On second thought

I may be looking a little more like Mama than I am like Richard.

Seriously. Because I shot this view of the top of my head this afternoon.

Gray - check

Curly - double check

Sassy - triple check

Possibly insane - quadruple check

Heaven help us all. 

It takes a village

Do you see that?

There's a TV in my bedroom. AND IT WORKS!

It's been quite the journey, kids.

Quite. The. Journey.

I won't go into all the harrowing details (you'll just have to trust me when I say this has been an experience, full of all kinds of pitfalls and miraculously lucky breaks). At the end of the day (this very long and not-super-fun day, specifically), I'd just like to do a shout out to the village that brought Downton Abbey to my bedroom.

Thanks,

Jo
Rhonda
Jeff, the Dobson WalMart store manager
Jake, the Chaparell WalMart store manager
Jo (again)
Joshua
Genevra Lynn
Andrew
Christian
Jo (one last time, because she came with her husband)
Dean
Uncle Robert

You all are my favorites!

Thanks for making a reunion with Lady Mary (and her many beaus) possible.

I wouldn't have been able to watch TV from my hospital-bed-like-bed without you! (And, boy, am I glad that I can!)

Oh, the many ways in which the media shapes my life...

Much in the way that watching Gravity last Saturday solidified that I never (EVER) want to go into space, last night's Blacklist has just made me realize that I never (EVER) want to get on a Subway again.

The End.

If ever there was a sign...

I'm pretty sure that I've been watching too much television this week. (Month/Year/For my entire life....)

This is what just happened in my real life. But first... a little back story.

So, last night, I fell asleep on my couch during an episode of Numb3rs. (Sad but true. It happens all the time. I'm so old!) I woke up at about 3:00, turned the TV off and went back and rolled myself into bed.

I woke up this morning at 7:00, and my first thought was, "I wonder if they caught those stinkin' jewel thieves?".

(Also, sad but true. Someone may identify a bit much with whatever she was watching when she fell asleep. ... Let me tell you right now, that when I was binge-watching Smash, I would wake up with not only music running through my brain, but I also had erratic, emotional - upon waking - thoughts regarding both Michael Swift and our pal Derek. I had a serious love/hate relationship with both of them.)

I came out to the living room, intent to finish the episode I half-slept through last night. (In my defense, I did make myself act like a grownup and empty the dishwasher before I was allowed to crash on the couch and watch TV.)

The dishes and my breakfast were both done (yes, I made food - impressive, no?) at about the same point in the episode that I'd crashed last night, so I sat down to enjoy the rest of the show.

Now, so you can picture in your minds exactly HOW ridiculous this was... please allow me to paint a bit of a back story to the episode.

(This is season 5, episode 1, for any of you who want to play along.)

Episode opens with a mountain climber being shot. (We have no idea why, or who shot him.) Dead mountain climber has, like, a 56 carat diamond on his body when he is found. FBI investigates the mysterious death. Finds out there's also a dead diamond dealer. (Not the dude who shot the climber, so don't worry about that.) FBI questions other climbers who knew said dead dude, to see if they knew where dead dude could have found the diamond. One team of climbers makes it their mission to backtrack their dead friend's route, to see if they can find the area the diamond could have come from. Meanwhile, the FBI realizes that a plane went down in the area. (FBI + Charlie, et al, reason that the plane was probably carrying the diamonds, that the climbers came upon the wreckage and pulled the bag full of diamonds out and was walking them back to civilization, when the diamond thieves realized the plane had crashed, someone had taken their raw diamond stash, and that the thieves had then found/killed the climbers.)

I know, I know... if I stopped writing right now, you'd probably be tortured, wondering what happens next. (Welcome to my world. This is where I fell asleep last night!)

Enter what happened this morning:

Whilst the geniuses (by which I mean: Charlie, et al) were back in Pasadena, mapping out the grid to determine exactly where the plane had gone down, Don was hiking through the mountains and came across three big, bad dudes (with guns - big ones) who were holding two climbers hostage. (The team of climbers who had made it their mission to back track their dead friend's route.) The bad dudes thought the new climbers were in cahoots with the dead climbers, and were threatening to kill one of them - to make the survivor spill it. ... Well, of course the climbers didn't know anything about the diamonds. LUCKY FOR THEM, Don was in the bushes with his pistol. He was able to lure out the two with semi-automatic weapons with a tape recorder, and then he knocked out the dumb, big guy and made off with the two hikers. Too bad the dude hiker/climber twisted his ankle and couldn't keep up with Don and the chick, so dude decided to sacrifice himself so he wouldn't slow and Don and the girlie down, saying "They think I know where the diamonds are; they won't kill me."

At the commercial break, it showed the bad dudes beating/torturing the climber dude. I was, understandably, shaken. (I hate blood. I hate it a lot.)

In an effort to calm myself the heck down, I said (yeah, I said this - to myself), "Evans, chill. You don't even know this guy!"

Hello.

That was an excellent reality check. ... I don't actually KNOW any of these people. They aren't even REAL people!

