Omigod, you’re Rutledge Wood…

Holy cow, I have totally managed to do it again!  I am truly sorry as I had every intention to tell you about my recent adventures yesterday (I even started it!) and somehow between work, guitar lessons, dogzilla costumes (muhahahaha!) and harvesting my crops (my name is Angi and I’m addicted to Farmville) the day just seemed to slip through my fingers like sand through an hourglass (and such is the days of our lives).  Man, I don’t know about your lives but mine moves at the speed of light and I seriously wonder at times if I remembered to put on clean underwear and turn off the iron.

Anyway, I will begin today by asking you to imagine a sea of RVs as far as the eye can see.  Yes, there are campers to the left of me, pop-ups to the right and here I am stuck in the middle with you (uh, isn’t that a song?).  So how did we come to be plopped down in this plethora of portable homes.  Well, as luck might have it we scored some last minute primo tickets (thanks to Heidi) to the “World Series” of NASCAR races (aka: “The Bristol Night Race”).  This is not just a race, but rather THE race that anyone who worships the church of NASCAR must attend at least once in their life.

Now, for those of you who are non-NASCAR savvy (if there is even such a thing) this coveted race basically comprises of 43 race cars going round and round at ungodly speeds, swapping paint with each other (think extreme road rage) in a bowl-shaped (think cereal) arena as 160,000+  fans scream at the top of their lungs over the deafening roar for their favorite driver to win.  It’s an awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping sight to behold.

Why even in the pre-race ceremony was awesome as there were classic cars, fireworks, F-18 fighter jets flying over, a teary-eyed tribute to our armed forces and a Guinness World Record attempt at the largest karaoke sing-along (to none other than Garth Brook’s “Friends In Low Places”).  Why I even saw a giant shopping cart that was as big as a monster truck out on the track!

And that’s just the main event.  For prior to the race, there’s all the pre-race activities that are just as equally amazing (crazy).  Why do I say this?  Well, before you get to the race you have to navigate your way through a carnival-like atmosphere with a variety of food, merchandise trailers (offering everything from hats to pajamas to dog collars for your favorite driver), interactive exhibits, driver appearances (if you are lucky enough to get a coveted ticket) and oodles of free marketing-related gifts of every shape and size – including (and I’m not joking) Extenze which markets itself as “Growing One Member At A Time” (yes, this is sadly a male enhancement product).

Why I actually have a special bag in my NASCAR kit (which I’m too embarrassed to even discuss) just to drag home all the free stuff (crap) they give away at the track. There were drink cozies, t-shirts, chewing tobacco (to just enhance that redneck stereotype), hats, blueberry muffin-shaped timers (got two!), bottles of barbeque sauce, Sharpie markers and Hamburger Helper foam hands just to name a few of the unique freebies floating around.  You have truly got to wonder who comes up with this stuff and then decides to give it to those crazy NASCAR folk.  And don’t even get me started on who thought giving people a Sharpie marker was a good idea.  Holy cow!

Oh, and just when you thought you had it all they add national television into the mix.  Yep, Speed TV broadcasts all of it’s pre-race programs live from the track with those fun-loving NASCAR fans performing in a generous supporting role.  It’s quite the sight to behold when you consider the average NASCAR fan spends most of the race weekend in a drunken stupor (probably because Dale Jr. never wins anything and Kyle Busch does!).

And in case you were wondering how the title relates to this blog, well, my sister and I (not even remotely drunk) were interviewed by Speed TV reporter Rutledge Wood about our preferences on what makes for good barbeque (like we’re meat experts or something?).  Sadly, my interview ended up on the virtual cutting room floor, but Heather and Sew-Sew (the internationally known traveling bear) looked absolutely fabulous on national television in the 5 seconds we got to see them!

Yes, our journey to Bristol, Tennessee (or “Thunder Valley” as the surrounding neighbors likes to call it for obvious reasons) was an incredible and rather delightful experience.  The two hour wait to leave the parking lot, on the other hand, was a whole other matter.  But it’s the price you pay and it was well worth it.

