Putting Randomness on Hold

I am right now incapable of typing 2-handed.  So my nearly 90-words-per-minute typing speed just went down to, oh, I dunno, 20 w.p.m.?  ...  Not that randomness can't survive the one-handed peck, but I just have better things to do with my time than spend 2 hours typing up the story of me bra shopping at Wal-Mart.

I mean, right now I could probably write a letter faster than typing up a blog post!

SO, ...
Let me know if you want a Random Tamra hand-written snail mail letter.  I'll be happy to send you one.  Leave your e-mail address in the comments section, and I'll get your address and hop to it!

Alternately, if you want a phone call, that also sounds easier than blogging.  I'd rather call everyone I know to relay the same story if I didn't have to type it up.

And those of you who normally type this slow, how do you do it?

June Beetles

FYI, it's July. 
Almost August.

You were fun in June.
You symbolized summer and the Midwest and everything I love about living here.

And now it's July.
And you should go away.

So, for any June Beetles who are reading my blog, ...
there it is.

"Do you like her?"

My brother is getting married.  When I tell people that he's getting married (not that I tell many people, because most of my friends have no idea who my brother is), they inevitably ask me this question:  "Do you like the girl?"

I'd like to address this question.

I've never met her.  I've sent her e-mails, she's sent me e-mails.  She's recommended a few books for me to read (which I haven't read yet.  Sorry).  I've seen a picture of her.  ...  But I've never met her. 

So when I tell people that I've never met her they say, "Oh."  Like, "Well, then you don't really know." 

But I DO know:  She's wonderful.

My brother, he's my best friend.  My husband, of course, is my best friend, but he's not the jealous type, and he allows me to say that my brother is my original best friend.  My brother can still finish my sentences, and he knows what I'm trying to say, even if I'm saying it wrong.  He has a Sixth Sense, a Tamra Sense:  he knows me better than I know myself, and I like to think that that's hard to do, because I like to think I know myself pretty well.  In that way, I trust my brother more than I trust myself.  When I'm feeling crazy, like there must be something wrong with me, I turn to my brother.  He tells me I'm not crazy, that it's impossible, and I know he's right.  My brother is always right about such things.

One time, I was feeling so low that I was ready to throw away everything I thought I knew about  myself.  I was ready to admit that I really actually was crazy.  That I needed to re-think everything I've ever done, big or small.  And the one sliver of hope I held onto was my brother saying, "If you're crazy, I'm crazy, too."  And I knew that my brother wasn't crazy.  So I knew I wasn't crazy.  He said, "If it's either you that's crazy or the world, then it's clearly the world."  And that was my lifeline:  I can't be crazy because my brother isn't crazy.  The WORLD is crazy.

And my brother, this person whom I trust with the ability to assess my sanity, to tell me my life is worthless or wonderful, he's chosen a woman to marry, and she's chosen him, too. 

What could she be other than wonderful?