Like I said... if ever there was a sign that maybe I watch too much television, this would be it.

I'm leaving the house today, making sure that I interact with real people. ... Right after I finish this episode of Numb3rs, that is.

Cancer Survivor PTSD

It's a real thing.

At the risk of being judged for my semi-trashy TV-watching habits, I'm going to tell you that I've been chain-watching Parenthood season 4 on Hulu for the last few days. (I know. Roll your eyes at the ridiculousness of my entertainment choices. I won't even care.)

I apologize for the serious spoiler that I'm about to drop on anyone who isn't watching this year, but... Christina has cancer. And it's killing me. (Not her. ... And I doubt that it will. Her character is pretty integral to the show.)

The episode when she went to get her mammogram about made me stop breathing. (And I'm not a breast cancer survivor. But still. I was in full panic mode. Hand over heart, unable to breathe. Hello, panic attack. ... Like I said: Cancer Survivor PTSD. It's a real thing.)

I had to stop watching the show for a couple days to recover from the emotional maelstrom that hit while I watched that episode, but then I thought about it, and I remembered how well they had handled her first visit with her surgeon - the fear, the anticipation, the nervousness, the inability to even know what questions to ask, the camaraderie amongst the women in the waiting room... and I thought to myself, "That's how it really is", so I watched another episode.

And then another.

And then another.

While I've had more than one sad, heartbroken, moment on my couch, watching this fictional character deal with some of what I have lived through, it has been cathartic to see a TV show deal - and deal well - with some of the issues that you can't possibly know unless this has been your life.

They have addressed:

* Well-meaning friends and neighbors saying things like "God only gives you what you can handle". (Which, while I do believe this... it's absolute crap to hear, and it makes you want to scream (bloody freaking murder) at people who hand you platitudes when they find out you're seriously sick.)

* The patient gets to pick their care provider and treatment plan. End of story. (It doesn't matter how much someone loves you. When it comes down to who's going to operate, what treatment option you're going to go with, what life changes you're going to make - only the patient gets a say in what goes.)

* The realization/fear that you may not be around at the same time next year, so you need to seize every milestone and celebrate everything that you can.

* The need to break the rules and eat the forbidden ice cream, just so you can feel like you have some kind of control in what's happening in your life.

* The emotional roller coaster - and odd sense of peace that somehow comes - of finding a balance between being really grateful that it was caught in time, and there's something you can do, against the need to curl up in a ball and cry that, somehow, this is your life.

I'm telling you, they've done a really good job with this subject matter. There are some thoughts and feelings that I believe you can only truly know if you've had to live with the diagnosis, but they've done a good job in giving a pretty realistic view of what it can be like to have to do such a thing.

I've had a lot of strong thoughts and emotions as I've watched this season, some of which I'll list below:

* I'm so glad that I didn't have to do chemo!

* I'm so grateful for the sure knowledge that there's nowhere my mom would rather be than on the cot in my hospital room, and then on the couch in my living room for WEEKS as I recover from surgery.

* I hate the cancer. I hate it so much.

* I have no judgement against medical marijuana anymore. (I also have no patience for people who do judge it. So far, I've been lucky that prescription narcotics have done the job, but if percocet didn't do it for me, I'd find something that did. See above statement that the patient gets to make the call. Leave it alone.)

* While I didn't have to do chemo, I did have to do radiation and it was complete and utter hell. For the most part, those six weeks of my life don't take up a lot of space and time in my head. But every once in a while, something (like watching Christina get sick all over the banister) will remind me and I'll be transported back in time to the first day that I clung to my kitchen sink for dear life as I alternately puked up everything in me and sobbed my heart out.

* I'm so grateful for the time that my family made for me, for the memories I have of my nephews and nieces trying so hard to "be soft" with Aunt Laurie. I'm so grateful for the near-constant interaction I have had with Jo's kids. For a single woman with no children of her own, there are A LOT of children in my life who have prayed for me and loved me through all manner of pain and fear.

* Speaking of fear, I've had a couple conversations in the past few weeks about fear. (There seems to be an erroneous perception out there that I am fearless. ... Clearly, the people who think this have never seen me around grasshoppers and/or spiders.) I have, indeed, known fear. On a cellular level, my body still feels it. Every time I get a call to schedule a scan, my heart starts to race and I go into full panic mode. (Again: Cancer Survivor PTSD. It's a real thing.) But I have also known hope, and joy and faith. I believe that fear can be a good motivator, a good catalyst towards doing what you need to do. You just can't let it rule your life.

That being said, I faced my fear and decided not to be afraid of TV anymore. I won't lie, I was totally afraid for a couple days there. I honestly thought it might be better for me to be friends-off with Parenthood, to save myself the panic attacks and cry-fests. But it has been good ... therapeutic, even ... for me to watch a fictional character fight a good fight. It has reminded me of what was hard, but it has also reminded me of what was awesome.

