I'm on Board - Quadrant the 4th

For those newcomers, welcome! I am beyond thrilled that you made it here! According to secret reports, I'm developing quite a following in Poland, my persona is reaching mythical proportions in Latvia and someone in DC is reading me - I'm sure it's the new administration just trying to find a polite way to ask me on board. Canadian Envoy Blogger to the Under Secretary of the Exterior Interior - I like the sound of this, don't you? (The business cards might be a tad unwieldy though).

To get you up to speed, for the last 3-ish Tuesdays (here, here, and here), I've been showing bits and pieces of the bulletin board above my computer.

For those countless throngs of the quasi-interested-3/4-of-the-way-in-the-know, here's that last puzzle piece. It really does fit - no nail scissors or mallet required.

See that smiling face hoisting the hoity-toity beverage? Why that would be none other than the Thelma to my Louise, the Good Countess Vi. This picture was taken on our girly getaway to Savannah Georgia at the fine dining establishment Lady and Sons.

We saw no lady nor her sons. This was rather disappointing.

But after a few mint juleps and a trip or two to the fried chicken 'n grits buffet, it just didn't matter.

The blue scrap of paper is an idea I have for painting a sign for a friend of mine (yes, one of my many ever-changing hobbies)(painting signs that is, not making friends) . I made one that hangs in my kitchen that says:

"Eat. Drink. Be Merry. Repeat."

This is just, oh, a je ne sais quoi - an international variation on a theme. I hope she's not reading this. Well, I am. But I'm not. But I am. You know.

The silver star is a remnant of the star confetti that we used for Duke #1's Dry After Grad party. As head of the Decorating Committee (read in: I'm bossy), I was extremely proud of how my vision all turned out. Go here for the deets. Shiny. Me likee the shiny long time.

Beneath the star is a recipe from my massage therapist for a vegetable juice. She swears by it. I swear because of it - I've seen it eddying around in a drinking glass; it looks like the goop at the bottom of a bag of lawn cuttings that have had the chance to steam for a while in the plastic bag. Mmmm-mmmm good!

Again, she swears by it, and since I love her so, I'm willing to try this.

Once.

Above this is a sketch that I made when Duke 2 and I were going to write the Great Canadian Children's Book - "The Rooster That Didn't Get It - a true story". We had a rooster who lived somewhere across the highway on the agricultural reserve - and this beast would crow regardless of the time of day. I could not get my head around explaining how this could be (and I was too lazy to do my rooster research), then Duke 2 kind of lost interest, and this is all that's left. Maybe one day...

The last thing tucked into the corner is one of those "feel good" cards, full of ideas to aspire to - sentiments courtesy of one Mary Anne Radmacher:

live with intention.
walk to the edge.
listen hard.
practice wellness.
play with abandon.
laugh.
choose with no regret.
continue to learn.
appreciate your friends.
do what you love.
live as if this is all there is.

There you have it - now you know all that you could possible want to know about The Baroness.

Well, not really. You won't know about her one day foray into tv model/spokeswoman-ness, or her early chambermaid days, or the one bank incident that made her hate everyone for at least a month. Some things are best left unsaid.

On that fact, I'm on board.

Dallas, We Have a Problem

Oh where, oh where has my suitcase-y gone,

Oh where, oh where can it be?

To be honest, at this very moment, I do not have a frickin' clue. When the travelling sages would tell the Baroness that she should take a toothbrush and clean underwear in her carryon, the Baroness would guffaw. Chortle. Mock. Judge (repeat as needed). What kind of crackpot bumpkin peasant would she be, carrying girly drawers in her purse? Gawd. And then it happened. 5 planes and 3 airlines later, I arrived at my destination, sans baggage. Well, there's that unresolved stuff with my father, but that in and of itself won't brush my teeth. Try as I might, I can in no way fashion pajamas out of my laptop. Although - I did craft a fabulous origami bra out of my Yoga Journal magazine.