Well, I am rather worn out and you will just have to come back another day for another adventure story.  And just to tempt you, let’s just say it involves zombies, mayhem and another world record attempt!

Toodles,

Angi

Just when you thought it was safe…

Well, I guess you’ve been kind of wondering (pondering) where I have been for the last two months (okay, more like two and half but who’s counting?). Huh? What do you mean you didn’t even notice I was gone? Geez, what kind of faithful reader are you? Where’s the love? Where’s the loyalty? Where’s the undying devotion to hang on my every blogged word and chuckle over it for days??  What do you mean I’m not that funny? Oh, I see how it is. A blogger goes quiet for a few months and you just move on to bigger and better blogs. (*sniff*) Didn’t I make you smile? Didn’t I make you chuckle? Didn’t I make you shake you head in complete bewilderment? Haven’t I always been there for you in the good times and the bad? (Why am I suddenly hearing my grandma’s voice doing this blog?) 

What was that? You are deeply and eternally sorry for overlooking my absence and promise to never, ever do it again? You will even pinky-promise to that?? Well, I guess I will accept your apology this time but don’t think for one second I’m going to forget what you said about me not being funny. (And remind me to never rely on you if something really large happens to fall on me and I’m being ravaged to death by wild dogs.  Geez, Louise.)

So do you truly want to know (just nod your head yes) where have I been all this time? Well, I wish I could say I had spent the last two months (yeah-yeah, two and a half) sailing the high seas to exotic places with names such as Bora Bora and Cabo Wabo (what do you mean Cabo Wabo isn’t a real place?).

But that would be exaggerating (lying) and my sister (my moral compass) would tell me I’m going to the really bad place (let’s just say it’s hotter than St. Louis in August) for doing so (like you would believe me anyway).

So the truth is that I’ve been here, there and everywhere with a little of time-traveling thrown in for good measure.

So have I piqued your interest yet?  No?  Well, then I guess you wouldn’t be interested in  crazy adventures involving pirates, crashes, zombies, possessed pumpkins, national television, Rutledge Wood and 160,000+ screaming rednecks.  

What?  You might be a little interested now?  Well, I’m just too tired now to go on.  Plus, I’ve got real work to do.  So run along now and maybe if you come back tomorrow I will tell you more.   ;-P

Toodles,

Angi

Holy gadgets, Batman…

Yep, I am absolutely (and totally) in love with gadgets. There is something so enamoring about those tiny pieces of electronic heaven that are created by really, really smart people for the sole reason of making my life a little more convenient and a lot more interesting.

I mean how can you NOT love a gadget that has the capability to let you converse with someone over 4,000 miles away, surf the web, make virtual toast, read a novel, take photos, write a blog, watch a movie, set your DVR, listen to your favorite song, watch videos on YouTube, calculate your daily caloric intake, see what time it is in Bangkok, play a game of Bejeweled, check the weather forecast for Dublin, shop on Amazon, bid on eBay, learn Gaelic and tell you where you located (longitudely and laterally) at the mere touch of a button.

And in case your brain hasn’t had enough Starbucks today, I am trying to tell you (and the world!) that I am completely and totally in love with my iPhone. Why if it was legal in this country to marry electronics, we would be in Vegas right now in the Elvis’ chapel of love (hubba, hubba!) getting hitched for a lifetime of electronic bliss. Okay, that may be a little over the top (for a simple ceremony here with family and friends would be okay as well) but I am deeply in love with my iPhone.

But there’s more to this torrid story (and I’m seriously blushing now) as this isn’t the first time I’ve fallen for a modern-day marvel. Nope, there has been a long line of cutting-edge gadgets that have caught my eye at the local Best Buy and have followed me home. There was the tiny pager who was supposed to limit my cell phone usage (hah!), the stylish walkie-talkie (in Big Bird yellow, no less) who gave me hours of communicating pleasure and how could I not mention the four cell phones (who ever said size doesn’t matter!) that loyally stood by me for each of my cell phone terms.

