Well, it being February 29th and all, I'd bet that today is going to be pretty magical. I try to approach most days like that, even though I am an eternal pessimist, but today will be magical, for sure.


How do I know? Well, you see, I think one of my parents told me something about magic happening on Leap Day when I was a kid. I'd call them and ask what it was, exactly, but they never remember the crap they told me when I was little. I say "crap," because that's what most of it was. I tried to kiss my elbow to see if I'd really turn into a boy until I was 10. I thought I'd grow up to be a fairy princess until, well, I'm still working on that one. Also, Sleeping Beauty? That happened. For real. Don't believe me? I've got the book and it has pictures, my friend.


So today will be magical. I'm pretty sure I remember that it's a ladies' choice day, so if you want to ask someone out on a date, do it today. The person pretty much has to say yes. It's the rule, and if they don't believe you when you tell them that, just show them this page. It's on the internet, so you know it's official. I think I remember something about Leap Year not being good for sheep, as well, so keep that in mind.


Back to the magic, though. I don't know if the magic is specific, like that everyone will get a wish today, but that's what I'm aiming for. I'm going to wish all day for the same thing and see if it happens. I won't say what I'm wishing for, because then for sure it won't happen, but my neighbors better watch out, because there's going to be a lot more noise and flying going on in my backyard. 


I notice that Disney is doing a special 24-hour opening for Leap Day, as well. That does not sound very magical to me. It sounds like, round about 3 a.m., there will be a lot of very grumpy pirates manning the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, and a lot of screaming babies, and a lot of drunk 21-year-olds. Yay. I want to go to THAT. I think Disney is losing sight of what's really magical, like sending me free tickets to go there, or maybe giving me free cotton candy and McDonald's fries when I'm there, or even buying me a hot tub. Don't those things say, "Magic!" to you? I know, I'm way better at this kind of stuff than they are. I think it's probably because, as a child, I was convinced that I was really a fairy princess that was brought to live with my family as a baby so that I could claim my magical powers and Pegasus when I figured out the secret.


I haven't figured out the secret yet, but when I do, it's going to be fantastic. I can go for rides on Pegasus and we'll go to the rainbow and see the leprechauns and then maybe stop for ice cream. You know, whatever we feel like. We won't be on a schedule.


No, I am not on drugs. It's the magicness of the day.


Don't forget to make a wish.

My husband got me up at the usual time this morning, and I've never been so glad to see him. I was in the middle of a nightmare about arriving for an audition, only to find that not only did I not have any music with me, but the people hearing the auditions were old friends of mine who had decided they didn't like me anymore because I'd moved away. While I was standing in line, after noticing on the signup sheet that I was the last of the 53 people they'd be listening to that day, little kids kept coming up and asking me if my sister was Adam. The line of people who were waiting to sing was on a conveyor belt that was moving right in-between the people who were singing and the judging panel, and the person right before me was this lady who was in a wheelchair and singing like Ethel Merman. Her legs were uncovered and her feet were rotting off, and no one seemed to notice but me.


Ew. One of those dreams where you're so stressed out in the dream that you feel tired right away when you wake up. I think I'd prefer a dream that was scarier, but with less detail. That way, I wouldn't be carrying the picture of that lady's feet around in my brain.


Ick.

This year, I'm trying to do some new things. I'm not a spontaneous person, and I've decided that it would be good for me to get out there and take part in some new activities. Not only does it broaden my horizons, but it has entertainment value for people who get to watch, so it's like I'm also performing a public service. Go me.


This weekend, my husband and I were working on some house repairs and I got to learn how to use a battery-operated circular saw and a reciprocating saw. What I found amusing is that the guy asked me if I'd used power tools before, and I said, "Oh, yeah. Lots of times." (I have. I've used screwdrivers and drills and even a nail gun once, a long time ago, and never again, but I've never used a small finger-removal machine. That's what I call power saws.) So the guy just hands me this circular saw and leaves me to it. Is that a good idea? Really? Do I look like the sort of person who should be handling dangerous machinery? In case you don't know what I look like, the answer to that is definitely "no." 


I sat there for a while, trying to get it to turn on, and trying to figure out how it was supposed to cut through anything with that shield over the blade part. After about 20 minutes, I figured that part out. So I get it to start working, and the battery promptly dies. Had to go find another battery. Got that done, then I'm cutting, and....just, holy cow. You really have to hold on to those things or they'll get away from you.


I then go outside to see if I can find a piece of board that's around the right size for my project. Alas, there is none. This is when I learn to use the reciprocating saw. Again, whoa. Those things are even stronger than the battery-powered one I was using, and this one has a tricky button that keeps the saw on. I don't know how I managed to escape that day injury-free, but I did. I was so proud, I almost felt like dancing, but that has a 90% likelihood of causing great bodily harm to myself and others around me, so I didn't.


