Last night I dreamed I was riding Sparky The Flying Wonder Pig when he dropped me in the middle of the street while we were waiting for a light to change. It was hot and the road was dirty and I was left wishing I’d just ridden my faithful old red Jeep instead.

I know, I know — why was a flying pig waiting for a light to change? Good question. But that’s how dreams work, though. They’re odd and obscure and full of disassociated items like flying pigs and red lights. The few dreams I remember never seem to have any real meaning, at least not to me.

Although when I was 12, I dreamed that I tripped while walking up the front sidewalk of my house and my toe bled and bled and bled — I woke up very frightened. Three days later, I fell in my kitchen and cut that same foot. It bled and bled and bled and I ended up with over 40 stitches and spent most of the summer on crutches.

Paranormal occurrence? Strange coincidence? I dunno.

What do you guys think? What was your last dream? Have you ever had a dream that came true? And do you think I should avoid flying pigs just in case?

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I love a good quote. My entire office is covered with them. Some are Life Instructions like “Live Loud.” I have that one on the door of my office so that I can remember to challenge myself while I’m writing.

On the inside of my moleskin notebook I have a quote from George Carlin that says, “Don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things.” That’s to remind me not to get too wrapped up in unimportant things — like worrying about things I can’t control.

My favorite quotes right now (and they change daily) are:

“If you think you’re right, if you think you’re wrong, you’re probably right.” — Henry Ford

“I’m an excellent housekeeper. Every time I get a divorce, I keep the house!” — Zsa Zsa Gabor

“Beware of the young doctor and the old barber.” — Benjamen Franklin

“I intend to live forever. So far, so good.” — Steven Wright

“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.” — Maya Angelou

“Why does Sea World have a seafood restaurant? I’m halfway through my fish burger and I realize, Oh man, I may be eating a slow learner!” — Lyndon B Johnson

“An invasion of armies can be resisted, but not an idea whose time has come.” — Victor Hugo

What quotes mean a lot to you? Do you like inspirational or funny or both? And do you print them up and hang them over your desk, too?

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I’m a big fan of the nonfiction cable TV channels – Animal Planet, The History Channel, National Geographic, The Science Channel, TruTV, and most especially, The Discovery Channel. I’m certain that some of the things I’ve learned there could one day save my life. And so in the interest of helping my fellow goddesses, I will share them with you:

1) From Stormchasers – Being in the center of an F-3 tornado is very windy. Many large objects become airborne, and some of these things could possibly kill you.

2) From Shark Week – Sharks live in the ocean, except for the Bull sharks that swim upstream in creeks on the East Coast where they could possibly kill you.

3) From The Deadliest Catch – Catching crabs in the Bering Sea between November and February is very cold and those men are insane. Oh, and the weather conditions could possibly kill you.

4) From Man vs. Wild – If caught in the desert with no food or water, you can squeeze water out of a cactus, and you can eat scorpions raw. Or they could possibly kill you.

5) From Mythbusters – If you’re in an elevator and the cables break and it falls 20 stories, jumping up in the air just before impact will not save your life. If you’re working on the Golden Gate Bridge and you fall off, dropping your hammer in first will not break the plane of water enough to save your life. Goldfish can be taught to swim through a tube – but a goldfish can’t save your life. (Unless it swims between you and a Bull shark.)

Do you enjoy watching any of the “learning” channels? What facts have you learned that you might not otherwise have known? Have any of them saved your life? What’s your favorite nonfiction show?

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Okay, technically my birthday is tomorrow. But I’m a firm believer in extending any festivities that involve presents for as long as possible.

How old will I be? Younger than dirt and older than my car. That’s not the point, though. The point is that I’ve been waxing nostalgic this week, doing a lot of “remember whens”.

For example, remember when M*A*S*H was the hottest medical show on television? Remember when it cost $2.50 to go see a movie? I remember that Excalibur was the first R-rated movie I ever saw, while Island at the Top of the World was the first movie I ever saw in a movie theater. I remember going to see Rio Lobo, Lobo the Wolf, and Journey to the Center of the Earth at the drive-in (not all on the same night).

I remember going to Disneyland and using up all the E-tickets first, and having extra C-tickets that piled up in a drawer for years. I remember being nervous and singing the “Scooby Doo” song to myself the first time I rode on The Haunted Mansion.

I remember in elementary school learning about the energy crisis and holding a mock election between Nixon and McGovern. McGovern won. I remember my first pair of stereo headphones (which weighed about five pounds), and that the first CD I ever bought was the score to Return of the Jedi. Oh, and my first VCR was metal encased, about six inches tall and eighteen inches wide, and cost $600.

What do you remember when you’re feeling nostalgic? What are some of your firsts?