There was the rowdy Nintendo Game Boys (original and in living color) who endured my endless hours of Tetris playing, the snappy digital cameras that captured so many happy moments in my life, the battered T-Mobile Sidekick with it’s edgy E network, the innovative scanner who gives me the inside track at NASCAR races, the cute iPod Nanos who still provide the soundtrack for my life, the reliable Garmin GPS that has saved my bee-hind on more occasions than I can count (well, except for that one night in Virginia) and the adorable Flip Mino camcorder who allows me to film my life on-the-go (and in a go-cart) if the whim should overcome me.

And I would be amiss if I didn’t mention the brave Sony Handi-Cam who not only endured a night of filming at the local dirt track (not a good idea in retrospect), but also eleven days trekking (and filming) across England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales. Yes, that little camcorder is quite heroic and his broken lens cover attests to his fortitude in the face of adversity.

Ah, so many good memories and I cannot help now but wonder if iPhone and I will live happily ever after. I mean it’s not going to be easy as he’s only a 3G in a 3GS world. But we’ve got love and that’s all that matters, right? Hey, is that a Best Buy over there?

Toodles,
Angi

Well, it looked the same…

We had just left the infield parking lot after a day enjoying the AllState 400 at the Brickyard (held at the legendary Indianapolis Motor Speedway) and like any race attended by over 180,000 fans (holy cow, Batman!) the local police had all vehicles going outward with no traffic being allowed to come into the general area.  Now, I applaud the traffic gurus who came up with this ingenious idea for getting numerous people out of IMS in a reasonable amount of time, but there’s also an unhappy smile on my face for this practice creates confusion (frustration, irritation and a rather cross version of Angi) for anyone who doesn’t call Indianapolis area as home.   

So there we were being funneled (forced!) out in a direction that we eventually realized was completely opposite (go back!) from where our motel was located (oh, for the love of Bob why??) and I had to smack myself for in my state exhaustion (a direct result of inhaling racing fuel exhaust fumes in the heat for close to 4 hours) I had stupidly left my Garmin GPS unit in the trunk of the car for safekeeping (*smack*). 

Well, you can only imagine my response (imagine fits of uncontrolled laughter bordering on near-hysteria) as it dawned on me that we were essentially navigating completely blind (*smack*), that we were headed into a slightly “scary” area (why am I suddenly thinking about that scene in National Lampoon’s Vacation where the Griswolds get lost in East St. Louis) and that there was now a guy behind us playing his car’s stereo so freaking loud that my seat is actually vibrating (hey, mister, I’m going deaf up here and my butt feels kind of funny!).  Yes, our prospects were growing dim and I could already see the newspaper headlines about how our remains would be found one day having been ravaged by wild Indianapolis dogs.  Uh, have I mentioned I am a bit of a fatalist?

Anyway, while I may suspect that every headache is possibly a brain tumor I am also a firm believer in that old adage about survival of the fittest (well, except for the fact that the only shape I’m in is round).  But such dire moments can lend to greatness (triumph over adversity!) so I took up the charge by quickly calculating that we had a half bag of Combos, three cans of Diet 7-Up, four sticks of gum and a bag of Cheetos that mom had been gnawing on all day.  Yes, the pickings were a bit slim (especially as I wasn’t touching those Cheetos with a 10 foot pole), but our odds were better than I thought as we could possibly survive maybe an hour or two if my stomach didn’t start rumbling.  We just needed to stay calm. 

So my little sister began slowly rationing out the Combos (it is the official cheese snack of NASCAR, you know!) as I resisted the urge to get out of the car and send Mr.. Loud Music Man into next week (truly how long and one’s rear end vibrate before something needs to be done?)  And just as the last of the Combos were being consumed (oh, no!), a beacon of hope so incredible appeared just on the horizon.  At first, I thought I was dreaming but I soon realized that my eyes were seeing a tiny bit of heaven.  Yes, just up ahead in the plaza on the left was a branch of our favorite St. Louis Mexican dining establishment El Maguey.  Oh, behold the power of margaritas and chicken nachos.  

