who has just lost a son can still be so generous as to look at the bigger picture and mourn the national loss; I know my heart would be too consumed with the personal loss to give a flying rat's ass about the collective whole.

We were sitting around the campfire on the Fourth of July, commenting on how American it was to celebrate a war-torn moment in history with no consideration for the aspects of that war or any other war; we're focused on what beach is best to view the fireworks from...like we can't see the giant golden weeping willows from a campsite 5 miles away. Say Fourth of July to us and we start packing the hot dogs and pickle relish, send Jack to the store for more beer, and even take down the doggie tranks we only use for this very special occasion. To Americans, the fourth is all about who has the bigger fireworks display and could we please not charbroil the hotdogs this year?

We use words like "insurgent" and "suicide bomber" to ensure we do not feel any sympathy for the young man whose belief system led him to drive that truck through the gates of a U.S. military base. Our heartstrings are tugged because this young man was from Aberdeen, because this happened on Independence Day.

War is brutal and ugly and it doesn't give a shit about national holidays. War is death for both sides, a gut-wrenching, heart-breaking pain that lasts longer than any parent or child should have to endure. War is NOT a weeping willow of sparkling golden lights high up in an indigo sky. And I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that, if we could remember the ugliness of war on The Fourth rather than the firework that bursts in the shape of a 3D box, we might find a cure for this deadly disease.

To 20-year-old Pfc. Aaron Fairbairn, may you find peace that passes our understanding on the other side.

To his parents and siblings and friends...