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We’ve done the Goddess Bill of Rights – but what about the Goddess Bill of Goods?

Once, when I was young and green, I ordered a tape (I am sure it was a cassette tape but it might have been an eight track) of songs I enjoyed by “various artists.” When the music arrived, it was not the various artists singing their songs as I had imagined, but a second-rate group called The Various Artists. The Various Artists sold me a bill of goods (anyone know where that expression comes from?)

Recently, a friend told me she had ordered the Facial Flex from QVC. It’s supposed to tone the muscles in her face and erase nature’s way of letting the rest of the world know she’s getting older.  In other words, it takes the sag from her face.   I asked for a report, and she said that after several weeks of the Facial Flex, she still looks almost 50. Another bill of goods!

In the last year, I have bought three Oral toothbrushes that have the battery inside. They cost about $4. Once the battery runs out, they are disposable. Not one of the three I have bought has worked. Bill of goods? Or really rotten luck?

Last night, I was sold the cruelest bill of goods. The Dallas Cowboys are My Football Team. I have stuck with them for decades now through thick and thin–even when I lived in Washington, DC.   Yes! Decades! But this year—this year—they said they were a contender. They began the season with impressive stats and promised me—promised me!!—that it was no fluke. But over the last few games, I began to see the backward slide I have seen from the Cowboys in so many seasons. And last night, they lost in the playoffs, and I realized I had been sold a bill of goods once again.

All I can say—and this hurts almost as bad as the loss—is….Go Packers.

Have you ever been sold a bill of goods? What’s the worst piece of crap you’ve ever purchased or acquired? If you’re a Giants fan, congratulations—game well played!

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Seriously. I’m talking about those things you accumulate on your desk (or dresser or kitchen counter, for those who don’t have desks) that either

a) Show your personality
b) Don’t seem to have a place
c) Make you feel good or special
d) Serve some weird, specific to you, practical purpose.

I don’t mean stuff you need for work—staplers, pens, lamps. I’m talking about the adornments. The desk jewelry, if you will.

My writing desk is tiny (my huge office desk won’t fit in my only window, and I like to write in the window), so I’m limited, but I still manage to have the following:

Category A: a Jane Austen action figure, a tiara given to me by the Avon Ladies for work on the website, and a pirate Mickey Mouse

Category B: two twist ties and the plastic doohickey that popped off the desk

Category C: A stuffed pink monkey keychain with Raji’s name beaded on it (he was in Only a Duke) from Elsie Hogarth, the teddy that came with the basket my agent sent when I hit the NYT print list this year, a gigantic coffee cup and beaded bookmark from Caren Helms Crane, dragon and Simpsons bookmarks from pal Suse, and a Shakespeare action figure from hubby (Will S and Jane A are dating, although there’s a serious height and head size discrepancy)

Category D: flower-handled tools (I always seem to need tools), post-its with “Sabrina” imprinted on them, batteries for the wireless mouse and the headphones, fingernail polish, a penny for switching out my Mac batteries, pretty coasters, reading glasses, coffee cups and water bottles (always). And the gigantor magnifying glass that I use to consult my Compact OED.

So what about you? What desk jewelry do YOU have? Does it change? What does it say about you that we should know (because we’re nosy and we don’t want any surprises when you pull out an Uzi on Mount Oly)?

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In his best-selling book, Stone Cold, David Baldacci left this intriguing Author’s Note:

“I hope you enjoyed Stone Cold. One note so people won’t e-mail telling me I made a glaring mistake: I’ve played with the time-line, putting Yuri Andropov and Konstantin Chernenko in office as heads of the Soviet Union so it would match Oliver Stone’s career as a government assassin. As a fiction writer, I have full latitude to do so. It’s an entitlement actually granted to me by the Novelist’s Bill of Rights, under the subsection “Why Bother with the Truth When You Can Just Make It Up?” It was duly enacted by Congress, an august body that has enviable experience in same.”

I dig that rule. You wouldn’t believe the people who’ve written to let me know that “There was no Duke of Dunderhead in 1802. I know because I looked it up on the net.”

Yeah, well, I made that up, so live with it, sister.

Of course, on the other side of the coin, you should hear me telling Brett Favre how to throw more accurately. If he would only listen to me, he’d never be intercepted again.

Uh huh. Right.

I wonder what would be on the Quarterback’s Bill of Rights? “Do not come up to me at a cook-out and tell me how to throw more accurately unless you’ve had more than 15 years behind the ball like I have, you silly moron.”

I suspect this sort of thing happens to us all.

Is it just me or do a lot of people delight in acting as if they’re experts at YOUR job, even though most of them have no earthly idea what it actually entails? Tell us what YOUR Bill of Rights would contain!