So we made the unanimous decision to wait out the traffic (as we were now probably hundreds of miles from our motel) by going into El Maguey for some refreshment.  Well, it sounded like a great plan up to the point where we walked inside.  Do you remember that scene in that movie where some unsuspecting travelers walk into an local establishment (was it a restaurant or a bar?) and the music stops suddenly and all eyes are upon those poor travelers? 

Yes, it happened just like that.  Okay, maybe not exactly like that but pretty close.  I mean I guess it could HAVE something to do with the fact that we were sunburned, disheveled and decked out in NASCAR attire (not to mention looking rather kind of desperate).  It’s not like we walked in there drunk, barefoot, wearing a “wifebeater” shirt and smoking a cigarette (though I’m pretty sure I saw a few of those over at the race track).  And I guess that “Welcome, Race Fans” sign outside was meant for someone else and what Mexican place doesn’t serve margaritas on the rocks?  Isn’t that like punishable by death or something?

Anyway, I guess the lesson we learned is that El Maguey in St. Louis don’t always translate to El Maguey in other cities and never leave your Garmin GPS in the trunk of your car when leaving a race. 

And what heck is an “El Maguey” anyway?

Toodles,  
Angi

 

Uh-oh, I just vacuumed up the…

Okay, if there was ever an award given out for “Best Domesticator” (oooo, that sounds rather intimidating!) I highly and seriously doubt I would be up for consideration. In fact, I pretty sure I would be on the proverbial blacklist for my domestication skills are seriously lacking in more ways than one. It’s not that I don’t clean (okay, not often as I should) but rather I’m really bad (worse than bad) at the cleaning process itself. Yes, I’m the girl who has forgotten to put soap in the dishwasher (dumb), mopped herself into a corner (dumber), vacuumed over and annihilated at least three phone cords (dumb times three) and have practically asphyxiated on toxic fumes by putting too many cleaning products into the toilet at once (WTF??). I also believe that Windex can be used to clean anything (and I mean anything), that carpets only need to be vacuumed where furniture is not (this same law applies to dusting), that laundry is done in two piles (lights and darks), that making one’s bed is ONLY required if guests are coming over (family, close friends, repair men, pizza delivery guys and Mormons excluded), that hiding an overflowing mail pile into a Dale Earnhardt Jr. cooler is a viable option (not to mention creative and innovative), that a whole roll of paper towels will clean only one bathroom, that dogs are awesome tools for cleaning up food spills (oops!) and that all cleaning activities will be pre-empted or stopped if anything NASCAR-related is on television. Yes, my future husband is on for one heck of treat when he sees me clean for the first time! Let’s just hope he has a really good sense of humor and is certified in first aid.

Toodles,
Angi

Shhhh, quiet please…

I would say that one of the greatest possessions I had as a child (well, besides my Jordache Jean Barbie and my Breyer horses) was my library card. When I got my first one, it truly was like finding Willy Wonka’s golden ticket as it gave me unlimited access to choose my own adventures. And what I love is that the card didn’t have a bar code or a micro-chip or any of the other technology-advanced hoopla we have nowadays. Nope, it was nothing more than a pre-printed card that the children’s librarian (oh, I can still see her face in my head) would carefully type up with my name and address on a real type writer (click-click-click-ding). It’s sometimes hard to believe that I actually grew up (well, partially at least) in a world where the computer had not yet invaded all aspects of life.

And I can still see the children’s library in my memory as it was so long ago (in a galaxy far, far away) with it’s wide array of colorful picture books standing at attention on wooden shelves with those cute miniature tables everywhere just the perfect size for little readers. In the back (just to the right of that wall), there was a real card catalog with so many drawers in it that you’d lose count if you tried to count them. And there are so many old friends (books) here that I feel like it’s a homecoming of sorts.