I decided that maybe that kind of heavy home improvement is not for me. Too many opportunities to lose a limb or an eye.


Last night, I went to yoga with my Dad. I started a Facebook harassment campaign about a month ago to get him to go with me. I wanted to try it with someone who'd laugh almost as much as I do about the possibility of someone farting. I took a Pilates class in college, and there was definitely some audible flatulence going on, pretty much every day, so I figured yoga would be similar. It didn't disappoint.


Actually, it went really well. My Dad and I were representing in the way back, which is how we roll, and we couldn't hear the instructor too clearly at all times, but there was a very intense yoga lady in front of us, so we just watched her and tried to copy. My Dad only got his legs backwards once, and had to kind of sit that out, because his legs wouldn't go the right way, and I had to modify everything a little because, well, I'm fat, and my body doesn't go that way.


The farting? Yeah, it was going on, except most of the time it was silent, so I thought it was my Dad and he thought it was me, and there were only a few little pops that I heard and he didn't, which I knew wasn't him, because they were totally girl farts. Men embrace their gassiness and just let it happen. Ladies try to do it as quickly and quietly as possible (I realize I am making a sweeping generalization, and that many women embrace their gas, too, but you could tell these yoga ladies weren't that kind of woman).


So I'm giggling, and then the man says, "I'm so thankful for this nice facility:  The nice carpet, the fans, the bathrooms..." I almost lost it, and THEN something with a more techno-ish beat comes on, and he says, "Move your body to the beat, if you want to." I turn to my Dad to say, "No, I do not," and then I realize I've been holding in the giggles for so long that if I say anything, it's going to come out way too loudly and everyone will hear. So I tried to say it, but pretty much failed and had to lay my head on the mat for a minute and just laugh.


It was ridiculous. It was also the most fun activity I've tried this year, and I've tried some really fun things, like the bagel-baking (lots of good new recipes, in general) and having a game night at my parents' house (Yes, I hang out with my parents all the time. They're fun.) and making some new crafts, like a hand-crocheted bowl and a baby blanket. So I guess that, so far, yoga with my Dad wins the fun award.


Until I'm the one who farts out loud in class, and I die of embarrassment. There will not be a blog post about that one.

I have a special gift.

There, I said it. I know that I'm ridiculously gifted, sort of in the way that Derek Zoolander is ridiculously good-looking, but this is a special gift to which I am referring, not just an ordinary one.

I make HamsterCats pee. On any surface.

My Mother has a dog. The dog has another name, but the moment I met her, her little doggie spirit whispered to me, "My name isn't Ellie.....my name is HamsterCat." Well, that and the fact that she looks like what would happen if a hamster and a cat had a baby.

Whenever I go to my parents' house, I say, "Haaaaammmmstteeeeeeerrrrrrrr!!!!!!!" really loudly. This lets her know that I'm there. It also serves as a reminder to me to look and see if anyone is sitting in my parents' living room, because when I do this and someone I don't know is there, they look at me funny and think that I'm crazy.

Then, HamsterCat comes running out and immediately pees, no matter where she is. I tried last night to just have her pee on the tile floor, but to no avail. She doesn't do it with anyone else. Just with me. Maybe she got confused with potty training and thinks I'm a newspaper. I don't know.

It's a pretty magical gift. Last night, she peed on my mom's chair and the tile floor in the hallway and in the living room. I didn't even pet her or talk crazy like I usually do; I was just in the house. That's how I know it's magic.

I think my dad appreciates my gift, too. He seemed pretty excited about mopping up all that pee. Dad, you're welcome.

Happy Friday.

Some days, you look out the window and you see something that makes you laugh until your stomach hurts. Yesterday was that day at my house.


So I'm watching some Murder, She Wrote (in my opinion, one of the eightiesest shows to come out of the eighties, not to mention that J.B. Fletcher is the coolest person in history) when this huge furniture truck drives into the cul-de-sac. I, of course, take a look, because, first of all, I'm one of those people who spies on my neighbors from my window, but also because I know his truck has driven two hours to get here and the two houses next to us are vacant. The owners have moved and no one has bought them, so there's no way any legitimate traffic other than realtors and lookers should be at those houses. So I watch to see what the guy will do.


He backs his huge truck into our next-door neighbor's driveway and unloads a bedroom set that looks like it weighs about a thousand pounds. Really big, massive stuff, and he does it all by himself, as he has no helper, which is kind of weird, but hey, whatever works. He then walks up to the front door and rings the bell. He stands there for about five minutes in the freezing cold, then looks through his little stack of papers, hits himself in the forehead, and starts loading the truck. 


Wait. It gets better.