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I’ll admit it straight up: I haven’t seen some of the movies considered by critics to be “the best” of 2007. But I have seen a few of them, and boy can they get it wrong. So here’s my opinion on a couple of the year’s most notable, in no particular order.

No Country for Old Men – I generally like the Coen brothers, and I’m a big fan of Tommy Lee Jones. But this movie is the 2007 version of The Emperor’s New Clothes. It doesn’t make any sense and has an EXTREMELY unsatisfying ending. But nobody wants to admit that maybe they’re the only ones who don’t get it, so they say it’s the best American movie ever. Good acting, stupid movie.

300 - This one reminded me of the first time I saw The Matrix – blown away. Yes, it was violent, but I’ve never seen a better visual rendering of what larger than life mythology looks like. And it was for the most part a true story.

Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street - Another gory one, and one of the few movies that’s made me glad not to live in London during the reign of Victoria. At least not as a poor person who might eat meat pies. But it was still a great movie.

I Am Legend - I’ve always liked Will Smith, and he carries this one well, even being on screen alone for most of the movie. And this version has a better ending than the Vincent Price one.

3:10 to Yuma - The best western since Silverado. Russell Crowe can rob my bank any day.

I know I haven’t mentioned a ton of 2007 movies, but I’m not the only goddess critic around. Tell me some of your favorites. And least favorites. And which ones do you think will win Oscars?

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Why is it that almost everything during the holidays is bad for you? So many things endanger your health and your happiness at this time of the year. Just to name a few examples:

-Your heart. I just read a newspaper article entitled “Holidays Increase Coronary Dangers,” which claimed that December and January are the deadliest months for heart attacks. Yikes!

-Your figure. All that fat and sugar in the holidays goodies you eat and drink can take a toll. One little cup of eggnog is 350 friggin’ calories! A friend of mine just sent me a huge box of my favorite chocolates. Do you think for one second that I have the willpower to resist?

-Your safety. Driving can be treacherous. There’s the mad rush that increases traffic - everybody out shopping or going places because of the holidays. Usually the weather is bad cause it’s winter. And there are a lot more parties to attend, so you wind up driving home after dark more often.

-Your sanity. I don’t know about you, but the holidays are always crazy for me, with work deadlines, gift shopping and wrapping, decorating, family obligations, cooking and baking, parties and pot-lucks, get-togethers with friends, airline travel to visit the in-laws… The stress can be bad for your heart, your figure, and your brain.

-Your pocketbook. Retailers love this time of the year since they can move the most merchandise. But we consumers find all kinds of ways to blow our budgets.

Temptation abounds. And the holidays are when we’re the weakest. We all figure this is the time of the year we can splurge.

That extra piece of pie your mouth waters for? Sure- chow down.  That expensive pair of shoes you lust after? Go for it! The extra hour of sleep you crave, even though you know it’ll put you further behind? Hit the snooze button on the alarm clock. Better yet, turn off the dang alarm clock.

So what will cause you the most danger during the holidays? What can’t you resist, even if you know it’s bad for you? What will you be splurging on this time of year?  And if you sin a little, do you make yourself pay penance later?

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I have two olders sisters whom I admire very much. They are both accomplished and capable and they have beautiful homes and beautiful Christmas trees, and their presents are beautifully wrapped.

Then there’s me. Try as I may, I cannot wrap gifts worth a damn. I can sort of wrap gifts. If the box is square, I can make the corners neat, but forget it when it comes to bows and ribbons. My only hope is to buy the expensive, pre-tied bows with fruit and nuts sticking out of them. But I am fundamentally cheap, so I may buy one or two of those bows—the rest get curling ribbon. Curling ribbon, I can do.

Tonight, while I was wrapping gifts, I wondered what my inability to wrap well says about me. It took me all of two seconds to figure it out: It says I’m the type that can’t fold a fitted sheet, and ‘it’ is right—I cannot fold a fitted sheet to save my life! My sisters can fold them—you cannot tell their flat sheet from their fitted sheets when they are done. My fitted sheets turn into balls—I get so frustrated, I just roll it up and stuff it in the trunk where I keep linens.

It means I can’t crochet. My sisters can crochet and make wonderful throw rugs. They tried to teach me, just like they tried to teach me to fold a fitted sheet—but everything I tried turned out all wrong. One end would be longer than the other, or the edge would slant off until the piece was a triangle.

I have to face it: I don’t have the craft jean. So in the future, I am going to do what a friend of mine did: She hired a teenager to come over and wrap gifts for 5 bucks an hour. For $15, she had all her presents wrapped with about the same skill level as she possessed, but without all the cussing. Brilliant!

Are you a wrapper? Do your fitted sheets fold into perfect squares? Do you have any throw rugs lurking about with one end a foot or so shorter than the opposing end?

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