Sunday, August 5, 2012

From Slapped Faces to Bruised Egos


Here are this week's...

Random Facts and Tidbits.

Random Courting the Flame Fact:
Turner Gallery of Fine Arts employee Ethan Andrews is a character anyone who’s ever been betrayed by their emotions can relate to. Shy beyond words, Ethan suffers from what I like to call the “slapped face” look. A living and breathing emotional beacon, Ethan’s cheeks turn a bright splotchy red whenever he’s the least bit embarrassed…like, say when artist-in-residence Chloe Stuart enters the gallery.

The inspiration for his character comes from a sweet boy I remember from high school. Poor kid would light up like a Christmas tree whenever he felt anxious. I always found the quality endearing. I’m afraid my friend didn’t share my opinion, LOL.     

Diana DeCameron Tidbit:
Soooooo…I’ve been accused by some (coughs) my husband (clears throat) of not knowing how to relax. I suppose there’s some level of truth to that. I mean, I am an on-the-go kind of gal, always running from one place to the next. Which is why sometimes (not always), I trip over things. You know…like toys, and pets, and invisible pockets of air that hover just above the ground. It’s not something that I’m proud of, mind you. Who would be? Careening through the air only to fall flat on your face or ass is never ever attractive. Funny, yes. But attractive? No. Which brings me to one of my most dramatic “I can’t believe I just tripped over that” stories. Yes, this one would score a perfect ten if such judging existed.

The scene? I’d just given birth to baby number two. He was, I believe, about a month old. Translation? I hadn’t slept in, ohhhhh…about a month. My husband was downstairs burping him on the couch. Now, keep in mind that the couch faced the stairway and that at the bottom of the stairway was a playpen. Hang with me, folks. You’ll understand why this is important in just a moment.

My three year old and I were upstairs folding clothes until I decided, for reasons unknown to all involved, that I needed to go back downstairs to do something. I spun on my heel and made for the stairway with my three year old leading the way. Two steps in, however, he decided that he didn’t want to go downstairs, and in keeping with his three year old little mind, he stopped. Dead in his tracks. I, however, did not. My body thought it best to continue moving. So I did, tripping and rolling over my son as I proceeded to fall down the entire rest of the flight of stairs (with my husband watching) Grrrrrrrrrrrrr! Only to land—are you ready for this? Head first in the playpen. Yup. The sucker folded right up like an umbrella with me inside. It was very attractive. Take my word for it.

Sigh.

Somehow my son came out of the roll unscathed and I survived with little more than a few bumps and a bruised ego.

I wish I could say the same for playpen. He was...a good little playpen, (sniff, sniff) God rest his soul.


More Random Facts and Tidbits to come.
Have a great week, everyone.