At the end of the day, I'm more grateful for what has happened than I am fearful or worried about what may be. (Note: This does NOT mean that any "God only gives you what you can handle" comments will be tolerated. Even now, I am not in love with the platitudes. ... I may have given you all the ability to comment, but I kept comment moderation in my own sticky little hands, so don't even try it.)

Cancer Survivor PTSD is a real thing, and I can't always forecast what's going to make my heart race and my chest close in. But one thing I do know - that I have always known - is that I am not alone. There are people who love me. I have a Father in Heaven who also loves me. There are millions of other survivors out there, and I am blessed to call a good dozen or so of them "friend". I may be panicky sometimes, but I am always blessed, and I'm grateful for any and every thing that reminds me of that.

TV and how it touches my life

I've been watching a lot of Alias today. (Netflix is my one true love.) And Sydney Bristow's chiseled jaw blows my freaking mind.




I tell you what, her jaw (as well as the rest of her, let's be honest) borders on not being human.

I've given a lot of thought to how I could accomplish having such a chiseled jaw at some point in my life and I've come to the conclusion that I'd have to a) give up eating potato chips by the bag for pretty much ... well, forever ... as well as b) take up kick boxing or running or some other such madness.

So, I've decided that I should keep BOTH of my chins and stop wondering how in the world Jennifer Garner got her one chin so darn defined.

That being said, I'm pretty sure that there's a pint of ice cream in the freezer that needs to be polished off. (Whilst I watch Syd kick some serious terrorist trash.)

That's all for now. But stay tuned, because when I OD on TV like this, it usually stirs up all kind of drama in my life. (By which I mean: I start imagining all kinds of things, like what I'd do if I were a spy and had to choose between letting my former lover be shot to death or stabbing him not-quite-to-death myself so I could save his life, or what I'd do if I was sharing a pint of ice cream with one Will Tippen and we ended up kissing over the hot fudge.) I tell you what, good dramatic TV (esp spy shows) make my imagination run wild - and that, my friends, could make for some fun posts in the next few days.

Over and out.

The latest

It has come to my attention that when I don't blog on a regular basis, friends and family start to worry.

As in... Is everything okay? How are you feeling? Do you have something exciting going on and don't have time to write? ... Did you meet someone and are dating again?

The answers are: yes, fine, no... just work... and - uh - no. No, I sure didn't.

Here's the thing, folks. I went back to work. 40 hours a week, like a real grown up person again. I'm really trying to focus on the positives (you know, like a full pay check), but these full days are KILLING me. (Mostly because I want to take a nap between 2:00 and 4:00. Sad, but true.)

This weekend I did some fun stuff:

I went to Toby Keith's Bar & Grill and had myself a fried twinkie. (It's true.) They are not as delicious as I thought they would be. I was expecting something a little sweeter, I think. ... My recommendation, if you go to Toby Keith's and are in need of a dessert food, go with the brownie. But first have them warm it up for you. (And yeah, I know which dessert is better because my friend Christian and I ordered one of each so we could have a contrast/comparison dessert tasting experience. You know how much I love to be able to taste and compare foods, right? Well, so does Christian and she's a good enough friend to support me in my need for scientific dessert food research.)

I had sweet potato tater puffs. (Yeah, that was the name on the menu.) They're basically tater tots, but made with sweet instead of regular potatoes, and then they're shaken in cinnamon and sugar when they come out of the fryer. Holy smokes, folks! DELISH! (Better than the deep fried twinkie.) I would go back to Toby's just for the sweet potato tots - no joke.


I treated myself to a bucket of theater popcorn and the monkey movie.



It was FANTASTIC! ... Seriously, it was really very good. (I'm not going to lie, I was pretty much sold on the idea of going to this movie as soon as I realized James Franco was the scientist guy, but after multiple reports from trusted sources (like my mother), I was in.) So good! I was literally on the edge of my seat during the big fight scene. And while I do spend a lot of my time on the edge of my seat, due to not wanting to put undo pressure on my tailbone, this was the kind of "what the heck's gonna happen next?!" front-of-the-seat behavior. It was good. Really good!

I cleaned my bathroom AND my kitchen.

I (gasp) made my bed. (First time I could remember fully making my bed in months. I think I may have made it the morning I went in to have the tailbone procedure done - but I'm not sure. If it wasn't then, it may have been in March. Not even kidding.)

I washed, folded and put away two and a half weeks of laundry. (I know, because I counted the pairs of underwear when I was done. I'm sick like that. I love to know how many days it's been since I've done laundry, and that's always a sure-fire way to know.)

I sure didn't vacuum. (I thought about it, though. I even moved the kitchen chair that's been holding my laptop for 3 weeks from the living room back to the kitchen in preparation of vacuuming, but when push came to shove I decided I'd rather sit than push the vacuum. Surprised? ... No, I didn't think so.)

I went to 3+ hours of church. Yup, I'm counting choir practice and a fireside tonight in my + hours. The way I see it, I just bought myself 2 hours off some church time in the near future. ... I know, I know. I should repent for even thinking such a thing. Maybe tomorrow, because tomorrow's another day. (Look at me, channeling Scarlett O'Hara there. A red flag that I need to repent and change my behavior/thought patterns, to be sure.)