So do you want to know my favorite children’s book? Do you think it had a Clifford, a Harold, a Charlotte or a Ramona in it? Do you think it tells where the wild things are and where the sidewalks end? Could it speak of the places I will go or just be a wrinkle in time? Could it tell the story of a secret garden or a little house on the prairie? Is it a tale somewhere over the rainbow or just one of a fourth grade nothing? Well, if you want the truth all of these books captured my heart but if hard pressed (hey, are you sitting on me?) I would say my absolute favorite of all time will always be “The Lorax” by Dr. Seuss. It was teaching me the evils of pollution on our environment before I even knew what such things were or what it could do to our world. Yes, thank goodness for Dr. Seuss and library cards!

Toodles,
Angi

Uh, donde esta el bano…

So I’m going to start this one out with a bit of confession. The truth is there’s something I’ve been trying to hide for over 20 years now and there’s no way I can deny it any longer. So here I stand before you humbly confessing that my name is Angi and I’m addicted to foreign languages. Yes, you heard me correctly. Okay, could you please stop shaking your head in complete disgust at me as it could happen to anyone. I mean how can you deny that there isn’t something incredibly powerful, mysterious, romantic, intriguing and ominous (muhahahaha!) about having the unique ability to speak another language. I mean English is cool and all, but saying “The pencil is yellow.” in French sounds so much more alluring. I mean it wasn’t like I started out wanting to be in the powerful grip of a foreign tongue, but it happened and there’s no going back.

The truth is this addiction started early in my childhood years as my sister (partner in crime) and I used to talk gibberish (yes, complete nonsense) to each other and pretend (yes, pretend!) we knew what the other was saying. No, I’m not proud of what I did but that first time was such a complete rush and there was no denying the incredulous looks on our friends’ faces as those silly words just rolled off my tongue. And I wish I could say it stopped there, but before I knew it I was strung out on a real foreign language. Yes, thanks to the New York school system (damn you!) I became hooked on Spanish when I was only just in junior high. Oh, how I loved rolling my R’s and saying eloquent things like “hola” and “gracias”.

But my life quickly turned to disappointment as learned early on in my language studies that I was “aurally challenged” and unable to fluently learn a foreign language. Yes, my foreign world came tumbling down as I came to realize that I was destined to go through life only knowing bits and pieces of a foreign language and that I would never, ever be able to make small talk with a hottie in Cancun. Oh, I was completely crushed. But I am also tenacious in nature (not to mention a full-fledged language addict by now), so I pressed on and in four years of Spanish I managed to learn to count to ten (uno, dos, tres…), ask where the bathroom was (which might be handy if Montezuma’s Revenge rears it’s ugly head while traveling in Mexico) and say with total authority “yo necessito un bolso de vomitar” (which is quite appropriate if you need a barf bag while riding an airplane).

And it didn’t stop there (for isn’t that the whole point of an addiction?) as I moved onto to learning bits and pieces of other foreign languages. Why I am proud to say I can call you a sh**head in German, tell you that “I love you” in Japanese, ask where the toilet is in Russian, raise the dead in Latin and say that “I’m hungry” and “I’m drinking Guinness” in Gaelic (yes, the official language of Ireland that no one uses!). Why I can even sign “You’re dumb, a**hole.” in sign language! Ah, behold the power of language.

Toodles,
Angi

Okay, who ate the…

Can it be Pupperoni time now? Puh-leeeze??

So I’m coming to realize that there are people in this world who are blessed with children, and then there is a special, select group of people who are blessed with pets. I fall into the second category and this is my favorite photo of my  ”babies”.  That’s Mr. Matisse on the left and that’s Miss Dixie on the right. This photo is rather funny actually as it truly depicts each dog’s personality to a tee.

