I keep pinching myself to make sure it's real, but either I stubbornly refuse to wake up, or it is, in fact, true.

I have Johnny Depp's autograph. Holy crap.

Not only that, but he THANKED ME.

What, do you ask, could arguably The Most Famous Actor Of Our Day and Age (not to mention People Magazaine's Sexiest Man Alive a few years back) possibly be thanking me for?

Well, let's take a poll and see if you, my fine, intelligent, creative and hopefully kind readers can deduce:

What does mega-star Johnny Depp thank Maureen... » ProProfs Polls

I'll send one random commentor a brand-spanking new Limited Edition* "I'd Rather Be Blogging" magnet (* limited to a run of 10 - erm, so far).

I'm done.

Yes, I can now die a happy woman.

Why pray tell?

Well, I happened to acquire THIS last Thursday:

And I did NOT literally jump for joy....

Nor even cry a teenie tiny bit...

What???? You don't believe moi?

Okay I'll admit it. I did.

Good thing the rest of the family wasn't home yet because I did my very first and probably last, happy dance. Not a pretty sight I must say; it's hard to prance about holding a picture tightly clasped to your chest.

Do you ever wish you could take back something you said?

No, not nasty things. I mean helpful things, nice things. Things that were unappreciated.

I do.

As I was walking down the hallway at work, a fellow stopped me for directions. This happens all the time and I always try to assist if I can. Although sometimes I will admit to failing miserably. But not this time. This time I KNEW where he needed to go.

So I stop, give him detailed instructions complete with effusive hand signals and colour-coded route markers to look for.

And he just walks off.

No "Thank you".

No "Gee I appreciate your help".

Not even a smile.

Just walks off.

Dammit. I wish I had given him the WRONG directions.

Like I usually do.

I knew it would happen one day. But did I DO anything about it? Of course not. That would make too much sense.

What the heck am I talking about you ask? (Don't deny it, I heard you).

Well, it all started in 1987. Yep. Over twenty (oh, gad, really?) years ago not only was I suckered into various Tupperware, Pampered Chef, Crystalware and Mary Kay parties, I actually attended a "Plant Party"... the highlight of which was when I miraculously won the door prize. My trophy for enduring yet another night of How Much Can I Spend On Crap I Don't Need To Still Be Considered A Good Friend was a blue bowl of not-really-silk, silk flowers.

Because it is blue and my bedroom had blue in it, I plopped it up on the headboard of our waterbed that night when I arrived home (I know... am I a designer maverick or what?) and there it has sat ever since.

But then along came not one, not two but three cats. And as any cat owner will attest to, cats adore high places. The higher, the better. Ours love our waterbed headboard. It's wide and sturdy, a purrfect place to stretch, to nap, to sit regally surveying their Kingdom or to protect their throne by pacing. Back.

And forth.
And back again.
With stopovers to inexplicably smell the omnipresent not-really-silk silk flowers obstructing their otherwise clear path along the way. The only problem is even though they squeeze in-between it and the wall, with each pass the heavy bowl gets bumped a titch closer to the edge. An ominous sight when your exposed sleepy noggin is laying defenseless directly beneath it.

And as I feared, it finally happened. Yesterday after hubby had left for work and I was laying in bed, lazily planning out what to avoid accomplish on my vacation day, the feline equivalent to "King Of The Castle" resumed. The battle became intense with spitting and hissing and of course, culminating in the inevitable knocking of the bowl right off its lofty perch.

I looked up in the nick of time. And to my amazement, I caught it just inches from my head. I couldn't believe it! There it sat in my hand as Tawnee, Sheba and Dakotah beelined it out of the room to continue the war down the hallway.

Living with felines must have rubbed off on me. I've got the reflexes of a cat.

So now the bowl has finally, after 22 years, been banished from the headboard. I think I need to get something a titch less "80s" and a tad less blunt-instrument deadly.

After all, I may not be awake so lucky next time.

Gadzooks! The Wayback Machine is being operated a day late! But the anomaly is only temporary; for you see it's a special occasion... the 37th anniversary of M*A*S*H hitting the airwaves is today.

I heart M*A*S*H.

Yep, back in the 70s and 80s I was ... and still am, a M*A*S*H-aholic. I couldn't wait to watch it every week. Hmmmm... I wonder if that had anything to do with my going into the healthcare field? Wouldn't be surprised.

I laughed when Frank got justifiably pranked.

I did NOT cry when Henry was unexpectedly killed....

Oh crap. Okay, I'll admit it. I did.

I still look forward to watching M*A*S*H every day on the History channel, even though I've seen it so much, I can irritatingly recite each episode verbatim. I can, but I don't... well, since I'm usually alone whilst watching it and I hate it when I irritate myself.

