The Scene:

Fade in.

Judith stands in front of a purse display in a large department store. She clutches a fabulous little leather bag in her hands as she debates the importance of eating this month versus the importance of having this purse on her arm. Food is quickly losing.

Judith is momentarily distracted by the arrival of a small posse of giggling girls. She takes in the perky breasts, ugly shoes, and happy chit-chat about a "hawt guy" and how girl 1 (or maybe it was girl 2?) "doesn't usually do that kind of thing but made an exception this one time" and guesses their ages to be in the vicinity of 19 - 22 years old.

Posse of girls passes Judith by and stops near the table of the Loop's Andy Warhol-inspired totes. Since the act will allow her a few more precious moments of groping the purse that she CANNOT afford, Judith shamelessly eavesdrops on the conversation nearby:

girl 1: Oooooh… Look at these!!

girl 2: Those are cute. Look at the soup can one…

girl 3: Those really are cute!!! I wonder if I need one…

girl 1: [reading the label and tag] Andy Warhol? Who's Andy Warhol?

girl 3: Oh you know… He's that author. He wrote those books… [pauses as she searches *unsuccessfully* through her head for a title] You know! You'd recognize them if you saw them. They're really popular.

girl 1: Oh yeah! That Andy Warhol. Okay! I think that I've read a couple of his books.

girl 2: [nodding her head enthusiastically] Me too, they're really good.

girl 1 and 3 add their equally enthusiastically nodding heads to the mix.

girl 1: Ummmm, you guys?  Is that woman over there laughing at us?

Posse turns to look at Judith.

Judith: [pausing to catch her breath] Ummmm… Yeah. Yes, she is.

Fade out.

Judith's Uplifting Reminders for Feeling Better About the Fact That You're Flat Broke and Can't Afford That Purse That Would Look Absolutely Smashing on Your Arm #1:

At least you're not stupid.

The [rest of the] latest in the 365 project:

"Dude, that gun shop has tasers. Like pink tasers. I so want a pink taser. Are you gonna buy me one?"

"Hmmmm."

"I mean, really, don't you think I need a taser? It'll, like, keep me safe and stuff…"

"Well, if you start working at night or something then, yeah, it would probably be a good idea. But there's no way in hell that I'm buying you a taser right now."

"Wha?!@?#? How come?"

"Judith, I'm not stupid. Who do you think will be the first person to get tased whenever you get pissed off? And keep in mind that you get pissed off a lot."

"I promise I won't tase you. CROSS MY HEART."

"Yeah, whatever."

"No realllllly. I promissssse not to tase you. Ever."

"Uh-huh… And when I'm writhing on the floor in pain after being tased with a pink pocket-sized taser by my lovely wife, and I'm looking up at you saying, "You promised not to ever tase me!" You know what you'll say?"

"What?"

"I lied. Then you'll probably tase me again. Whore."

"… yeah. I probably would."

We have obviously been married too long.

To see my 365 on a daily basis, be sure to add me to your contacts at Flickr or subscribe to my photo feed.

I should probably preface this by saying that I turned 29 a few weeks ago. This, of course, makes me a Libra. Now here's the part where I can pretend to be all that is knowledge and coolness and tell you a bit about how Libras are special in one form or another and how the following blog post is reflective of the personality traits bestowed upon me by the stars under which I was born…

Or I could just admit that the closest I've ever come  to being all that is knowledge and coolness in terms of astrology is that day when I almost got a set of scales tattooed on my shoulder out of boredom, and the only reason I mentioned "Libras" is so that I mention a hot tattoo guy.

And he was hot.

Trust me.

And now that we've established my age as well as my affinity for hot tattoo guys, let's move on to the question of the day:

How many times did you watch Johnny and Baby do the dirty dance before you realized that that money from Daddy was for an illegal abortion?

No, really, it's an important question that I've pondered for some time. It's not quite as pressing as whether or not I can see Russia from my house, of course, but still…

Taking into account that the movie was released in 1987, my age, and the overall quality of parental supervision during that time where my mother absolutely loathed exercising but looked so damn good in a leotard that she taught six aerobics classes a week; I'm going to hazard a guess of at least a hundred, maybe two.

And I'm going to throw in well over 300 viewings of Grease before I had enough knowledge *ahem* under my belt to fully understand that "chicks'll cream" line.

Yes, we can lay it all at the feet of "you were too young to be watching movies like that anyhow". But the fact remains that I did— And, looking back at all of the hours spent in front of the television dialoguing along with the characters while perfecting the John Travolta in the bleachers hand point, somehow it just doesn't seem… fair. Like I was deprived of something. (Surely not the joys of an intricate plot or anything, but something, you know?)

Which is why I'd like to officially give thanks to Dolly Parton and the Chicken Ranch— who were kind enough to take pity on unsupervised children like myself and brave enough to skip the implied and innuendos altogether. After all, it may have taken me ten years to understand why Penny's doctor with the fold-out table stabbed her in the stomach…

But even I got that Texas had a whorehouse in it.

And that Aggie boys were made by dancing in their underwear in the backyard.

I'm still still alive.

And while things are still really hectic and topsy-turvy around these here parts, I thought I'd sneak in for a minute to say…

Neener. Neener.

Remember when I announced to the [bloggity] world at large that I'd do the deed for a nice pair of shoes??? Turns out I don't have to… Because somewhere out there, there's some awesome someone who will just give them to me.

No fucking required.

(Just some random good luck. And if my luck is anything, it sure as hell is random.)

So here's the part where I say "Neener, Neener" again and post some pictures of my new fabulously awesome shoes that I didn't even have to compromise myself for…

Although I totally would have.

So… yeah…. Neener. Neener.

That is all.

{I'm hoping to have a few great guest posts in the coming couple of weeks to fill in for me while I'm drowning in the insanity that is my life right now, so if you're interested, please let me know!}

Maybe it's just me… Maybe I'm really the only one of us not surrounded by a bevy of political-minded friends, family, and neighbors.

Maybe, I really am on an island (in the middle of Arkansas), and all of you have gotten out and talked to other voters in your area and none of them have ever said things like,

"I just don't like the look of him."

"I think's she's really a man."

Oh God, I hope so. I really truly hope so.

Because right now?

I'd really like to believe that every sewing circle in every small town in this country is currently discussing Sarah Palin and asking themselves,

"Yes… but what does she think about universal healthcare?"

Instead of,

"Did you hear that she has five children and that her oldest is joining the Air Force? And I bet you she sews a mean cross-stitch, too!"

Right now?

I'd really like to believe that people aren't looking at that picture (or any one of the thousands just like it that are plastered everywhere) and thinking,

"Oh my goodness! How many times have I balanced my baby in one arm and my work in the other just like that? "

Right now?

I'd really like to keep up the pretense that people cast their vote based on policy and not on familiarity.

Because, let's face it: working mom, five kids (one in the military, one with a disability), small town girl, all tied up prettily with a pregnant teenager to "keep it real"…

I'd say that she's about as pretty damned familiar as she can be.

So here's to you, Mr. GOP Brilliant Idea Thinker-Upper, go grab yourself a nice cold Bud.

I believe that you just topped the last election's decision to focus on same-sex marriage.

And we all know where that got us.