Hey, there, Kitten Britches!

I'm gonna go "face plant" someone today . . . Not really. Actually, today I'm going to stop wishing that I could "face plant" someone.
I'm going to stop taking things to the extreme in my head just because some other people might. "Sweet" doesn't have to equal "spineless," and "giving" doesn't necessarily signify "doormat."
Some other people can bite me, but I say that in the nicest way possible, not because I'm weak, but just because I'm nice, which, by the way, doesn't mean that I can't stand up for myself.
I'm going to start acting on my impulses to do little things that might make the world a bit more pleasant. They may seem like futile gestures, but if everyone did them, would they really be futile? I mean, there's a whole lot of "bad" out there, and there's a whole lot of "stupid," but if there are enough people who are in agreement to do just a little bit, wouldn't that add up to quite a lot. I'm not a math genius by any stretch of the imagination, but even abacus-girl over here has that one covered. It could be a veritable army of good-smart, and it could change the world, and it might be beautiful.
That's my fly-by bit for this morning, written quickly, in earnest, and with absolutely no apologies.
If you accidentally happen upon this, go ahead and let yourself have an extraordinary day. Give someone a hand. Do something unexpected. Smile at a stranger . . . Well, not too much . . . Don't get weird about it or anything. We're being nice here folks, not creepy.

Love,
Amy

Tell Me Again How Cool I Am . . .

This is my Jane Austen action figure. She stands on my dresser, and she GET'S ME, man. I loooove my Jane Austen action figure because it's a funny concept, but I've also spend a good deal of time defending Ms. Austen's work. It's been said to me that she wrote "the most boring books on the planet," and, of course, I couldn't disagree more. I think that her books, for the most part, are funny, well-crafted, and sincere. I also like flowers, romantic gestures, and Han Solo.
Tell me again how cool I am . . .
Sometimes I have a hard time being a girl. I get all emotional, and I worry too much. Sometimes I think that I missed my era. I mean, there was a time when a chick could get all crazy to the point of falling into a swoon, and not only would people typically not think less of her, chances are, someone would actually catch her, and be happy to do so at that. Sometimes I just want to go all hysterical. Sometimes I want someone to yell, "Stella!" at me. Well, you know what I mean . . .
Anyway, maybe I've lived too far off the ground for too long. Maybe I have some kind of "princess in a tower" complex, and, to be quite honest, if some guy came by on horseback, even I'd be snarky enough to yell down, "Hey, Dudley Do-Right, Canada's that way!" Or, you know, as we like to call it, "South Detroit." I shouldn't complain, actually. Even if they don't wear tights anymore (well, not usually), I know what heroes look like, and even if all of my girliness isn't completely understood, it might still very well be appreciated for what it is . . . Just me being me . . . glow-in-the-dark star stickers on my ceiling, the fact that I'll probably be teaching tap dancing this summer, Jane Austen action figure, and all.
I'll tell you how cool I am. I'm as cool as I ever was and ever will be.