What complete moron chose Savannah anyways? Oh yeah, that would be me. I'm sure it will be a lovely city to visit - at least according to the bang-up job the tourism bureau does on their website. It's just that right now, given all the crap I've dealt with to get here, it better be pret-ty farging amazing, with Targets resembling Neiman Marcus, and an easy-access Walgreens so I can replenish my non-existent toiletries. Paula Deen herself better be tappin' on my hotel door (y'all) to deliver my room service. Scratch that. Send one of her sons instead. Then everything will be even.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm still thrilled beyond belief to be able to spend some girly time with my sister. Huge, huge, massive thanks to Mr. American Airlines ticket counter guy who pawned me off to Delta Airlines. A big warm embrace to Herb at Delta, who somehow got me on standby out of Dallas, to sweet Allen at the gate, who actually managed to get me on the plane, and to the pilots, who decided to take off from Dallas when the rest of the airport was shutting down from the snowstorm. This is a trip that was obviously meant to be, and through the effort of some fine individuals who spent most of yesterday being crapped on, I'm here and truly grateful to you all.

Some random thoughts I jotted down while on various planes yesterday:

1. In all the years I watched "Dallas" on tv, I never recall it snowing on Southfork. WTF? Did JR and Sue Ellen use all of their ill-gotten booty on some sort of biodome?

2. "Last Call" for boarding a plane surprisingly does not bring about the same emotions as "Last Call" at a bar.

3. An apology to all the seat-pee-ers at the airport - in a desperate toilet fly-by between planes, it became clear to me how some flushing may get overlooked (note here that I said it became clear. This in no way implicates me in said eww-ness). The odds are still astronomical that this happens so often that no matter when I fly, I'm in the stall immediately following the toilet seat tinklers. I still do not grant pardons to areas other than the airport - you know who you are.

4. If, for whatever reason, in some far-fetched skewed reality I were to be on "Amazing Race" - I would be a cryer. Or at the very least, a whiner. It's a fact I'm not too proud of, but there you have it. I'm so not cut out for guerilla travel. I'm in awe of you all who must zigzag back and forth across the country for business. You are made of strong mettle. I, on the other hand, am made of marshmallows and feathers and resemble a quavering house of cards.

5. One of the flight attendants reminds us that, "overhead space is shared space." Yeah, she's talking to you, Mr. Jerk in 10A, who spends 10 minutes trying to Tetris not only his 2 suitcases into the overhead bin, but I believe also a live chicken.

6. I notice that the food truck loading comestibles onto the place boast the logo "Pride in Quality". Hmm. When sir, exactly, were you last proud?

7. Where did I read that "keep hydrated" advice? In Style? New England Journal of Medicine?

This theory only works if you are in close proximity to one of the paltry few airplane lavoratories and have also slipped the flight attendant a 20 upon boarding that will maybe earn you VIP access. Young supermodels who can keep hydrated = bladder of a camel. Older, menopausal frumps - bladder capacity of a thimble. (Mental note - maybe a 100 instead. $20 may come across as cheap instead of desperate.)

* Note from the Baroness - I had to come back and format this post - for some reason, I couldn't get it to work on my laptop, and the non-justified paragraphs and clumped-together paragraphs were driving me mental.

She's So Hot Right Now

A little while back, the Baroness had the good fortune of being treated with a visit from Countess JBL (of the Rive Noir principality). She was on her way to her annual family reunion, and as the von Bloggenschtern compound is so close to the airstrip, she decided to stay for a day and catch up before grabbing her connecting flight.

As we got into the back of the Bentley for her departure, I commented on how great she looked in her cute travelling outfit. "Thanks," she said, "it's all cotton". As if this had some magical significance. She must have noticed that I wasn't exactly bowled over by her fabric selection, so she added this innocuous little qualifier, "so that if that plane catches fire, my clothes won't melt on to my body." Wow. Cheery thought, that. Bon voyage, have a good flight, and stay clear of the polyestered granny in your row. She'll go up like a fireball. Especially with all that hairspray.

But here I am, packing up for another foray into the South United States of Amuur-cka, and guess what? I'll be wearing cotton. Don't want to jinx anything. Oh, and in the too much information category, I have neglected any defoliation processes for at least a week. I figure the the hair gives me an extra layer of protection. In case... ya know.

It should be four days of fabulosity with the Countess of Chit Chat, and I will endeavour to keep in touch (when I'm not out stalking Paula Deen and sons) (or in a fried chicken coma at some off-the-beaten path roadside) (or hiding in the car during the Countess' proposed midnight graveyard tour).