Matisse (named for the French Impressionism painter Henri Matisse as well as for the fact he’s part poodle) came to us from Adopt-A-Stray about 5 years ago and is a crazy, lovable, tenacious, mischievous, smart, comical character who has so much excess energy and enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile at him. He’s the kind of dog who will play for hours on end with his favorite stuffed toy, who will go through a whole routine of tricks in less than 10 seconds for a Pupperoni treat, who treats your coming home each night as if he hadn’t seen you for weeks on end, who will devour an entire Busy Bone in less than 15 minutes (these should last for days!), who will crawl into your lap for a nap, who thinks belly rubs are heaven on earth and who knows when he hears the car leave the driveway that the garbage can is now safe for exploration.

He is also the dog who will make a mad dash out the back door (part greyhound?) in hopes that he might just one day actually catch that rascally rabbit, who will push every pillow off your bed just because he can, who will voluntarily when asked (though rather in slow speed) go to his “home” for bed (and doesn’t complain as to why Dixie gets to sleep on the bed), who will give you a kiss at every opportunity (whether you really want one or not) and who at the mere mention of the word “walk” or if I even stand anyway near the leash rack (yes, I have enough leashes to require a whole rack) will go into these incredible squeals of joy that remotely sound like tribe of monkeys who just found a giant stash of bananas.

Yes, Matisse  appears to love life and lives each day to the fullest. I truly wish I could have even a small percentage of his enthusiasm and love for life! And he reminds me daily that we are given a choice each morning on how we shall live each day for he never dawdles getting out of his cage but rather greets the morning with joy and optimism.

Dixie, on the other hand, can only be described as the polar opposite to Matisse as she’s quiet, reserved and rather proper (as she was quite pampered by her previous owner) in how she handles her life each day. She is the kind of dog who will not let you touch her tail under any circumstances whatsoever without growling, who loves going for rides in the car, who will sleep for hours right at your side, who will do no tricks whatsoever for a Pupperoni treat (and scoffs at silly Matisse for acting like a trained monkey), who finds ripping and eating the appendages off toys a complete delight, who gets rather upset when someone mentions the word “bath” in her presence (and tries to kill any and all towels in retaliation), who is fiercely loyal to her person (that being me), who chases her tail in a crazy and hot pursuit as if it offended her in some manner, who is fiercely independent until she needs the help of “doggy elevator” to get onto bed (but she does protest loudly the whole way up) and who thinks my new quilt needed to be gnawed on the corners for a more “used” look.

Dixie is also horribly afraid of our two cats Dante and Gabriel (they had her cornered on her first night in town!), thinks early morning face washings are acceptable, has to be encouraged each time to go outside (and gets lost when doing so) and who publicly makes it known that she finds Matisse rather annoying, but will secretly play or nap with him when she thinks no one is watching.

This is also the dog who was offered a death sentence of three months to a year to live after being diagnosed with kidney failure and has kept up the good fight for over five years now. My friend Stacy thinks it’s because Dixie’s just too mean to die, but I think it’s because God knew I needed her for a little while longer. Maybe the Lord knew she would show me that an serious illness isn’t always an end, but rather a chance to rise above it through faith and determination. Maybe He also knew she would teach me a little something about unconditional love, acceptance and loyalty.

There have been some sad moments in my life when a wet tongue has been there to lick away my tears and I thank God for blessing me with Dixie and Matisse. Yes, whoever said you could learn a lot about life from your pets was one smart cookie. I’m not going to say that life with them is always easy (as those 3AM potty adventures can be brutal on a school night), but I will say my life is quite comical, filled with lots of life lessons and lots of love (and doggy kisses) whenever those two silly fuzzballs are around.

Toodles,
Angi

And the award goes to…

So here I sit on this beautiful Saturday morning with my faithful companions (that being my dogs Dixie and Matisse) at my side just enjoying a brief moment of silence. Okay, maybe “silence” is not quite adequate as the television is blaring with the movie “Yours, Mine & Ours”, Mom’s talking about today’s “to-do” list (which is always ever-growing and rather needs chapters and subheadings), Heather’s entering codes into her scanner for today’s NASCAR race at Gateway International Raceway (go, Kyle!) and Matisse has decided sleep is now over-rated and that playing with his stuffed race car is much more fun. But that’s pretty quiet in comparison to the near-chaotic level this house normally operates at on a daily basis.

