That's so Raven/Nicole

Raven Symone is the cute kid from The Cosby Show (not you, Rudy). She's also the sassiest Disney actress this side of Miley Cyrus and a graduate of the Jackee Harry School of Overreaction. Raven recently shed some serious feathers and went from this to this. And now she kinda looks a lot like Nicole Richie who kinda looks a lot like a bird. So Raven, congratulations, you finally live up to your avian namesake! Tweet-tweet.

"Have a nice flight, sir."

Forget that my naturally long lashes were painted twice over with Cover Girl 'Marathon' mascara in "very black".

Forget that I was wearing a cropped bomber and fitted -fitted verging on tight- straight-leg jeans, the combination of which unmistakably outlined my waist-to-hips contour.

Forget that the timbre of my voice is consistently described as somewhere between "sweet" and "girlish."

Forget that I had on my feet and dangling off my forearm a pair of patent leather four inchers and a black leather tote, respectively.

In truth, what stunned me most about my being addressed as a "sir" yesterday was not that the screener -a young man who, given his position as the first line of airport security presumably had no serious vision impairments- had in his possession a driver's license that not only informed him of my first name but also included a 2005 photo from when I was in the thick of my 'Nicole Richie long bob' phase and still thought I looked sufficiently unfeminine to warrant a male assignation, but rather my reaction to his mistake.

I honestly didn't care. My feelings weren't hurt. I had no desire to correct him.

In fact, my first reactions upon hearing these five words were to tilt my head ever so slightly, look this boyish twenty-something squarely in his blue eyes, smile, and say, "Thanks, I will."

Check back later today for the Volvo style epiphany that came to me as a result of my interaction with Derek the Dayton Airport security screener.

*to those who identified the 1985 movie from which the above film still was taken, you've earned my utmost respect

"Have a nice flight, sir."

Forget that my naturally long lashes were painted twice over with Cover Girl 'Marathon' mascara in "very black".

Forget that I was wearing a cropped bomber and fitted -fitted verging on tight- straight-leg jeans, the combination of which unmistakably outlined my waist-to-hips contour.

Forget that the timbre of my voice is consistently described as somewhere between "sweet" and "girlish."

Forget that I had on my feet and dangling off my forearm a pair of patent leather four inchers and a black leather tote, respectively.

In truth, what stunned me most about my being addressed as a "sir" yesterday was not that the screener -a young man who, given his position as the first line of airport security presumably had no serious vision impairments- had in his possession a driver's license that not only informed him of my first name but also included a 2005 photo from when I was in the thick of my 'Nicole Richie long bob' phase and still thought I looked sufficiently unfeminine to warrant a male assignation, but rather my reaction to his mistake.

I honestly didn't care. My feelings weren't hurt. I had no desire to correct him.

In fact, my first reactions upon hearing these five words were to tilt my head ever so slightly, look this boyish twenty-something squarely in his blue eyes, smile, and say, "Thanks, I will."

Check back later today for the Volvo style epiphany that came to me as a result of my interaction with Derek the Dayton Airport security screener.

*to those who identified the 1985 movie from which the above film still was taken, you've earned my utmost respect

Nicole and I are twinsies

Because I have little else to do other than watch my Mother cook, exercise in the middle of the day and coo at how cute it is to see Monte warm his belly in front of the fireplace in my Father's study, I'm now reduced to posting completely useless fare like this, a picture of Nicole Richie decked out in the same, now extreeeemely discounted Geren Ford dress I'm wearing in the photograph at right.

She's pregnant and still looks thinner than I do. That's cool, I guess.

Nicole and I are twinsies

Because I have little else to do other than watch my Mother cook, exercise in the middle of the day and coo at how cute it is to see Monte warm his belly in front of the fireplace in my Father's study, I'm now reduced to posting completely useless fare like this, a picture of Nicole Richie decked out in the same, now extreeeemely discounted Geren Ford dress I'm wearing in the photograph at right.

She's pregnant and still looks thinner than I do. That's cool, I guess.