Bye for now, y'all!!

Affectionately,
The Baroness

PS to Countess NATUI: Rest assured that one of my upcoming travel-rama posts will be regarding the afore-mentioned travel etiquette (or lack thereof). I just need to gather a little more information. And, since I'll be travelling most of tomorrow to get across 2 countries, I'll have plenty of time for subversive observation...

Ooooh, Y'All! I Heart Paula Deen!

Inhale, 1, 2.

Exhale, 1,2.

Inhale1, 2 a-a-a-n-n-n-nd exhale1, 2.

Enough of this nonsense. The Baroness is so beside herself with glee, she cannot possibly begin to calm down. To quote Countess Scarlett , I'm licking the walls (gee, I hope I used this term in the appropriate context...). Why is this so, Baroness? Forget about pulling up the cozy chair this time. Don't bother even getting comfortable. This can't possibly wait for you to do all that. I'm just going to blurt it out - I'm going to Savannah, y'all!

Yes, (yup?) - plans have been finalized, reservations made, cholesterol-related drugs ordered. It's now official. The Baroness and her faithful companion Countess Vi are off to stalk us some Paula Deen. And Bobby Dean. And Jamie Dean. Maybe even her dog (as I write this, I realize that perhaps it may not be prudent to be putting this in writing - it can only end up serving as evidence. Oh well, fiddle dee dee. I look stunning in orange - brings out my aqua eyes).

I am sure that at this point, some of you may have questions. Why Savannah, Baroness? Why Paula Deen, Baroness? Why now, Baroness? And why, oh, why do you continue to speak in the third person? I will now attempt to illuminate you, to draw you in to the weird and whack-a-doodle von Bloggenschtern world...

1. Why Savannah? Well, when B vonB and Countess V were planning this girly getaway, Countess V (who lives in the glacial midwest) insisted that it be somewhere warm. My only criteria was that it be in the U.S., and that wherever we went, they had accents. Voila! Georgia. On my mind. It seems perfectly logical to moi. Those of you who know the Baroness know that my logic defies description, and, well - logic. In this universe, anyways. So let me be.

2. Why Paula Deen? Let me count the ways. Her laugh, her spirit, her corn-pone accent (which the Baron insists is put on. Heathen.), her ability to turn everyday boxes of pudding into the sublime.

I have been a Paula fan from a long way back, since her early Food Channel days, when I saw her shredding a big ol' baked chicken into wee tiny shreds of heaven with her ring-laden, long-nailed bare hands. I was transfixed. Perhaps appalled. But definitely transfixed. This was clearly a woman who meant binn-iss. Plus, she bears a striking resemblance to one of my favorite relatives, Great Aunt Lexa. Who, by the way, also knew her way around a box of jello. Such an artisan. And a prairie fashion plate to boot. That woman could work a housecoat like no one else. Oh, Lexa...

I digress. I did not premeditate this trip with the agenda of lurking after the Lady and Sons (this may also be used as evidence, and overrules the stalking confession earlier). Like so many other things Southern, it is merely the gravy on top. In fact, I am fully aware of the fact that Ms. Deen and/or her hunk o' hunk o' burning sons may not be there. But their aura will be. Plus some kick-heart (as opposed to kick-ass) food. And some sort of memorabilia.

3. Why now? Well, why not? Countess Vi and I have plans to visit the birthplace of Dean Martin - Steubenville, Ohio - but it's not the right time of year. Hey! Don't think I don't hear you out there thinking to yourself - is there a right time of year to visit Steubenville? Yes. Yes there is. I think* that Ohio might be far more delightful in the fall. Plus, I'm in need of some inspiration to fill the creative well. Surely people with accents will be kitschy. (I did see Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil- it should be like that, non? That Lady Chablis really kicked it. )

*see explanation of Baroness logic, article 1.

4. The third person thing? The Baroness finds this very amusing. And she is the self-appointed royalty in her own life*.

*Again, see logic, article1.

So, dear readers, The Baroness awaits your response. Suggested places to go? Things to eat? Accents to hear? Tell me everything, y'all.