True Confessions, Part IV
day 61

The Perfect Bowl for Ice Cream by OC Pottery. Buy on Etsy 
where Handmade Artists Rule! 

14.)   If I could get away with eating ice cream every day, I would. Cones, sundaes, milkshakes, you name it, I'd do it. And not that hideous slow churn ice cream we now consume in my household, not that I'm Getting Older and Dragging the Metabolism of a Chia Pet Around Ice Cream. Nope. I'm thinking vintage Haagen Daz Swiss Vanilla Chocolate Almond and Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia. Ice cream that uses 22 egg yolks and five pound bags of sugar. Heart attack ice cream, that kind of ice cream.


15.) I love my cat, but rabid animal people make me nuts. When a person looks me dead in the face, pulls out a photo and says, "Ohhh now that you showed me your babies, let me show you mine," and hands over a photo of a snarling Rotweiler named Killer. I want to say, "Look lady. (because, it's never a man) You own a dog. Okay? It's not going to croon a tune, write a mortgage check, or drive to the 7 -11 in the middle of the night for emergency Slurpees and tampons. It can't operate a John Deere lawn mower, make you a martini, or stroll through the halls of NIH wearing a lab coat while doing research for a cancer cure. It's a dog. And for god's sake, stick that photo back in your purse!"


16.) I have never seen Gone with the Wind. I have seen snippets, and heard people reenacting the more notorious lines. Somehow, that has always been enough for me.


17.) I wish I lived in a 200 year old house with secret passages and a bespectacled butler named Alfred. His birth name would be Alfred, but I would call him Jeeves. He would constantly be bringing around the car just because I'd like saying, "Jeeves bring the car around."


Goodnight,
Wanda

Copyright Wanda Fleming, 2011

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day 36
True Confessions: Part Three
... Turn Left at the Crispy Creme...& Shoot Me Now, I'm 99!...


12.   I cannot give you directions, unless you are coming by METRO, pony or foot.
Okay boys and girls. Let's ask Wanda for directions. Maybe not. After decades, I'm coming clean. I do not have a reliable sense of direction. I am sure that part of this is because I do not drive, and actual driving seems to impart magical directional skills, even to those scary half-assed drivers who have multiple accidents over their lifetimes. 

Esty Artist's Cherry Apron

So please, kindly use your Tom Tom, Garmin or Baby Jesus North Star when coming to visit me, and I will happily await your arrival on the porch --in my cherry gingham apron --in high heels. Or simply be prepared for the following conversation:


YOU: "Wanda, could you give me directions to your house from the train station?"


ME:  "Sure!" (with an odd blend of sheepishness and completely unjustified enthusiasm). "Where are you coming from again?" (insert suspicious long pause) 


ME AGAIN:  "Okay! Okay...hmmm, so, drive 5 blocks straight and then turn right at the Dunkin Donuts--Not the one with the giant confetti frosted donut but the next Dunkin Donut on the far left across the highway, the one with this sort of egg and cheese croissant billboard. Yeah that one. Then make a semi-circle left turn. You'll see what I mean because it will genuinely feel more like this weird misshapen parallelogram than a semi-circle..."


I will actually say words like "genuinely" and "parallelogram." I will actually use the Dunkin Donuts or the VFW Hall with the enormous flag flying in front of it as vital landmarks. You'll arrive two hours late to my house. But I will have already baked a triple apple pie to apologize. Oy.


13.   I'm 100. Stop Making a Bloody Party Out of It.

Etsy Artist Humor Birthday

When Willard Scott does that Smucker's Jam Happy 100th Birthday to Ethel Rinaldi in Scottsdale Arizona feature on the Today show, it paralyzes me. I mean please stop saying, "Now, isn't he a dapper fellow??!! Isn't she a spring flower?!!"  Because, no they are not. Stop saying he's 100 years young. Stop saying, "You're as young as you feel because --well--you're not --and you don't!


Okay. Do I want to live to be 100? Honestly? No. There are days already when I awake with my bluebird chipper self, and I think what the hell is going on here? My body feels like I went to a costume party. I wore an ill-fitting Chinese imported, wire jabbing "Genuine French Maid Corset", drank too much and had a government issued hurricane sandbag flung countless times at my head, back and legs. That's after a boring evening of showering, watching the 11:00 news and resting my head against a satin pillow. So, I'm thinking, maybe keep the 100, that jam too. :-)


xxxooo
Wanda
Catching up? See Confessions: Part One here and Part Two.