I watched some really bad TV (Netflix doesn't always know what's good for me, and it's a shame that I'm too lazy to get up and turn off the tv sometimes) and some really good TV (I found that Leverage season 4 current episodes stream on TNT's website).

I ate a lot of peaches and blueberries and grapes (but not at the same time, because that does not sound delicious AT ALL!).

And... that's about the gist of my weekend. Super big/fun stuff, right? Family members who'd been worried that my life was all exciting and dramatic and that's what was keeping me off the www need not be alarmed. My life's as mundane - and my carpet's as filthy - as ever.

Stay tuned for a possible cookie comparison taste test coming later this week. (Seriously, I bought Grasshopper cookies for the sole purpose of doing a blind taste test against Thin Mints.) This is the excitement in my life. I'm sure you can hardly wait for me to share the results.

In the meanwhile... I'm off to bed. Why? Because I have to be a responsible person and get up and go to work tomorrow. Welcome back to the reality of Monday morning, Evans. Oh, and welcome back to the boring details of my life, readers. You know I love ya! :-)

My whirlwind week.

I went back to work last Thursday. A week ago. I've been back at work for a week. (Well, kind of. I'm only part-time through the end of the month. Which is a blessing, since I can hardly stand to sit.)

Anyway, I went back to work. And then I proceeded to have one of the busiest weeks of my life. I don't even know how all this stuff came out of the woodwork. I've been swamped, and tired (exhausted, really), but I've also been super happy. It's been a good week.

I'll show you what I did. That'll be fun for everyone, I am sure.

I went and saw this movie:



It was, in a word, brilliant. Seriously, fantastic. (If you haven't read the books, you need to do it now. Because I'm not gonna lie, the book is better. But still, the movie was pretty epic.) Here's a little teaser:



My one complaint was that the Fred thing didn't go down quite right. (C'mon. All I'm asking for is for him to see Percy and to get a good laugh in. That would have added, like, 5 seconds to the film. Is 5 seconds too much to ask? I think not.) Other than missing the Weasely thing by a hair, it was fab. I mean, FAB. I started weeping when McGonagall started the enchantment to protect the school and didn't stop until about 2 days later. (True story. It came up in conversation at Sunday dinner and I started to cry - in a good way - all over again.) One of the most incredible stories of good vs. evil that I've ever read. I'm so sad that it's over, but I'm so glad that the movie was done so well. The ending was exactly perfect.

I weep. (Even now, just remembering.)

The theater was full - I mean, FULL - and people clapped and cheered at all the right parts. It was awesome.

I also saw this movie:



Soooo not a warm & fuzzy, sweet and sappy story about the Mormon pioneers. It was harsh, and it was hard. And that's exactly why I liked it. I liked that they showed that it was hard. It was hard. Really hard. But, with all my heart, I believe that it was worth it. (Also, I want to marry Levi Savage. Too bad I don't look enough like Sandra Bullock.)

I've whipped right through season one of my new favorite show:



Leverage. It's like Ocean's 11 and Burn Notice got married and had 5 criminally-minded con men babies with a Robin Hood complex. I'm in love.

And while I've been waiting for Netflix to send the next Leverage dvd, I've been catching up on one of my all-time favorites:



Sam Axe. I so love him.

One of the best things about the summer of 2010? Surgery took me totally out of commission and before I knew it, I'd missed the first half of Burn Notice Season 4. I opted to not even try to catch up and just buy the dvd's. ... Best. Decision. Ever. Being able to chain-watch 20+ new-to-me episodes of Sam? My version of a good weekend.

I read this book:



And I loved it. So much. So much more than I remember loving it last time. The language is incredible. The imagery is so vivid that the town practically comes to life. The moral lessons (that are taught on so many levels) are life-changing. Ahhhh... Such a good read. If you haven't read it, you must!

And I'm about halfway through this book:



Charles Dickens was the man. I'm so loving this book! (Of course, I'm not allowed to read it at night, because it's a little much for me. But that's ok. I can watch Burn Notice and/or Leverage at night, as they aren't the kind of thing that makes me think about the horrors of being hidden away from the world for 18 years.)

I went to the doctor AND the dentist yesterday on my day off. It was my final follow-up with my surgeon (hopefully, forever). This is how it went down:

The Good Doctor: Do you have your next 90 day scan scheduled? (He cracks me up. Like he thinks I'm ever going to let 90 days go by without being scanned? Hi, I'm the girl who grew a second tumor in less than 100 days. Uh, yeah, I have my next appt scheduled.)

Me: Yup.

Him: *eyebrows raised* (If you've met him, you know this look. It means that he's questioning me. ... I don't know how I know that he's questioning me, mind you, because he has never actually verbally questioned me, but trust me, it was a question.)

