Holy crap, I'm carrying what?!

My friend, B. tagged me via email to confess the contents of my purse. I am too mortified to do so publicly so I'm posting it here instead.

• A wallet stuffed with receipts, some of which are so old that you can no longer read the print on them.
• Two diapers and a package of wipes.
• The "Mom" tissues -- meaning that approximately three of them are previously used. By whom I could not exactly say.
• Three Matchbox cars - a Hummer H2, Cadillac Escalade and a convertible Porsche 911, to be exact.
• Chewbacca.
• A Clinique Black Honey lipstick, covered in lint from the times it has opened accidentally in my purse.
• The food journal that I never actually use.
• A box of raisins and a juice box.
• Two pens that don't actually write, but one of them is sparkly!
• My international driver's license.
• Miscellaneous pieces of Chex, Goldfish crackers, pretzels and other stuff that I assume (hope?) was once some type of foodstuff.
• A tampon with a ripped wrapper that is halfway out of the applicator.

Guess I have some cleaning out to do. But what about you? What kind of junk are you carrying around?

I'm a sucker for this kind of thing.

If you were tasked with giving your last lecture -- or rather, write a speech that would encapsulate all that you were and all that you were about if you were unable to ever write another -- what would you write?

Many universities across the country are doing their own versions of this -- having nationally recognized scholars give their own hypothetical last talks. This week, Randy Pausch, a fairly famous Computer Science professor gave his at Carnegie Mellon. It was perfect. I was especially touched by his statement, "Brick walls are there for a reason. They let us prove how badly we want things."

Godspeed, Dr. Pausch. May heaven contain all the stuffed animals and blank walls that you could ever dream of.

Two good movies in one week.

I love Netflix. I believe I've waxed poetic more than a time or two. But despite Netflix's excellent and speedy service, they still do send me a fair bit of crap. I know, I know -- not their fault. No worries -- I'm not trying to shoot the messenger. But it's important to point out that just due to the fact that I'm almost totally reliant on a mail service for my movies, a good number of those I watch are either blah or total crap.

Not this week. Netflix sent me not one but TWO excellent films. I am so ecstatic that I must share.

The first was The Lookout. Fine, so I just put it on the top of my queue because it stars my new boycrush Joseph Gordon-Levitt. But it was well worth it. A good all-around film. It's about a guy with a brain injury who gets wrapped up in a bank heist. Excellent acting by both Gordon-Levitt and his co-stars.

The second film was Inside Man. I'll tell you upfront that it's a Spike Lee Joint. But you know, you'd never know it (well, maybe with the exception of the moving walkway type shot). Jodie Foster, who I had forgotten is one of my favorite actresses, kicks ass in spike heels and attitude -- just a very different character from the one I normally associate with her. I really enjoyed it.

So if you are looking for a movie (and didn't see either of these in the theater like the rest of the world), check 'em out.

Ways you know CPT Dick was watching the boy.

1. When I returned home, everyone was asleep but every light in the house was turned on.
2. The laundry I'd been doing, which was not quite dry, had been yanked from the dryer early so that CPT Dick could do a load of PTs.
3. Munchkin's toys were scattered around the living room, making me somewhat glad the lights were on so I would not risk bodily injury.
4. The bathtub had not been drained from Munchkin's bath.
5. The boy was asleep on the floor in his room surrounded by every single book he owns.
6. Despite 30 degree temperatures, Munchkin was dressed in summer pajamas.
7. The pajamas did not match.
8. The dinner I made for him and Munchkin as a courtesy was not cleaned up. A half-full container of sour cream remained, open, on the counter top. And other taco fixings could be found equally distributed across the counter, in the now scorched frying pan and on the floor.
9. CPT Dick's nasty-ass PT running shoes, which somehow smell of cat piss, were not outside or in the foyer per the rules, but right next to the bed.
10. My husband had managed to cocoon himself into not one, but two comforters on our bed, making it necessary for me to kick him repeatedly to give up some covers.

My new boy crush.

OK, so yeah, it's a little creepy that he was the kid in Third Rock from the Sun when I was in college. And probably even creepier that he was the little boy in "A River Runs Through It" which came out in 1992. 1992!

But I can't help myself. Since seeing Joseph Gordon-Levitt in "Mysterious Skin," I'm nursing a serious boy crush.

It was only made that much more tangible by his appearance in the Times Style section.

Is it wrong that a nearly middle-aged woman wants to write to this guy and says that I'm totally willing to make out with him and have long conversations?

Highway to Heaven.

You know this photo of a crashed beer truck with all of the bottles lining the road? I actually saw something like that once here in Germany.

A beer truck had busted an axle. But it had somehow managed to get itself over to the side of the road safely. Traffic was backed up behind it but only because motorists were stopping to grab themselves a case of beer. I remember wondering if there was some unwritten German rule about a broken-down beer truck -- were these people stealing? Did they have the driver's OK to take it? Or did they maybe pay him before taking it? Could it be that it's just considered a gift from God? How does this work? Is there some kind of secret German code that says any beer that might be left to skunk in the sun is fair game? Enquiring minds want to know!

(Note: CPT Dick was pretty PO'ed that I did not stop and pick up my own rack. He's decided a broken down beer truck falls into the "Gift From God" category and that it is completely disrespectful to ignore such a call).

So I had to laugh when I came across this headline in Der Spiegel -- Chocolate Sauce Blocks Autobahn. 13 tons of melted chocolate bars? Holy crap.

(And yes, for the record, I probably would have stopped at that one. How could I not? The chocolate would fix to my tires and render me immoveable! The only way to do my civic duty is to eat my share before moving on!)

Oh God, I'm old.

I had yet another FRG-related meeting today to discuss more FRG-related training and FRG-related brainstorming to somehow fundraise money without actually selling anything, raffling anything or just plain asking for it. (Note: My sensible notion of just telling all the soldiers to donate $10 if single or $25 if with a family to the "FRG Fund" was shot down -- the highers-up failed to see the irony).

But during a break, a few of us are kvetching outside the conference room. And one of the newer ladies starts in on how she had a fight the other day with her boss. The long and the short of it was that this woman felt that she knew better than her boss and was talking about all the education and experience that she had that her boss did not.

And you know, she had me with her for most of her spiel. I thought she was right and the way she was piling on the credentials, I was having difficulty seeing why her boss was ignoring such brilliance.

Until, that is...(and isn't there always an until?)...she says, "You know, it's not like I'm not qualified for her job. I'm 23 years old..."

And that's when she lost me. 23, huh? I guess I thought I pretty much knew it all at 23, too. No wonder her boss stopped listening.

You like me, you really like me!

Or at least, someone noticed me! Either one works for me.

I was thrilled to pop over to SpouseBUZZ today and see that I am on a list of military spouse bloggers to check out.

Thanks for the shout-out...and for my military spouse readers that don't know of the fantastic resource that is SpouseBUZZ, go check it out!