Anyway, I’m sitting here thinking I had a pretty good week. I got to see the new Harry Potter movie a full 29 hours before everyone else (thanks, gofobo.com!), had multiple amusing lunches with the Erics (yes, that’s intentionally plural), learned that Sabrina is having another baby girl (her third!), wrote three (now four) blogs and lived (though humiliation and ridicule are still a very real possibility), went to the mobile Titanic exhibit at Chesterfield Mall twice (thanks Nicole and Eric!) and died twice (uh, should I be concerned about this?), found a new racing suit for Sew-Sew (oh, wait till I blog about him!), attempted to learn Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal” on the acoustic guitar (sorry, Clint!), tried the Japanese restaurant San Sai (two words: “spicy chicken”), pretended I didn’t know how to swing dance when I really did, got to meet NASCAR drivers Kenny Wallace (“Kenna Walla”) and Carl Edwards again, had a childhood friend express his undying love for me (yikes!), found a new pair of favorite sunglasses (yay for Target!), tried Denny’s new breakfast burrito (imagine a burrito stuffed with pancake bits, scrambled egg, bacon, sausage and hash browns covered in syrup) and today I get to go to a NASCAR Nationwide race. All in all this week rates pretty high in my book! I hope you all have a great weekend!!

Toodles,
Angi

And the top five toys are…

So the other day I did this game on Facebook where I had to list five toys that reminded me of my childhood.  Now the purpose of this game is to share with your Facebook friends (which my list is fast becoming more eclectic than the music on my iPod) a little something about yourself that they might not actually know about you (whether or not they truly care is completely irreverent).  Now, I was one of those half girly-girls and half tomboys growing up in the 70s, so I have plenty to choose from in the favorite toy department.  But what twisted my brain (well, more twisted than normal) was how do you capsulate your whole childhood into just five toys?  And what’s scary is that once you hit that finalize button there’s no going back!  Yep, once you hit that button your one shot at toy coolness is gone.  Gee, that’s a lot of pressure and I thought Facebook was supposed to be fun!  

Anyway, I started racking my brain (yeah-yeah, I was totally over thinking it now) and after calculating all the pros and cons I finally decided to take the plunge and list Barbie (cause she was so very chic with her purple car, her dream house and her very own horse named Dallas), the Big Wheel (because it was so much better than a stupid tricycle and it could totally do spinouts just by pulling on that nifty plastic handle!), Sit N’ Spin (the prime cause for some of my more dizzy moments and one lost tooth), Breyer horses (for what little girl doesn’t have a thing for handsome steeds) and Smurfs (yes, those little annoying blue things that my best friend Darcy and I just adored!). 

Of course, a sheer moment after hitting that finalize button I was filled with regret for there were so many other cool toys that I had forgotten!  Why I’m pretty sure my plethora of Star Wars figures are thoroughly disappointed in me now and how will I ever face Raggedy Ann and Andy now that I left them off the A list. And what about those cute little Weebles that wobble but don’t fall down or Little People who had everything from a barn to an airplane? Or who could forget the colorful art one could make with a Lite-Brite or how the Slinky was able to walk down stairs or the amazing 3D effect of the View Master? What about Lincoln Logs, Legos or Tinker Toys that made you actually use your brain to create something (not to mention great weapons in a pinch!)? Or that insidious game known only as Mouse Trap that took 5 hours to set up and 30 seconds to play. Why I’m even proud to say I had a Pet Rock. Yep, a rock. Hmm, I guess toys were not as complicated in my day when getting a rock for Christmas was cool.

Toodles,
Angi

P.S. Santa – If you are reading this blog, could you please bring me an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas this year as there is nothing better than cooking a cake with a lightbulb! Thanks!!