The Chicken Family of Somewhere in New England welcomes into their lives 2010 Gray Camry SE. Camry weighed in at 28 MPG highway. It is little and cute and sporty. Camry was born with a sunroof and several desirable safety features. Welcome Gray Camry. Long may you run.
Yes, World, BigB finally chose a car to replace slurple Lexus. It was difficult and I could write a whole post about this angst but BigB would not appreciate so I’ll keep my snide chicken comments to myself. I’m happy to have Gray Camry in our lives and I know Slurple Lexus would be touched that we continued the Toyota tradition
In other news, World, my interview with Dee from Say Anything is posted today. To read it go to Dee’s page, Say Anything.
Boy, when she says May 5, she does not fool around and it is already up. I’m not ready for my Close up, Dee, Geesh. The lights, the lights. NO, the OTHER side, you idiot. This profile makes my NOSE look big. Where’s my Evian. Where are my blue m&ms? Bruce? Bruce I need you, Pet. That’s a good little rockstar. Aaaaah. Ok, I’m ready now.
About a week ago I wrote a post about buying a new cell phone and finding myself. Unfortunately, I only got as far as the cell phone story before I got the glaring “get off the computer” eyeballs, so I never told you how I found myself. I’ve got about five minutes to tell you now. Ready? Andddddd Your on. I mean I’m on. You know what I mean…
Do you remember when I was talking about that book, Healing the Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers that I had bought on sale at Borders as a joke for my daughter, and how I was conflicted because I made the mistake of reading it and was semi-convinced that either I was the narcissist or my mother was and I couldn’t decide? Well, instead of doing the sensible thing and shoving the book way, way under the bed, I kept reading it. And that is how I found myself.
I came to a chapter on healing and it advised getting a bunch of magazines and cutting out pictures of the person you think you would be if you were not a narcissist’s daughter. I love a good arts & crafts project, so I jumped on board totally choosing to forget that a few months ago I actually snickered out loud when a 23-year-old at work started talking about her “vision board”. I know. That wasn’t very nice of me. I’m more humble now. And anyway, this isn’t the same thing. I’m HEALING.
I grabbed my scissors, my glue stick, and a pile of magazines and started cutting away. Snip, snip, glue, glue, slap, slap. I was in the zone. I was so focused on my healing that until I finished, I wasn’t even really aware of what I was cutting and gluing. I just went with my gut, you know? It was, like, so freeing.
When I finished, I took a deep breath, said a little serenity prayer, and stepped back. I looked at what I had made. I looked at who I would have been if I hadn’t had a narcissistic mother. If indeed I did have a narcissistic mother.
And I saw….
France. No butt guts. Photo after photo of Paris, the Eiffel Tower, the French countryside. Phew.
I’m NOT a narcissist’s daughter or a narcissistic mother, World.
I’m a narcissistic COUNTRY. Mona Lisa and I are tight like that. I call her ML. We comment on each others’ blogs. She lives at the Louvre. Roll the rrrrrr’s. You can do eeet, ma petite chickadees. Rollllllll the rrrrrs. Let the rrrrrs make love on your toungue….
C’est bonne, n’est pas?