Who dreams in color...

Last night In had a dream. I took a picture of my dream for my blog. Sorry I don't always dream in color...

Ask Me a Question....

Ok, I have to admit I’m a self declared Google and research junkie.

I’m the only person I know who actually spends an entire hour playing with Google Earth zooming in and zooming out, mezmorized like an idiot.

I think the bottom line is that I have issues with avoidance. I know I should be writing something or paying bills.

That means I have to either think or cry.

I have wiled away entire afternoons researching brain tumors, DNA strands, why candy canes have red stripes (Jesus blood, honest) the Holocaust, Peruvian pie plates, stocks, electrolysis, relationships, (don’t even bother) the sex lives of Siamese twins, the Chia-Pet, if fish can smell, true crime and reviews on NYC bathrooms.

This research addiction started at the tender age of 6, although my parents just pegged me as dreamy and inattentive, I clearly remember hot summers spent in my “fort” behind the big living-room chair with a fan, paging through the Almanac and encyclopedia.

I was simply fascinated by flags, maps and medical stuff.

I memorized every country flag, bone and muscle that summer while learning about platelets, white blood cells and that skin is the largest organ of the human body. I tried to figure out what an appendix really does, and why we have wisdom teeth. (Never did) I read under my covers (still do) on lakeside docks, in cars, and spinning on my grandmother’s Lazy- Boy for hours devouring Erma Bombeck and Reader Digests series of short stories at age 9.

Later, the entire Nancy Drew series, thirty in one summer vacation over thirty perfectly golden grilled cheese sandwiches. One book every three days to be exact. Later I upgraded to “Harriet the Spy”, which naturally compelled me to start an “all girls spy group.”

Once bored with that, I somehow discovered that if you whip cream long enough it becomes butter. I made butter everyday for a month driving my mother mad.

Researching medical junk can be dangerous. Everything seems like something you, or someone you know, has.

I once “diagnosed” my ex with twenty-two diseases in one year, sending him for several unnecessary doctor appointments where he swore they stuck him with needles the size of Bic pens.

With the co-pays he spent I could have had lipo.

The man came home from sleep apnea clinics with wire leads still stuck in his head, funny glasses from excruciating eye tests which resulted in HUGE alien pupils, a visit to an oral surgeon because for a month I swore he had metallic "foil" breath, a sure sign of Wilson’s Disease.

Next to a neurologist for Turret's’s Syndrome, (he blinked too often) an E.N.T. (sniffing...drove me NUTS!) a nutritionists, where he came home very angry with tiny plastic food for portion comparisons, a food chart poster and vegetable magnets.

Next a diabetes clinic (thought his urine smelled funny), ADD testing, (I was right on this one...has it, totally)....

A shrink until he was shrink-wrapped for "passive-aggressive avoidance and intimacy commitment issues", (did not work...hello) testosterone clinic, (don’t even make me go there) I watched him get a vasectomy in glee clapping like a monkey on a cupcake, peeled him off the ceiling than insisting we go shopping afterwords just to torture him.) Epilepsy (twitched while falling asleep..)

So I should have been in the CIA or FBI.

Ask me a question, go ahead, I dare ya.