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Description
Follow-Up Report

(Read in an overly-cheerful-Stewardess-Barbie voice)
Hello and Welcome to Happy Land! We’ve recently been shut up for internal repairs, but we’re currently opening to the select public on a more and more extended schedule. If you have any questions about our hours or the repairs, please see the information booth to the right of the vending machine in the lobby, where our helpful staff in rainbow Afro wigs will promptly tell you to screw off and mind your own business. If any further information is required or you would like to make a complaint against our organization, please see the Vice Principal. Thank you, have a nice day and enjoy the show.

(Read in a slightly cynical teenage-girl-with-PMS voice)
You’ll remember my face and forget my name by tomorrow at 2am at the very latest.
Or vice Versa.
So I shouldn’t waste my breath telling you about either.
But I will, because I’m just that kind of person.
My name is Rachel. It’s Hebrew in origin, and means ewe.
No, not “eww there’s a booger hanging from your nose!”
Ewe, the female sheep.
I struggle with the sheep roots carrying over from my name to my life. I win most of the time.
I like sheep because they look cute and furry and they run away from me.
Goats are scary.
When I bother to do my hair it bounces when I walk, with enthusiasm.
When I bother to do my hair it bounces, when I walk with enthusiasm.
I call it my Meg Ryan Hair.
My aunt thinks I look like Julia Stiles.
I think my eyes are sort of hazelly-green, but everyone else says they’re brown.
Big momma and diva that I am, I wear whatever I want.
Bright pink shoes with flowers. Fuchsia halter dresses with blue, beige and orange flowers.
Oh by the way, my favorite color is Fresh Melon. That’s a fancy name for blinding green.
So I love shrimp and pecans and of course, my mom is allergic to both.
(that’s pCAWNs, not PEEcans. PEEcans are what you put under your bed in 18th century England.)
I speak English and french, and a little bit of polish, Serbian, German and a bunch of other exotic languages.
I wonder why this machine isn’t making me capitalize french and polish.
I wish I could bathe in a pool of lavender body scrub and blue raspberry Jell-o.
But not at the same time.
Eww.
There’s that sheep again.
I always walk on those concrete parking-barrier wannabe curb thingys at Dairy Queen, but I love plaid suspenders.
When I want to get up early, I can jump out of bed at the first sibling-like annoyance of my alarm clock.
I love walking through mist and seeing the sun reflect on dew covered power lines like huge spider webs at 6am.
Like many women, I have a shoe fetish. My shoes are all unique, and I thrive on inexpensive little-boy tee shirts.
Patricia O’Callaghan takes everyone else’s music and tweaks it to her own sense of perfection.
I adore her sound, but I want to write my own music.
Kara, Amanda, a burned CD, “The Red Tent” and a good pillow in a Red Honda Civic in July is my idea of a good time.  Oh, can’t forget the onion rings (with ketchup) and melting ice cream.
I wish I could fill my house with yellow gladioluses and bleeding hearts, beaded picture frames, religious discussion and the intoxicating smell of cooking  garlic.
My brain has a mind of it’s own, and seems to have changed focus, for no reason, to someone I never would have pictured in my head. Besides on my “Ultimate-Biggest-Pervert-Jerk List”.
I’ve caught myself going after boys who I think are hiding something.
Does that make me a Gossip Queen? Or just a humanitarian?
One of my best friends is Sally Ann. She’s given me a vintage kitchen table, gap jeans, Doc Martins and random chunky jewelry for practically nothing.
I love my mismatched teal and purple socks and pinky-purple lacy bra.
I think all women should own at least four matching sets of fancy bras and panties.
I don’t like the word banjo, but I sort of like the sound it makes.
I also don’t like being late, cellulite, the sound wasps and tortellini make when you squash (oh, I like that word!) them.
Nothing should ever be based on one situation, example, idea or piece of evidence.
I am an analyst.
I am fickle but passionate.
I wish happiness could last forever, and resent the person who said that bitterness makes the sweet sweeter.
I wish politicians and school boards could see the obvious.
Small is good.
Give the public what they want.
Get to know your local janitor(s). I did : Joe, Angie, Tim, Bill.
I like talking with an English accent and reading Calvin and Hobbs.
Rambling has become a habit.

