Wake Up Friends, We've Got the Dreamer's Disease

Fun Facts that I'm quite sure less than five people on the planet know about me:

1) When I was in the 1st grade I told my teacher that I wanted to be this:

2) The other night I dreamed that I was a Saudi Arabian woman swimming along a rocky coastline with a yellow-painted face, pitch black skin, and I sang a song where one line was "the pieces of the melody in my head. . . " I recognize that it doesn't at all make sense that a Saudi Arabian woman would be swimming naked along a rocky coastline, or that her face would be painted yellow, but hey, it's my dream.

3) When I was four I did try digging to China under a tree in my front yard. I didn't get nearly as far as this girl

All I accomplished was killing the tree.

4) As far as I'm concerned, Zack Morris is the ideal man. No, I'm really not joking on this one. And no, I don't mean the actor Mark-Paul Gosselaar *swoon*, but Zack Morris, the entirely fictional character.

5) I've always thought Converse shoes are ugly as hell. Worse then Crocs.

What quirky facts do you have floating around?

On that note:

I went to Costco last night with MEH. I was in an overwhelmingly goofy mood yesterday, also. Which means I embarrassed the crap out of him the entire car ride there and did my best to continue said embarrassment throughout our trip to Costco.

(Semi-important side note (really only important since it will help you understand why I don't go to Costco often): I rarely shop at Costco. It's not only because I rarely find it necessary to bulk buy a 12 pound sack of Yukon Gold Potatoes, or, say, a 2 gallon jar of artichoke hearts when it's only myself and MEH living at our house, but because I usually do my grocery shopping on the weekend. And I went to Costco once on a Sunday and felt like I needed blinkers and a cattle prod, not to mention, maybe, a Valium to prevent me from shooting up the whole damn store. I don't care for large groups of people, nor do I care for rambunctious large groups of small children, or big box usually, or the fact that their organic section is minuscule. So, coupled with my distaste for large busy groups of people, the preference to shop on the weekend, and the non-need to buy in bulk, I tend to avoid Costco).

Upon walking in I put on my shiny eyes and said in a voice much akin to a small child in FAO Schwartz: "I'm being bombarded by all the great deals!"

And really, literally, we were. When you don't shop (unless you absolutely must) beyond the confines of the natural food section at Fred Meyer, you forget what stores like this have and at what prices they will just hand them over to you. Queen Pillows for 15 dollars? Rugs for 10?! Collapsible colanders for 15?! I was in bargain heaven. I danced among the strawberries (6 dollars a crate!), cartwheeled by the bananas (1.89 a bunch!), praised the organic meats that are significantly cheaper than Natural Pantry (sorry, guys).

Some 200 dollars later and much good food bought, we ventured home. I happy car danced the whole way, especially when "Benny and the Jets" came on the radio. Go Go, Elton!
Now, even more fun news:

I drilled a hole in my toe last night. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I, Aly, drilled a hole in my left big toe. There is a story here, obviously.

Several months ago, I want to say April-ish, so only a couple months ago, I rolled an office chair

over my left big toe and it hurt. It hurt a lot. But there really isn't a lot I you can do about rolling over your big toe and giving it a huge, gross, blood blister, other than try to let it go away. Or so I thought!

Last night, after being tired of looking at an ugly bloody toe, and also after being tired of explaining a rather uninteresting event, I looked at MEH and said:

"Do you know if there is any way I can get rid of that thing?" I pointed at my toe.

He said:

"Yeah. I can drill a hole in it."

Whoa whoa whoa. Stop right there, sir. You want to drill a hole in my toe?. Ahem. But I have to be honest: I was anticipating this to be his answer and my only option.

"But I'm scared of drills. I don't like that sound."

"It doesn't hurt and it will relieve the pressure. I promise it won't hurt, my grandfather used to do it." (Side note: MEH's grandpa was a farmer for 60+ years. Farmers don't get hurt. Nothing hurts them. So imagine my belief in MEH that this would not hurt based upon his overwhelming attempt to calm me down).

"Uhhhhh. Fine. Go get the drill." Yes, those words really did come out of my mouth.

And sure enough, he came back with a drill, three different drill bits for my choosing, and some rubbing alcohol since, you know, drill bits aren't usually the most sanitary tool to dig down into your toenail. He went slowly, was careful, and didn't make me watch until I told him to stop, it was kind of starting to hurt, and by then he'd broken through enough nail that I could pick out the clot with tweezers.

Yes, I picked out my blood blister clot with tweezers. And eventually drilled more of a hole in my own toe to get at said clot. I probably looked like a wacko. MEH looked at me like a monkey picking my own fleas. But at one point he also said:

"I have to admit that's actually really sexy." Me and my big monkey feet held close to my face with a drill in hand, concentrating hard on not putting a hole through my entire toe.

I now have a holy toe. HA! and a much better story, which is really what it's all about.

I have a theory that there are things in life called "Writer Experiences." These are experiences that you know weren't bad, but you aren't quite sure if they were good, but definitely make a great story. Do you have any great Writer Experiences?

Mantra of the Day: So ham. Translation: I am that. Yes, it's quite simple. I read about it first in the amazing, holy crap life changing book Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert soon to be a Julia Roberts film, coming out in August. Gilbert used the mantra while at an ashram in India. It can also be used in the reverse, of "ham sa," but so ham is more widely practiced. It is a voiceless mantra (meaning you repeat it in your head with your breath). On the inhale, think "so," on the exhale, think "ham" (more like hom). Traditionally it is repeated 108 times, though clearly it can still be of benefit without the rigorous practice. It encourages the dissipation of the ego and an awareness of the divinity of the self. Woo!

Question of Gratitude: Who or what are you grateful for today? I am grateful for MEH. He loves me goofy, gross, gaseous, gabby, and grabby. He's willing to do just about anything I try to drag him through. That includes trekking across 11 miles of terrain with a 75 pound pack on his broken collar bone. It also includes eating vegetables. It really includes everything. And I love him for it all. Even when he does "forget" to wash the dishes for an entire month.

Happy travels, everyone!