Me: My last appt was June 22nd. My next is scheduled for Sept 17th. (Because I am a "bury with proof" communicator, and I felt the need to make sure he knew that I'm taking this 90 day check-up thing seriously.)

Him: Has the oncologist told you what the follow-up will be for the future?

Me: Yup, every 90 days. Forever.

Him: Forever?

Me: That's what I understand. ... Something about how it came back so quickly the first time. They may relax it to every 6 months if I don't have another recurrence in the next 5 years, but for now? ... Every 90 days. Forever.

Him: That's a long time.

Me: I know. (It's the rest of my life in 3 month increments. Seriously - that's a long time.) And it will be expensive. This is why I must always have insurance. ... Or a rich husband. (We've had this talk before, the doctor and I. He knows good and well that the only reason I was willing to go through the abdominal surgery and possible cancer treatments for the second time in 12 months was because I had my own personal fantasy that it was all so I could meet a single oncologist who'd want to take care of me for the rest of my life. ... We all know how that little fantasy played out. Or didn't, rather.)

Him: I know. *smirking*

Me: And you know that I'm not doing a great job of finding a rich husband on my own, so if you could just keep an open eye on the medical community for me, I'd appreciate it.

Him: Sure, sure. (I got half a chuckle out of him. This, btw, is an accomplishment.)

Me: But all you can tell him is that you have this great patient that you think he should meet. You can't tell him that I'm neurotic, or that I make appointments just to come in and ask you questions.

Him: Of course not. *smiling*

Me: Thank you. ... For agreeing to help me find a husband. Oh, and for saving my life. Twice. And for operating on my bum. (Which also saved my life.) And for being a great doctor.

Him: You're welcome.

I love that man. I mean, I love him. If anyone ever needs the name of a surgeon in the greater Phoenix area, you just let me know. I couldn't recommend him or his quirky bedside manner highly enough - and I get compliments all the time (I'm not even kidding) on my scar. (Apparently, he does good work. Every single nurse and/or doctor who's seen my abdominal incision has raved about how clean the lines are.)

So, I've been busy. I've been working, and watching movies and tv shows and doing laundry and eating fudgecicles and getting stuff caught up and put away and taking care of medical and dental needs. I've been a busy little bee, to be sure.

But you want to know what I sure haven't done? You can probably guess.

It's not hard.

I mean, really - it's not a hard guess.

It's basically the easiest guessing game ever played.

Just think of the one thing that we all know that I never, ever do.

That's right. Vacuum. ... Maybe I'll do that next week. (But probably not.)

She's my favorite. (Also, I heart Jim Rockford.)

As any frequent reader of my blog will know, my mom rocks.

I mean it. Seriously, she rocks!

For a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that she's come every single time I've had surgery in the last year (which was a lot of times - three) and has taken care of me (and the shopping, and the driving, and the vacuuming, and the laundry and the dish-washing ... you get the picture) while I'm down for the count.

I love her. Like, totally. (In a different way than how I love Nathan. ... But more.)

Not only is she super nice, but she's fun (and funny), a great little alterer of dresses and skirts and shirts, and we have very much the same taste in entertainment - which makes for a good time. This last time she was here, we watched a lot of classic TV. Our favorite? Hands down, The Rockford Files. Mom's favorite part of the show? The answering machine messages at the beginning of the episode. Per Mom, and I quote, "We should have something like that at church. If we did, no one would be late. ... I sure never wanted to be late to watch The Rockford Files, because I knew I'd miss the answering machine!"

This is for you, Mom. Enjoy! ... Well, enjoy the messages. Don't look at the pictures. They're a little grody, esp the pizza. (These slides were - obviously - not chosen by me.) You know what they should have shown as images for the 3 or so minutes of play time? James Garner, that's what. Over and over again. And then again. (Too bad no one ever asks my opinion before they make and upload a youtube video, right?)



Mom and I had a blast fast-forwarding through the car-chase and/or driving scenes in Rockford, so we could get right back to enjoying the witty dialogue and circa 1974 cars and wardrobe.

Seriously, Rockford's a good time.

Just like Ude. (Well, not just like her. In a different way than her. ... Kind of like how I love her, and how I love Nathan, but differently. You know what I mean.)

Besides watching TV, Mom and I:

altered many pieces of clothing
watched Jane, and The Pie Maker and Dan (amongst other things)
baked to our little hearts' content
ate fudgecicles, Chinese food, raspberries, chocolate cake and fried chicken (listen - I have cravings, severe cravings - don't judge)

Of course, we also went to the doctors a lot of times and she listened to me whine about the gauze in my bum and my broken tooth. So, it's not like it was all a party.

But, in retrospect, it was mostly a party. Why? Because she's my favorite, and when I weigh the hard/bad things against the good ... with her, the good always outweighs the bad. I'm so lucky that she's my mom and my friend. (And that she likes fried chicken and chocolate cake as much as I do.)

Logic, according to me.

Most of you have met my boyfriend, Jane.

I so love Patrick Jane, of The Mentalist fame. I mean, I soooooo love him!