He then proceeds to pull out of the driveway and performs some very complex maneuvering to pull into the driveway of the other vacant house on the street. Huge truck, small space. It takes him like ten minutes. After he gets into the driveway, he gets out of his car and does the same exact thing he did before. He unloads all the furniture onto the driveway, then goes up and rings the doorbell. Stands there for ten minutes.


Meanwhile, I'm dying. I don't know where the address he was supposed to deliver to is, but I'm guessing he's on the wrong street because after about ten minutes he grabs his papers, looks at them, shakes his head, and walks out towards the end of the street (where the street sign is). A couple of minutes later he comes walking back, looking super irritated, loads his truck up slowly, and drives away.


You thought you had a bad day yesterday? I'm pretty sure this guy wins. Mr. Furniture Delivery Guy, I hope your day got better, and that you learned the lesson that you should never unload your furniture in the driveway before ringing the doorbell and making sure it's the right house. You should really never do it twice in a row.


I feel so much less stupid now, you wouldn't believe it.

In my never-ending quest to not weigh a metric ton, I have started trying exercise videos. I'm sure it's quite amusing to watch, as I am probably the least coordinated person ever to attempt these moves, but since I do the exercising when I'm alone at home and I draw the curtains, no one will ever get to see it.


I do think they could pick people who aren't so perky. If the ladies who are running the show could hear what I say to them, they'd probably either start crying or come after me with their well-toned arms and buns of steel and kick my butt.


Sometimes I worry that the people that live in my neighborhood or the mailman or another person that happens to be on the street will hear me berating the fitness instructor and will think I'm talking that way to a real, live person. Just to clear up any misunderstandings: I am alone with my TV, and I get very angry when a 90-lb. lady starts telling me how easy the exercise she's doing really is. It's called gravity. She should look into that, as it basically means that the Earth is pulling me down way harder than it's pulling her down. For crying out loud, I think my arm weighs more than her whole body. She does have a ginormous head, but I think that only gives her a pound or two. Therefore, I am entitled to call her bad names and make fun of her as much as I want.


I want an exercise DVD that has funny stories about the instructor scrolling across the bottom of the screen. That way, you feel like the makers of the DVD are making fun of her, too, and that makes it way better. If they had snack breaks, that would also be nice. Why is nobody making this video? I think it sounds amazing.


Also, if you get sore from doing the exercises, you should get two full days off from exercising, and be able to eat whatever you want without gaining weight. This will be super helpful, because when you go back, you'll be all rested and you'll have eaten, so you won't feel like you're going to pass out halfway through.


Wow, these are great ideas. I should've been an exercise video producer. At least when I workout today I'll have some new things to try. Especially the snack breaks. I think I can incorporate those really easily, plus since I'm exercising I'll be able to justify whatever I ate. Goodness gracious, this is outstanding. I think I just changed the world of exercise forever.


Okay, I know it's crap, but I really hate those ladies. I'll probably just yell new bad things at the TV, and that will have to be enough. For now.

I'm trying to be as positive as possible about this. I refuse to let myself be a pessimist anymore. However, it does kind of make me want to gouge my eyeballs out when, after not sleeping the night before, I have trouble sleeping again.


This has been my dilemma for the last month and a half, or to be more precise, exactly 50 days as of today. 50 flipping days. Yes, there have been days in between these bouts where I've slept okay, but now it's back. Again. And all I can do is take a pill that I know will eventually not work for me anymore, or stay awake, panicking about how crappy I'll feel the next day, the whole night.


I don't know about you, but since I've read that somewhere along the lines of 40 percent of us are suffering from this poo, I'm guessing some of you are in this here boat with me. Therefore, I've decided to make a list of fun things you can do while you're not sleeping. Yes, I do love lists.


1. Shadow puppets. The light in my bedroom is not sufficient for this activity, but if I can get my alarm clock light right tonight, I'm going to practice making some bunnies. They're cute and you can also make up a little story for them as you go along.


2. List every book you've ever read/movie you've ever seen/restaurant you've ever gone to, etc. You'll be amazed how long some of these lists can get. I realize this option is far less appealing than the one above to some of you, but I like it.


3. Try to go through an entire movie in your head, with your eyes shut. The whole thing, credits and everything. It's a lot more difficult than it sounds, but more entertaining than just staring at the wall.


4. Mentally go through your closet and make outfits. This one will come in handy in the morning when you're so tired you can't construct a decent sentence, let alone an outfit that doesn't look like it was put together by Hilary Clinton in the 90s.


5. Finally, as a last resort, read a book of the Bible. Not one of the pleasant, poetic books or one that tells a story. Nope, it has to be one of the books where they're just naming people or counting things. If that doesn't put you to sleep, you know it's not happening, and you might as well get up and watch some TV.


I do realize that people aren't likely to take suggestions about getting to sleep from someone else who isn't getting any sleep, either, but you do have to admit that shadow puppet-making sounds pretty cool right about now...