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Little Mary Sunshine

I am not a morning person.  The sooner you know this about me, the better friends we'll be.  There is nothing I hate more than having my sleep interrupted.  I've been known to rain hellfire down on anyone who calls me while I'm sleeping.  It's all I can do to be civil to most people before noon.  I used to have a roommate in college who would start the day with, "Mornin', Sunshine!" It set my teeth on edge. Not only do I not like to talk to anyone early in the morning if I don't have to, but I certainly don't like to be made fun of and called "Sunshine" because of my not-so-delightful early morning demeanor. She never did get that hint.  If it was acceptable, I would never leave the bed before midday (I'd stay up till the wee hours, though, so as not to waste time).  But it's not, really, so I'm forced to rise at the ungodly hour of 7:00 each day to get ready for work.  Mostly it's not so bad, as WH usually has either al
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A Case of Mistaken Identity

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I was out for drinks earlier this week and my sister relayed a story to me that is too good not to share.  As I've mentioned, I had (and am still getting over, if we're to be honest) Royal Wedding Fever last week.  It seems that I was not alone, because as my sister was cutting a client's hair (she's a hairdresser-duh) last Saturday the topic came up.  And this is where the story gets good. The client, a young woman of about 24, was talking about the fashions (and the hats, oh the hats!).  Tongues were already wagging about Princess Beatrice's ridiculous chapeau.   Here's how it happened: Princess Beatrice via Jezebel Client: So I saw Fergie's daughters at the wedding. Sister: Oh yeah?  I heard about their hats.  After a little more conversation about the hats, the conversation turned back to Fergie.  Client:  Isn't Fergie too young to have kids that age? Sister:  I don't think so.  She must be close to 50 by now. Client:  Really?  W
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Independence Day

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April 15 is tax day for most of us here in the U.S., but for my WH, it means a lot more.  Twelve years ago today, he arrived here from Iran.  He told me this story: When I found out I was getting a green card, I didn't know what would happen. I had to wait to find out when my appointment at the U.S. Embassy would be.   They tell you they’ll send you a letter to tell you your package has arrived, and when your interview would be, but I didn't trust it.   I used to call the U.S. Embassy in Ankara every day to find out if my package had arrived.  And I’m so glad I did, because I never received a letter.  The last time I called, they told me that my package had arrived and that my appointment was set. Then I went to Turkey.  I had lived there 10 years earlier for a year, hoping for a Humanitarian Parole visa and I didn't get it, but my memories in Turkey were still good memories.  Ten years later I went back to get my green card and stayed in the same hotel.  Walking the same
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