That being said... when I was surfing through my Netflix TV on DVD options and saw an ad for The Guardian, which ran from 2001-2003, you know I had to put it in my queue. Why? Because it's like the younger years with Jane. Also, it's a show about lawyers. And if my recent stint of watching The Good Wife, Season One, in less than a week is any indicator... I have a bit of a fascination with the law right now. (Listen, these people have good vocabularies and like to verbally mix it up and prove their point for a living. For reasons that I can't adequately explain, this fascinates and intrigues me. Not to mention... all the men are in suits and ties, all the time? It's like my own personal version of heaven.)

Anyhoo... The Guardian. It's a good time. I mean, it's not the best written show ever. The character development is all over the map. You love them, then you hate them. It's a little weird, in that there's no clear protagonist, but hey... They're all in suits and ties, and Simon Baker's leading the cast. What's not to love?

But I digress. The purpose of this post was to give you a little insight into the way my scary little brain works. (And, no, I'm not talking about the suit and tie thing. Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I love a man all dressed up.)

So, here's a pic of three of the leading men. Of course, Nick Fallin is front and center (delicious, no?), with his father to the left and his legal aid boss to the right of him.

Behold:



As I was watching an episode last night, there was a pretty intense father/son scene. They were kind of getting into it, and I was thinking "Gosh, they did a good job casting this show. I mean, it's totally believable that Nick is Burton's son!". Why did I think they could be related? I'll show you.

You may recognize, in this this circa 1982 shot, the man who plays Burton Fallin:



Yeah, that's Simon & Simon. Burton was previously known as Rick, the cowboy Simon brother.

Now, the question is why did I think they'd cast The Guardian so well? Because A.J. Simon was a blond. Thus, Nick Fallin being a blond made perfect sense. Like, A.J. Simon and Nick Fallin being blond was some kind of genetic link in Nick being Burton Fallin's (fake, tvland) son. For about 2 minutes, I thought it was pure casting genius to cast an attractive blond man as the son of an aging/balding gentleman who'd had a blond brother back in the 80's.

What the heck?

Yeah, I know. I amaze even myself. (And yes, I actually thought this through for a few minutes before I realized I was being nutty and they're just the cast of a TV show.) Egads. Sometimes, the way my brain works scares me. Other times, I'm just grateful for TV on DVD and I don't give anything other than the power suits and ties a second thought. (Okay, truth be told, that's most of the time. I do heart an expensive suit.)

Okay, enough of that. Disc 1 of Season Two came in the mail this afternoon, and I have something to do other than write blog posts. You know, really important stuff, like dissecting the DNA links in the cast. (I do love me a good science experiment. Heh heh heh.)

This is what I'm saying...

I love Paul Buchman and would totally marry him.



It's true, I would. Even if it does make him uneasy to think about being the first to "start a cheese", I would marry him.

I've been watching the first season of Mad About You on dvd this week. Paul and Jamie make me laugh. They do! I'd always remembered that I'd loved this show, but I'd sort of forgotten why. Now that I'm watching it, it's all coming back to me.

I so want to move to New York and be a high powered PR Exec, so I can meet some random man at a newspaper stand, lie to him about why I need the last copy of the newspaper (I believe the line is "My parents' obituaries are in this paper!") and then drop my dry cleaning slip, so he'd have a way to track me down the next day and ask me to dinner.

I mean, if that cancer doctor fantasy doesn't play out.

Or, of course, the ever popular Nathan Fillion fantasy.

So, that settles it. If neither plan A (cancer doctor) or B (Castle) play out, I'm so going for the moving to NY in search of a Paul Buchman of my very own plan. I don't care how neurotic he is, he makes me laugh. Out loud. (And that's a very important quality in a spouse. ... Says the 36 yr old who's never been married. This just goes to show you how seriously I take these things. I'm not willing to settle for someone who isn't funny.)

But Paul? Paul is funny. For that, I love him. (And this show.)

Me and my rich fantasy life

I have a new schedule at work, which translates into I have new co-workers. (Long story short, they reconfigured some of the shifts - and my old Thurs-Sat shift was changed to a Fri-Sun shift. I now work M-Th. It's a killer, working a 4x10 shift when I was just getting used to a 3x12, but hey... it's still better than all those years I spent working 8 hours a day, 5 days a week.)

But I digress. The point of this post was not to drone on about my new schedule. The point was to tell you a funny work-related story.

So, without further ado...

On my first day on the new shift, we all went around and gave our names. At the end of the circle, this skinny kid said his name was Alex, and I thought to myself, "Hmmmm. Alex is kind cute. In a weird way, he reminds me a little of Pasha. He's younger and skinnier, but he's looking a little familiar to me. How bizarre."

(We all remember my deep and abiding love for Pasha, right?

Fast-forward two days when I see Alex has been copied on an email sent to me, and his last name ends with 'sky'. Uh, hello, people. That's a Russian last name.

Yup, Russian... Just like Pasha.

Eek!

No wonder I thought he looked a little Pasha-like!

