Categories
Just Shelley Weblogging

Good Morning Babees!

Recovered from the Wayback Machine

Short trip. As I was working my way north, heading to my most favorite place in the world, I realized something: I don’t have registration for the car. I don’t have license plates, either.

Now, California may accept the dealer’s name in the license plate holder and a teeny tiny piece of paper with the VIN in the front window, but I’m pretty sure that most other states, Oregon included, won’t. At least, I think they won’t. So, I postponed the rest of my trip until I can check, on Tuesday, the legalities of driving my car in other states. If any of you have an answer on this – please email me or drop a comment. The wind blows to the North, and my journey is incomplete.

I have two bizarre and interesting things to tell you about, neither of which has anything to do with my trip. (I also came very close to a serious accident returning home across the Golden Gate Bridge, but we’ll bag talking about that one, concentrate on the fun stuff.)

First, I had the loveliest wrong number. It went something like this:

Him: Shelley! (Turns out, he said Stacey, but I heard Shelley)

Me: Yes?

Him: This is David

Me: (Now, I do know a David, but this one’s in Missouri and can’t figure out why he’d be calling) Hello David

Him: How are you, love (unsure of these exact words)

Me: (The David I know is not English. And doesn’t have such a lovely, lovely voice) Exactly who is this?

Him: This is David! The ten inch stud from London! (Now, I do remember these words, exactly)

Me: (bursting into giggles, I kid you not, giggling like a mad woman)
I’m sorry. giggle But I think you have the wrong number. giggle

Him: Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! I can’t believe I did that! Oh my gosh!

Me: That’s okay (really reluctant to hang up, as this man has the sexiest voice I’ve heard—and I’m a sucker for Australian and English accents)

Him: I’m so sorry. Isn’t this (he repeats a number he’s called)

Me: What was that number again? (Shameless hussy)

Him: (repeats number)

Me: No, I’m sorry. You did dial the wrong number (and I was sorry, too. Damn sorry.)

Him: Oh gosh. I really am sorry. I thought you said your name was Stacey?

Me: No, it’s Shelley (I’m still giggling – can’t believe I’m giggling. Years of sophisticated professionalism drop away in a New York minute.)

Him: Shelley. Yeah, that’s right (is it just me or is he a bit reluctant to hang up, too?)

Him: I can’t believe I said what I did! I’m so sorry!

Me: Not a problem. pause Well good-bye now.

Him: pause Good-bye

Here I am, half in love with a voice and a wrong number. I really have to get out more!

Speaking of which, this leads us to my next bizarre thing – an email, contents of which I’ve copied here:Shelley Powers:

A Provincial Doctor we once had on our team was absolutely right when he once said that women like you, who pukes on others without having the facts, are sexually dissatisfied. Go and get laid, and you’ll feel much better!

Jan

Now, I’ve had web sites for years, and have posted some controversial material at said sites. I’m also a writer, and write things that have made people angry at times. However, I couldn’t figure out exactly where this one was coming from. So I did what every other weblogger would do in this case – I went to Google and looked up Jan Sundberg Bingo! First listing had this page. Then I remembered Mr. Sundberg.

Jan sent me hate mail previously for a series of articles I did titled Tale of Two Monster, about the Giant Squid and Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster. I was not exactly flattering in my coverage of him in said articles. However, what I can’t figure out why he sent me a second hate email last night. I’ve heard from the others mentioned in the articles, but long ago – the articles were written in 1998.

Why is that some men resort to the old “you need to get laid” story any time they meet a woman who disagrees with them? If you have a moment, send Jan an email, tell him “Hi! Back atcha, luv” from me. giggle <edit />

Anyhoo, I have Blogicon items to organize. And I’m still taking off — again — as soon as I find out if I’m going to be hassled driving in other states.

 

Categories
Writing

A Child’s Tale

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

The purple dot lived in a land of yellow dots. Though rich of hue, it was mocked by the other dots, which caused the purple dot great sadness.

The purple dot tried to change. It sat outside in the sun for days on end, hoping to bleach itself; however, all that happened was a bad case of sunburn, so that the purple dot was blistered as well as being purple. The yellow dots laughed even harder at the poor purple dot.

One day, the Fairy Dot Mother appeared to the purple dot, saying “Purple dot, I’ve watched your sadness over the years. What can I do to help you?”

The purple dot was overcome with joy and jumped and spun about with glee. “Fairy Dot Mother”, it said. “Please, please take away my rich hue. Please make me as yellow as the other dots!”

The Fairy Dot Mother replied, “I’m sorry Purple, but your color is part of you, an inherent part of what makes you what you are. I cannot change that.”

Seeing the sadness that came over the purple dot’s face, Fairy Dot Mother hastened to add “I cannot change you…but I can give you what you wish – a home where you are surrounded by by dots the same color as you. I can send you to the Land of Purple Dots”.

“Oh, yes, please, Fairy Dot Mother!”, the purple dot shouted. “Please send me as soon as possible!”

And without a wink or a blink or the smallest tick-tock of the clock, the Fairy Dot Mother waved her wand and poof! the purple dot was in the Land of Purple Dots.

At first the purple dot was very happy, surrounded by others that were the same hue as it. No longer being laughed at. No longer standing out. No longer teased for being different, for being…

…unique.

Being unique.

Over time the purple dot found that it wasn’t so very happy being in the Land of Purple Dots as it originally thought it would be. Where before the purple dot stood out, noticeable and special – now it was just one of the crowd. And the crowd was of such a sameness. The purple dot found itself getting bored. It found that it missed the yellow dots. It missed them a lot.

At the same time, the yellow dots were finding that they missed the purple dot. Where before they thought that Purple Dot was disruptive, frightening in its difference, not pure sunny yellow like themselves; now, they realized that the purple dot added a dimension to their lives. A richness. A contrast. They regretted that they didn’t accept the purple dot for what it was and value it for it’s uniqueness.

One day, the Fairy Dot Mother appeared to the purple dot and asked “Little one, are you now happy?”

The purple dot replied, “No Fairy Dot Mother, I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

“Where before I was unique and special, now I find that I’m one of many that look and act no different then myself.” The purple dot hesitated, and then said “I miss the yellow dots.”

The Fairy Dot Mother, being wise in the way of dots, was not surprised at the purple dot’s discovery. “So Purple dot, does this mean you want to return to the yellow dots?”

The purple dot was at first surprised, and then overjoyed at the thought that it could return home. “Yes, Fairy Dot Mother!” It said. “Please return me to the yellow dots!”

And with a wink and a wiggle and a motion of a feather falling to the earth, the Fairy Dot Mother waved her wand, and the purple dot suddenly appeared amidst a sea of yellow dots, causing a great deal of shock and surprise to all involved.

When the yellow dots realized that the purple dot was back, they fell on it with joy and rolled over it with excitement. They told the purple dot they would never tease it again. And the purple dot was content.

Of course, not everything was always perfect for the purple dot within the land of yellow dots. But purple dot now knew that the best things in life are never very easy. Especially the best things that are different.