Description
Follow-Up Report

(Read in an overly-cheerful-Stewardess-Barbie voice)
Hello and Welcome to Happy Land! We’ve recently been shut up for internal repairs, but we’re currently opening to the select public on a more and more extended schedule. If you have any questions about our hours or the repairs, please see the information booth to the right of the vending machine in the lobby, where our helpful staff in rainbow Afro wigs will promptly tell you to screw off and mind your own business. If any further information is required or you would like to make a complaint against our organization, please see the Vice Principal. Thank you, have a nice day and enjoy the show.

(Read in a slightly cynical teenage-girl-with-PMS voice)
You’ll remember my face and forget my name by tomorrow at 2am at the very latest.
Or vice Versa.
So I shouldn’t waste my breath telling you about either.
But I will, because I’m just that kind of person.
My name is Rachel. It’s Hebrew in origin, and means ewe.
No, not “eww there’s a booger hanging from your nose!”
Ewe, the female sheep.
I struggle with the sheep roots carrying over from my name to my life. I win most of the time.
I like sheep because they look cute and furry and they run away from me.
Goats are scary.
When I bother to do my hair it bounces when I walk, with enthusiasm.
When I bother to do my hair it bounces, when I walk with enthusiasm.
I call it my Meg Ryan Hair.
My aunt thinks I look like Julia Stiles.
I think my eyes are sort of hazelly-green, but everyone else says they’re brown.
Big momma and diva that I am, I wear whatever I want.
Bright pink shoes with flowers. Fuchsia halter dresses with blue, beige and orange flowers.
Oh by the way, my favorite color is Fresh Melon. That’s a fancy name for blinding green.
So I love shrimp and pecans and of course, my mom is allergic to both.
(that’s pCAWNs, not PEEcans. PEEcans are what you put under your bed in 18th century England.)
I speak English and french, and a little bit of polish, Serbian, German and a bunch of other exotic languages.
I wonder why this machine isn’t making me capitalize french and polish.
I wish I could bathe in a pool of lavender body scrub and blue raspberry Jell-o.
But not at the same time.
Eww.
There’s that sheep again.
I always walk on those concrete parking-barrier wannabe curb thingys at Dairy Queen, but I love plaid suspenders.
When I want to get up early, I can jump out of bed at the first sibling-like annoyance of my alarm clock.
I love walking through mist and seeing the sun reflect on dew covered power lines like huge spider webs at 6am.
Like many women, I have a shoe fetish. My shoes are all unique, and I thrive on inexpensive little-boy tee shirts.
Patricia O’Callaghan takes everyone else’s music and tweaks it to her own sense of perfection.
I adore her sound, but I want to write my own music.
Kara, Amanda, a burned CD, “The Red Tent” and a good pillow in a Red Honda Civic in July is my idea of a good time.  Oh, can’t forget the onion rings (with ketchup) and melting ice cream.
I wish I could fill my house with yellow gladioluses and bleeding hearts, beaded picture frames, religious discussion and the intoxicating smell of cooking  garlic.
My brain has a mind of it’s own, and seems to have changed focus, for no reason, to someone I never would have pictured in my head. Besides on my “Ultimate-Biggest-Pervert-Jerk List”.
I’ve caught myself going after boys who I think are hiding something.
Does that make me a Gossip Queen? Or just a humanitarian?
One of my best friends is Sally Ann. She’s given me a vintage kitchen table, gap jeans, Doc Martins and random chunky jewelry for practically nothing.
I love my mismatched teal and purple socks and pinky-purple lacy bra.
I think all women should own at least four matching sets of fancy bras and panties.
I don’t like the word banjo, but I sort of like the sound it makes.
I also don’t like being late, cellulite, the sound wasps and tortellini make when you squash (oh, I like that word!) them.
Nothing should ever be based on one situation, example, idea or piece of evidence.
I am an analyst.
I am fickle but passionate.
I wish happiness could last forever, and resent the person who said that bitterness makes the sweet sweeter.
I wish politicians and school boards could see the obvious.
Small is good.
Give the public what they want.
Get to know your local janitor(s). I did : Joe, Angie, Tim, Bill.
I like talking with an English accent and reading Calvin and Hobbs.
Rambling has become a habit.