I've officially joined the ranks of 30-somethings who have crushes on children. I'm pretty sure Alex is only 22, and I don't even care. (Listen, he reminded me of Pasha in the first place - and then I saw his last name. Oh, my.)

The End.

He's so quotable

I'm not sure which is my favorite line:

"I almost ordered a Russian bride once. You know, a Czech-mate."

"Hiding would be building a fortress out of my comforter and then dowing a fifth of scotch... But, apparently, that's considered unhealthy."

"Hey. I'm a wise-ass, not a jackass."

or

"What, exactly, are you supposed to be?" - "A space cowboy."

Type-cast?

Yes, I'm afraid he may well be.

Here he is, circa 1983, as Dr. Theodore Glaser in an episode of Scarecrow & Mrs. King.

(Yeah, I know. Awesome quality photo, eh? That's because I took a picture of my TV with my cell phone. ... Ridiculous, the levels I will stoop to. But that's how important it is to me to warn the world about this guy. I had to have physical proof to back up my bad guy theory.)

And here he is, circa 2002, as Adelai Niska in an episode of Firefly.

Okay, okay. So after looking at his history on IMDb, maybe Michael Fairman isn't a totally bad guy. I mean, he's played a lot of roles for me to think it's even possible that he's been the arch-nemesis in all of them. But still... he did play one heck of a creepy villain in two of my all-time favorite TV shows, so I'm kinda stuck thinking he's a bad dude.

I'm flashing back to the 70's, something fierce

A few days ago I tweeted in something about my bizarrely Dharma Initiave-esque outfit. I had gotten dressed in my room (where there is no mirror, thankyouvermuch) and walked out and laughed out loud when I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Holy 70's Get-Up, Batman!



Check me out. Yellow/brown/white plaid top, brown corduroy pants, and see that daisy that's pinned to my belt loop? Yeah, that was in my hair. Truly, I was very much a child of the 70's that day. It was pretty hilarious. (So funny, in fact, that I took a picture of my clothes to put on the blog. I'm just that nuts, I guess.)

A few days after my Dharma wannabe outfit, I somehow ended up with Angel hair. (Not the pasta. I'm talking actual Angel hair, as in Charlie's Angels. Specifically Jaclyn Smith aka Kelly.)



As I spent hours (literally, hours) in the bathroom as a preteen, dipping my head and then throwing my head back and tossing my hair, trying to capture "the look", you can imagine how excited I was when I accidentally ended up with Kelly's hairdo on Sunday.

Glory be and hallelujah, my hair FINALLY looked like Kelly's! Who cares if the show started in 1976 and it took me until 2010 to get the look? Not me, that's who.

I soooo have Angel hair now. Watch out world, next thing you know I'll be punching people out like I'm the bionic chickadee.

My boyfriend's back!

Cue the music, folks. My boyfriend's back.



I so love him.

The End.

It's curtains for you. Lacy, gently wafting curtains.

Question: How much do I love Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog?

Answer: So freaking much!

I mean, I'd love it for the fact that Nathan Fillion's one of the main dudes. (We all know that my love for him is unparalleled.) Add to that the witty (I mean witty) lyrics, and Doogie Howser's portrayal of Dr. Horrible, in his quest to get into the Evil League of Evil? Oh, just shoot me in the head right now. I love it!

In fact, here's another fun little clip, just for kicks.



You've gotta love the My Freeze Ray/Laundry Day song, right?

If you haven't seen the whole thing, YouTube it. You must. You can watch it online in 6-10 minute segments. It is, in a word, hilarious.

Jane rocks the 3 piece suit

Here is a true story from my real life.

I went and saw Ironman 2 with some of my favorite people a few days ago and though the whole movie, I had this niggling feeling that something was wrong. It was hard for me to put my finger on it, but after some time (read: after multiple scenes with Hammer in them), it came to me.

Dudes, the 3 piece suit is only a genius wardrobe call when it's Mr. Patrick Jane sporting the look. On anyone else, it is... well... foppish.



The End.

For more true stories from my real life, stay tuned. You never know what my wacky brain's gonna come up with next.

What Dreams May Come

As most of you who know me well can attest, I very rarely dream. Or, rather, I very rarely remember my dreams. I mean... VERY RARELY. Every once in a blue moon, I'll wake up with the tiniest trace of a memory of what I'd dreamt about... but I mean it, really, it's once in a blue moon that I wake up with even a trace. Unless my sleep cycle is thrown off. For some reason, when I'm woken up suddenly, I seem to wake up with more dream memories. Like, when I'm sick (*cough, cough*) and I can't seem to sleep through the night, my dreams come out in droves. Which translates into this last week being like a freak show free-for-all. And for some reason, I'm dreaming in TVLand this week. Get this.

Wednesday night - I kept waking up to cough. Also, because I was freaking myself out with all the gory murder details. Yeah, that's right, murder details. I was on the case with Beckett and Castle of the NYPD. No kidding, I was solving a murder with my friends Kate and Rick. All night long. ... And somehow Mr. Castle never got around to asking me to marry him. (The good news? We totally caught the bad guy.)