It's irritating.

Back in 1984, my friends and I (all fans, natch) attended a "M*A*S*H Bash" -- a hotel social while vacationing at the lake. We made costumes, shopped for accessories and created decor appropriate for the occasion.

Our group had Henry, Hot Lips, Klinger and Trapper. Hubby was Hawkeye.

And me? Who else... I was Radar - complete with a teddy bear and Grape Nehi (after all, I was the DD).

Nowadays my only M*A*S*H fashion (Mashion?) is the T-shirt that came with the Atari 2600 game in 1983.

What? You can't say that it surprises you that this Geek has the Atari game can you?

Or that she still WEARS her M*A*S*H shirt?

Well I told you I was a M*A*S*H - aholic. Duh.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some classic episodes to recite, erm watch, on Tivo before the rest of the family gets home.

Holy crap!

On Thursday it will be my 30th anniversary of working for our Healthcare Authority. (I know, I'm OLD, but obviously stuck in a rut extremely dedicated).

Every five after 15 years of service, we are confronted with a choice of various gifts to be bestowed upon us at a dinner ceremony in November. In the past I have chosen a watch (in 1994), a suitcase (in 1999) and a digital camera (in 2004). But this time I can't quite make up my mind.... why the hell can't they offer something I could use, like a Disneyland meet-and-greet with Johnny Depp, a trip to Hawaii (with Johnny Depp), or even a frickin' day off here (accompanied by, who else but Johnny Depp)?

So because my employer is SO unreasonable not to include Mr. Depp in ANY of my choices, I need your help. Just for background info, the watch I received 15 years ago is different from the one shown, I received a digital camera from hubby this past Christmas (but can you ever have too many of those? Especially a Blogger?) and I don't wear fancy-schmancy necklaces much....

AAAaaargh!

What gift should I choose? I'll close the poll on Friday, September 25th.

Which gift should I choose? » ProProfs Polls

And if the the fuzzy warm feeling of helping out some helpless soul (er, me) isn't enough, I'll be choosing a random responder to receive a très cool "I'd Rather Be Blogging" magnet to clutter up your fridge and hand-crafted one-of-a-kind thank you card featuring original artwork by Moi. I know! How awesome would THAT be? (No, really, I'm asking... at the very least it'll be worth $ 3.04)

So please help me, kind readers. You're my only hope.

UPDATE! Thank you to everyone who helped me decide... yes, I've ordered the camera! Woot! And congrats to Daisy The Curly Cat for winning a "I'd Rather Be Blogging" magnet and card.

The other day The Sting was on the classics movie channel. Gad, I haven't seen that film in a long time.

A long time indeed.

But not so long ago that I could ever forget Robert Redford's sexy smile and Paul Newman's amazing blue eyes..... mmmmm.

*Ahem *

Erm, sorry. Where was I? Oh yeah, watching The Sting.

It brought back another memory of the 70's.... not one I am overly proud of though.

You see my early teen years were spent in various drawing, sculpting and painting classes. Oh how I loved those. I never wanted to leave.

Then there were the piano lessons. I enjoyed them, but I wasn't a natural, so I had to work hard to learn and pounded those ivories for a few years. Then one day it happened. I was signed up to compete in

A Recital.

Yes, this uber non-competitive girl was headed full speed into an Accck! competition. And the piece I would play was Scott Joplin's The Entertainer, featured in the movie The Sting.

I practiced.

And practiced.

And practiced some more.

I practiced until I was thoroughly repulsed by that damn tune.

Then as the time drew near, I my panic proportionally grew. Doubt crept in and overtook me.

How the heck could I play this in front of an audience???

I couldn't.

I chickened out. Days before the recital, I withdrew my entry.

And it's only taken me about 35 years to listen to that song again without cringing in shame.

Yes, I love cats. I have three after all. I am an Unapologetic Cat Person.

This UCP loves Daisy and Harley at Daisy the Curly Cat.

This UCP loves I Can Has Cheeseburger and the LOLs it never fails to provide.

This UCP loves Cute Overload and their uber-cute kittens!

This UCP loves Simon's Cat and his hilarious cartoons.

This UCP loves Catster where each of my cats are listed.

This UCP loves the Animal Rescue Site that does such wonderful things for cats too.

