Loni bits: facts and opinions.
I embrace my quirks, and my curves...except the lumpy ones. Those can go.
When I was little and on a shopping trip with my entire family, a man once tried to play connect the dots on my face with a ballpoint pen. It left an indentation on my nose, and my grandfather who was up until that point a hero of mine, stood by and laughed. I didn't let that one go for years.
I love writing, but hate punctuation.
I think that moths are like butterflies from hell, I think it's ridiculously creepy that if you touch their wings they leave this coat of death dust on your fingers.
Don't touch my ears. Don't make buzzing noises by my ears. I will hurt you.
I check myself out in any reflective surface.
I actually WANT to be on What Not To Wear. Public humiliation, yes. But, hey free clothes. I watch the show regularly and I have literally seen clothing items that I own on more than one occasion. Yet, I still can't let them go. Plus remember "out there" Loni...yeah she's been old navified. I find myself boring now, because I feel the obligation to dress more uh neutrally. I don't even know what section to shop in anymore. My heart cries Juniors, but Stacy and Clinton say no...what's a girl to do? Not a whole lot.
I have flinstone feet. I hate them, but find them useful for various things like standing and walking.
I cut my own hair mostly because I'm cheap, partially because I can. It's mine.
There were tropical fish etched into the ceiling tiles in the labor and delivery room where Kaleb was born. I thought it was a nice touch.
If you go into labor and your husband's co-workers have the night off, but are still trying to keep the night shift schedule, I think it's ok for them to come in and hang out in the delivery room. The more the merrier, until naked time comes. No better way to pass the time until the epidural than with good company. I think in general there'd be less screaming and dramatics in the labor and delivery area if more women in labor had a few night owl visitors to chat with.
Why is it easier to housebreak a pet than to potty train a child? Honestly?
I think that Rosie O'Donnell has been brainwashed. Remember when she was fun and not sucked into every conspiracy theory that existed. Maybe it's the haunting sweat pant paparazzi shots that ruined her.
I have no use for Paris, Nicole, Lindsey, Britney or any other of the overly-entitled underly-talented _______-a-holics. Why, why, why are they on the NEWS? I thought that was the purpose of tabloids and entertainment/show biz gossip shows. Naughty bits should not be newsworthy unless they belong to someone with some sort of authority and power over something beyond their daddy's credit limit.
On the teeny bopper note: No Dad should talk about his daughters boobs to the media, you're creepy Joe Simpson. Hillary Duff, eat a donut. You look like Skeletor. Paula Abdul, everyone knows you're not really little miss sunshine--maybe letting loose little miss moonshine a little more often will make you more honest and entertaining. "I Love New York"--Really? REALLY? Why does this show exist? I'm voting you all off the island.
I hate spending money.
I have to look if there's a clearance rack. It doesn't matter if it is a rack full of gerbil pelts I will browse on through just to make sure there isn't anything good that I'm missing.
Trips to Big Lots, Ross and the dollar store can take days...I hem and haw over practically every purchase.
I don't sleep well. When I do, my dreams are beyond absurd. Think pygmies and plane crashes. They range from the bizarre to the overly realistic until something unconventional and unrelated pops in and reminds me that I'm actually in bed. Typically, my arm is probably asleep when I try to wake myself up. Usually when things get freaky it's because of a numb appendage.
That is all. For now.
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