Thursday night - More coughing. Also, coughing. Oh, and I got to hang out with Michael Westen and Fi. Fi and I were totally building bombs. I don't remember why, but she was particularly mad at the bad guys and I had to talk her out of killing them. "Fi, just because someone made a bad call doesn't mean we have to shoot him, does it?" It turns out I'm not quite as unforgiving and hardass as I sometimes like to think I am - when push comes to shove, I'll back down from a bullet-fest. Humph.

Friday night - Again with the coughing. But instead of solving murders and/or stopping them... I was giving Gabrielle Soliz (yeah, from Desperate Housewives) a lecture on the importance of locking the windows/doors so people can't just walk into your house when you're not home.

I know, I know. I can't even explain the randomness here.

What do I hope I can dream about tonight? Uh... my new fav TV show and TV BF, The Mentalist.

Have you people seen this show, met this man? I think I'm in love. (And no, I'm not kidding this time. Not kidding one little bit.)

I can't believe I hadn't ever watched this show before now. It's come up at Sunday dinner a few times in the past couple months and I'd been told, all around, by the people who know me best, that I needed to check it out. Well, Jo's birthday was last Sunday and her fabulous husband bought her Season 1 for her special day. She invited me over to break it in on Wednesday, and well... the rest is history. I'm in love.

Speaking of how much I love this show/man... that reminds me of a text convo I had with Mr. Peterson earlier this week. Because I thought of it, because I'm hopped up on decongestants, and because I still have this text chain in my phone... I'm gonna share it with you all. (Lucky duckies.)

Me: Jo and I are watching Season 1 of The Mentalist. It's official, I have a new TV boyfriend. I do love that you knew I'd love this show...

J: Well, I love Van Pelt.

(J and I love to tell each other about our celeb crushes. We're tight like that.)

Me: You can have her. I'm in love with a man named Jane, and I don't care who knows it.

J: Yeah, I figured you would love him.

Me: You know me so well. Smart, semi-manipulative, FABULOUS hair... I have a type.

J: Wow. Sounds like you are describing me.

Me. Like I said, I have a type... ;-)

Uhm, yeah, I have a type. And right now, that type is Simon Baker. Holy hot-freak-a-moly, I love him in this show. ... I sure hope I can conjure up some good TV inspired dreams again tonight. (Preferably, the kind where I don't have to solve a murder, talk Fi down, and/or give Gabi a lecture on safety locks.)

I'm off to beddy-bye now, NyQuil and Kleenex with aloe in hand. Bottoms up, folks!

Good Friend + Good Food + Good TV = Happy Tuesday for Laurie!

So, last night I headed over to my friend Myra's house to watch Lost and eat cupcakes. It was pretty much the best night ever.

Okay, I'm kidding. But not about it being about the best night ever, that part was for real. I was kidding, in that I didn't go there to watch Lost and/or eat cupcakes. I went there because I love Myra, and any excuse to spend time with her is a good one. That she has cable (which, I sadly, do not) and that she'd made THE BEST CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES OF ALL TIME were just nice side benefits. (Not that I'd ever use My for food and/or TV, I'm just saying... nice benefits.) Also, watching Lost with My is infinitely more fun than it is to watch it alone. While I might have some snarky thoughts on my own, I sure wouldn't have said "Hmmm... Sawyer's had Kate up against a fence before" at the end of last night's episode. When Myra said that last night, with one eyebrow raised, I had to laugh out loud. (I mean, head thrown back, gut busting, LOL.) Truly, Tuesdays are more fun for me when I'm at Myra's.

Myra. She's fabulous. One of the best friends I've made since I've moved here, and I'm so glad I've had her in my life. I'll miss her like crazy when her family moves to wherever-it-is-they-end-up-going.

These chocolate cupcakes. They are to die for. I mean, this chocolate sheetcake recipe is pretty fan-freaking-tastic... but turning them into cupcakes really pumps them up a notch. The rich, gooey goodness of sheetcake turned into a cupcake - with this frosting? Oh my holy-thought-I-died-and-went-to-heaven. (You just can't beat chocolate cake so rich and moist that it sticks to your teeth when you take a bit of it.) DELISH!


Lost. It is, simply put, the best TV show of all time. (If you like to try and figure stuff out and/or stare at eye candy ala Sawyer, Dr. Jack, Desmond, and my boy Sayid.) If you haven't ever seen it, you should repent right now and head over to ABC.com. They have all episodes of all seasons for free right now. If you have 3 weeks or so and you don't have anything better to do, definitely check it out. (If you don't have 3 free weeks, I'd advise you not to get started until you do. This show's addicting like none other and I'd hate for you to... you know, miss out on your life, if you got sucked in by the pilot and you couldn't turn away. Yeah, it's that good.)


I love my friends. I love yummy chocolate treats. I love Lost (even though I can't figure it out to save my soul!). I love my life.