And this UCP loves all my bloggy friends who have / had cats, past and present:

Like Lily and Tinsel at Of Cats and Cardstock, Mabel at Lady Banana's, Sukie, Livvie and Mitzi at Babs-Beetle's Simply Cats, Prudence and Gus* at JD's I Do Things Blog, Pickle, Bailey, Sandy, Aspen and Sally at Toni's Moved to the Mountains blog, Nerissa and Portia at Life! Vegas Style, Lucky, Shadow and Stinky at The Junk Drawer Blog, Toby, Nouri and Gandhi at The Green Stone Woman, Fidget at Spacial Peepol, Fluffy at PG's Annoyingly Boring? blog, Macka and Snijeg at Be.Bartlog, Reforming Geek's er... "Cat" the cat, Mamie and Ike at Dorky Dad, Moses, Bear and Emmy over at Drowsey Monkey's site, Sugar at Jill's Twipply Skwood blog, and Seamus at Unfinished Rambler. *

What this UCP doesn't love is someone telling me I CAN'T visit my friends, I CAN'T watch cat videos, or do anything CAT-RELATED today.

Aw Hell No. If I want to I damn well will.

If you don't want to, that's perfectly fine. That's what is great about the Internet. Everyone has choices and there are plenty of other things out there if you don't want to read about cats.

But this UCP does. And I will NOT have someone telling me I can't.

So Epic Fail Urlesque! (no I am NOT linking you)

For foolishly attempting to establish "A Day Without Cats on the Internet" today, you can:



* Gah! Sorry I missed you Gus! If I've missed YOUR feline, I apologise; please add your cat-link in the comments so I have even MORE feline-filled destinations to enjoy!

...and since I AM a self-professed animal lover, I really shouldn't be creeped out by spiders.

But when I nearly walk face first into them, or like last night, discover them crawling down the wall of my bedroom, it's tough to love the hairy-legged bulbous-eyed creatures. Even teensie-tiny ones.

Like this guy.

So instead of the typical arachnophobic reaction of:

1) screaming like a schoolgirl

2) running for a wad of kleenex to squish it into an spidery-shaped blob

I decided to humanely perform a "catch and release" on the eight legged home invader. I popped a clear cup over it and slid a piece of cardboard underneath, safe for transport to the wilderness that is our backyard.

It was easy enough to catch and once captured, the spider went into "stealth mode"; it folded up and became docile, something I had never witnessed before.

I nearly went "Awwwww... poor thing..."

Nearly.

Until it suddenly freaked out and began violently scuttling about, trying its damedest to break free of it's clear plastic prison.

The whole time it was bashing itself around the cup I was going EW, EW, EWWWW! and freaking out myself. As I made a beeline for the back door, I prayed the cardboard didn't slip or buckle.

I was also trying my best to push disturbing images of fangs and pointy legs scurrying up my arm out of my head.

Finally outside and true to my "Animal Lover" monniker, I tossed gently laid the arachnid onto the fern leaves in the back yard where it belonged.

Yes, I love animals.

But I love a peaceful spider-free night of sleep a helluva lot more.

The other day while at London Drugs wandering aimlessly around shopping for a few incidentals, I happened across the Back To School section. Or what was left of it that is - sparse remains picked over and strewn about, a sure sign that summer vacation was at an end. One lonely item on the bottom shelf caught my attention though; a solitary black Thermos "Lunch Lugger". Resembling a mini-cooler, it was perfect to house my Tupperware-encased lunches and keep them cold for an entire workday.

Which is exactly what I needed for my office, for an evil presence has raised its ugly head at work. Yes at a hospital, in our staff room, The Dreaded Lunch Burglar has brazenly attacked - nicking morsels from our department's fridge.

My meals, wrapped in plastic bags and labeled with my name in bold black Sharpie have been safe so far. I prefer to think it's because The Dreaded Lunch Burglar hasn't found mine hidden in the back yet, rather than the possible fact that my lunches may very well suck.

But I'm not waiting to find out. My food is now safe, sound and cold in my office.

Ha! Take THAT, Dreaded Lunch Burglar... you'll not pilfer my Lunch Lugger. Not while Guard Rat is faithfully protecting it.

Grrrrr!

I have potatoes in my blood.

Don't panic; it's not some dire carbohydrate-related medical condition... for you see, it's simply that I'm half-Irish. Back in 1852, my ancestors were part of the massive flood of immigrants to North America, escaping starvation in Ireland because of the Great Potato Famine.

You might say that because of this lowly vegetable, I'm here... so it's not surprising that I love them.

I love them baked, steamed, boiled, stewed, fried, mashed, scalloped, hash-browned, dumplinged, chipped, pancaked and saladed. (Yes, I DO have an impressive culinary vocabulary, don't I?)

And for the very first time, I tended my own little pot of spudlets this year.

Holy Crop! Our teenie tub of tubers totally transformed into tasty taters!


Oh sure, they'll only last two meals, but me ancestors, gosh and begorrah, they'd be proud.