Six Word Saturday

How many times do YOU count?

I'm referring, of course, to your 6WS entries.  We discussed this briefly on Twitter yesterday and it's amazing how many of us count and recount and count again.  The best answer probably came from @mstacer:

@Seansmoma six times, obviously. @showmyface #jazzhands

If you want to understand the REST of that? Join me on the twitter.

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Want to play along? All that's necessary to participate is to describe your life (or something) in a phrase using just six words. For more information, try clicking here. Feel free to explain or not explain. Add an image, a video, a song, nothing. I love seeing what everyone does with their entries.

Each week (probably on Sunday or Monday), I use random.org to select a bunch of entries to visit.  Or I visit everyone. Depends on what's going on that week.  In addition, please visit the person ahead of you on the list (or visit everyone if you like!). That way everyone receives at least one visit!

If you play along in your blog, please add a link to the Mr. Linky. I appreciate a link back (shiny code below if you like!). Otherwise, you're welcome to leave your six words in this post as a comment.

Please be sure to link either to your main page or (preferably) directly to the 6WS post. Links to blogs that do not contain a 6WS entry will be removed (sorry, just the button in the sidebar doesn't count as participating).

<a href="http://www.showmyface.com/search/label/6WS"><img src="http://i395.photobucket.com/albums/pp35/showmyface/guts/6wsButton.jpg" /></a>

***A special note for spammers***

Signs from the Universe

Dear Universe -

I think you sent me a sign earlier this week but I just wanted to make sure. See, last time I thought you sent me a sign, it was really just a mischievous bartender.

After all, I've been looking for a sign. In fact, I spent that morning talking with a friend about all of the hard work we've put into a project and our frustration with it not paying off. We were both wishing for a sign that we should either keep on or perhaps set some boundaries for how long we would keep slaving away.

Then, that afternoon, I opened the window near my desk to enjoy the beautiful weather. A car pulled up along the side of my yard and a child hopped out. And then puked on my yard. Thanks to the open window, I not only saw the event but also heard the sound effects of this drive-by barfing.

So, Universe, was this a sign? Because, seriously, it's not really what I had in mind.

Thanks,

First Fursday: Remember Me?

Hello there, humans! It's been a very long time since my long-haired human let me anywhere near the computer to write a post. Probably because she left her job. I'm not sure what that means except that she doesn't go away nearly as often and thinks she should pet me all day.

Anyways, for those of you who are too fried from catnip haven't had the pleasure of making my acquaintance yet, I am Tonya. Fluffy diva-cat extraordinaire. Sweetness in feline form. Let me straighten my halo while you do your job and provide me with some tuna. I live with this lady you call Cate and the short-haired human. And also with the stripy evil one called Rusty. It is Rusty whom I wish to speak about today.

As I grow older, wiser, and beautifuller, Rusty grows more jealous of my awesomeness. He hates it when my humans show me attention and retaliates by waiting until they watch that bright picture box-thing before he attacks me. It's violent and my lovely hair flies every which direction as I try to defend myself. I certainly don't wave my tail in his face to antagonize him!

One evening, the long-haired human lost her patience and decided to punish Rusty with jail time. She put him in his box, which is the same box that they use to transport us to the lady with the poky things once a year. Don't tell anyone but I'm actually a little envious of Rusty's box because his has a fancy sunroof and mine doesn't. Of course, he's too stupid to understand how good he has it.

After Rusty had served his sentence, short-haired human opened the top of his cage to let him out. Rusty immediately poked up his head through the roof. And then sat there. He even went so far as to smash his stupid empty head into the front door of the cage, waiting for the humans to open it. See what I mean about being too stupid? He sat in his cage for five whole minutes (which is like three days in cat-time) before he finally realized he was free. What a moron!

Anyways, maybe Rusty will post next month. Assuming he's not "stuck" in his box again.

Hisses, face eatings and all the cat hair you can eat,

Not Amused

This morning, I find myself aggravated about something that has nothing to do with me. But, hey, it's my blog so why not?

Charlie Sheen has been all over the news lately. People are flocking to follow his Twitter account - as of this writing, he has 782,001 followers even though his account is less than 24 hours old. He's the topic of water cooler discussion and countless jokes.

Know what? I don't find Charlie Sheen funny. And here's why:

In addition to one adult daughter, he has four children under the age of seven. This man clearly has on-going issues with substance abuse. I saw someone tweet earlier that "I'm so glad the police came and took his twins away." Really? That's something to be glad about? Babies who aren't yet two years old being taken by police?

If Charlie Sheen was your uncle or your neighbor, you wouldn't be laughing and joking. You'd be praying he would get some real help and be well for the sake of those children.

Most of us get to have our meltdowns in private. While celebrities choose to be in the spotlight, that doesn't mean they aren't also real people with real issues. These aren't scripts and characters they are acting out for our entertainment. Maybe rather than parading them around on 20/20 or making them the top entertainment headline of every "news" show we should leave them to deal with their demons in peace. If your drunk uncle grabbed the microphone at a wedding and started spouting off the things that are coming from Charlie Sheen, you'd cut power to the mic and drag him off the stage. You wouldn't continue to enable him by signing him up for an encore performance.

This morning, I just find myself rubbed the wrong way by all of the people that choose to point and laugh at what is obviously a very sick man. Maybe instead of making a spectacle of him, we could go for a bit of compassion and think some kind thoughts for him and his family that he finally receives the help he needs to conquer these issues for good.

Maybe some of you disagree. Maybe you think I'm taking it too seriously. Or maybe we could all try for a bit of humanity.

End of rant.

P.S. In the time it took me to write this post, he added another 12,000 followers on Twitter. How sick.

Punch in the Pain-Related Awards

Screw the flowery opening - let's just get to it, shall we?

Dear Medco,

If you don't soon figure things out and send me my no-baby pills yesterday, I am going to send you my first born when I get knocked up because you won't provide my birth control. I have been fighting with you for MONTHS now on the timing, which has put us into this horrible cycle of you won't send them in time so I have to refill them locally (which costs me more) and therefore you move the fill date out even further. And I'm sick of it. SICK SICK SICK.

Perhaps you don't understand how birth control works. Let me explain it to you. I need the new pills on March 6th. Mailing them on March 10th? That doesn't work. That just gets me pregnant. Having your automated male voice call to tell me you aren't sending my pills on time just REALLY cheeses me off. I'm not one to generalize and hate on all men, but you are really pushing my buttons.

You fail at math, you fail at prescriptions, you fail at customer service, and you fail at life.

Hope you have access to pain meds for when you receive this award,


Dear Thing Outside That Sounds Like a Dying Animal,

Judging from that noise, you must be a very large beasty, perhaps the lovechild of a rhinoceros and a donkey. Or perhaps you are some sort of construction equipment. Whatever the case may be, I feel bad but I must admit that I wish you would just hurry up and die already so I don't have to listen to it anymore.

I have a headache,